Disclaimer: If you think I'm making money off of this, or if I have to do anything with anyone in this fic, then you're seriously off your rocker. Get back on it.
Author's Note: This shall be the last chapter to this fic for the next eleven million years….I'm serious. Ok, maybe not entirely, but sort of. Maybe I can cut it down to seven million. Depends on where life takes me…
Thanks to Rini for being just…the most awesome beta that the gods Apollo and Athena have ever given me! When we're both in the Underworld, look me up. Perhaps we can share a Strawberry Margarita while we reminisce about the good Auror times with that transvestite of a prophet Teiresias.
Hope you enjoy this chapter!
*~*~*~*~*
As she rubbed her eyes open, Hermione resolved to commit murder sometime during the course of the day. Yes…she was going to kill someone. Namely, one Dr. Parvati Patil.
The night had been sleepless, as prognosticated, and it was all Parvati's fault! Where on earth did she get the hair-brained idea that by sleeping with Harry she could actually get some sleep? Sure, for a night, she did manage to find peace of mind regarding the whole I'm constantly afraid for Harry's life! dilemma, but honestly…putting a male and a female to sleep in bed together when they weren't involved at all, and had no desire to be involved, well, that's just wrong - isn't it? Perhaps she should just let herself get addicted to the Draught of Living Death…
Grr she just wanted to scream! Every time she finally managed to fall some-what asleep, her knee would lightly brush Harry's thigh, or her hand would land on his bare chest, and they would both awake with a jerk.
Of course, neither acknowledged the fact that they were perfectly aware that the other was awake. That is the way it always is when there is an undeniable sexual tension between two people sleeping next to each other that have yet to come to terms with the thought of actually acting on it.
When she looked over at Harry, mouth half-opened in a snore, the sheets way down past his waist, she marveled at the acute confusion that was rumbling in her head. She was never confused. She lay there, staring at him, thinking that perhaps by staring at him the confusion would clear away and she'd have some sort of epiphany…perhaps somehow she would be enlightened with the reason why she was suddenly so peculiarly attracted to her best friend…
"You're staring at me again," Harry said, eyes wide open. This time, however, the cheekiness was gone from his voice.
Hermione was startled, not only by Harry, but also by the turn her thoughts had previously taken.
"I - uh - we need to get up," Hermione choked out as she hastily got out of bed. "Lots to do today."
Before Harry could reply she was gone from the room, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance between herself and Harry as possible.
*~*~*~*~*
At breakfast, Ron observed his two best friends quizzically. "Did Hermione sleep by herself last night?"
Hermione looked up from her bowl of porridge, while Harry suddenly found his own bowl of porridge to be the most interesting thing in the world.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione asked Ron with a nervous laugh. "You know I can't sleep alone, or I won't get any sleep…"
"Well, judging from the bags under both your eyes, it seems to me like none of you got any sleep, so I figured perhaps you'd slept in your own room, and did that whole nightmare thing again…"
"No, no. I came home late last night," Harry added, aiming towards an excuse.
"Yes, very late. Plus, you know, after not sleeping well for a long time, and then finally being able to sleep, the body decides that it needs even more sleep to make up for the previous lack of sleep, so it gets tired, " Hermione stammered.
"So you're saying that after you finally get some sleep, you get even more tired?" Ron asked skeptically.
"Yes," Harry and Hermione answered in unison.
"Oookay then. Well, I'm off to work," Ron said as he got up.
"But it's a Saturday!" Hermione said, as if this alone should settle the fact that he shouldn't be going to work. "We had all decided today we were going to work on the house."
"Yes, but, Coach O'Connell has decided that we are such an abomination to the game of Quidditch, we need to train weekends in order to entertain the smallest hope of beating the Wimbourne Wasps in two weeks," Ron said jovially.
"Actually, umm…I have to go to work too," Harry added, carefully avoiding Hermione's gaze. "We caught Avery yesterday and I have to, you know, go and threaten his life for information."
Hermione looked at the pair of them, and nodded. "Fine…go. But at this rate, this house will never look like sane people live in it."
Both boys took leave of Hermione silently, looking as if they'd been reprimanded by their mother superior.
Despite the boys' lack of enthusiasm, Hermione decided that today would be the day she began the renovations, starting with the nefarious jungle that was her room. With a wave of her wand, Hermione cleared the kitchen and went upstairs to her room.
Pausing at the doorway and ruefully surveying the mess, she felt like running and screaming for her life. Yet she knew that something had to be done about it. At least focusing on this would help take Harry off her mind…
Hermione sighed, not at all looking forward to the task before her, but resolved that for the sake of her sanity and anal-retentive cleanliness, that she should get it done and by the love of Merlin it will be done. She walked up to the brown boxes that scattered the floor of her room and opened the lid.
The very first thing she took out was a Graduation picture. In it, she, Harry, and Ron were standing around, their diplomas in their hand and laughing triumphantly. This was the last happy, secure moment she could ever remember feeling, for it was that night that…
"You know this has nothing to do with you," Harry pleaded. "I won't let you do this; you'll die for nothing," and with all the strength he could muster, he pushed her away.
"Finally," the cold voice said, and cast his spell…
Hermione snapped out of the reverie, and threw the picture to the ground.
Instinctively, she ran upstairs to Harry's room, shut the door behind her, climbed into bed crawled under, the covers and hugged his pillow tightly.
She stayed there for what seemed like an eternity. After a while though, she began realizing how ridiculous she was acting. For goodness sake, Hermione Granger! You're a grown woman! What on earth are you doing hiding in bed when there are things that need to be done!
Hastily, she jumped out of bed and looked around her. If she lacked the courage to start working on her own room…
*~*~*~*~*
"Hermione!" Harry called from the bottom of the staircase. "Honey, I'm home."
Harry grinned, half expecting her to furiously come traipsing down the stairs, enraged at hearing a greeting reminiscent of a time when women were enslaved at home while the men went out to make a living. He pleasantly remembered one night that he and Ron were helping Hermione move from her parent's house to Grimmauld Place. It was a week-long process - as can be imagined - and they spent a few of those nights lazily watching movies and eating Mrs. Granger's delicious dinners.
Ron was completely fascinated by the idea of a muggle "film." He had never seen one, and found it quite fascinating that people actually did such things: act out scripts, faking life for the sake of entertainment. He was determined to watch every single film in the Granger collection and, on such a night, Ron picked out the movie "Pleasantville."
Throughout the film, Hermiome grumbled at the way women were treated as slaves back in the day, completely annoying Ron who was paying really close attention to the film. Finally, Ron couldn't take it anymore and did what Ron usually does: he snapped at her.
"If you hate the damn topic of the film so much, why the bloody hell did you buy it in the first place?"
Hermione stumbled over herself to form a reply, until Harry noticed a funny little thread that tied a small portion of the Granger collection: Pleasantville, The Cider House Rules, The Ice Storm…
"Hermione, do you have a thing for Tobey Maguire?" Harry asked with a grin.
Harry got his answer when he saw Hermione's face blush. Ron looked confused.
"Who the bloody hell is Tobey Maguire?" Ron asked.
"The one that got sent back in time with his sister," Harry answered him, as Hermione looked completely mortified and incapable of replying.
"Oh, that bloke. How funny…he kinda looks like you, Harry. Big eyes and all that, except that yours are green..."
Harry snapped out of his reverie. He kinda looks like you…
No, completely silly. He doesn't look a thing like Tobey Maguire. And even if he did, that meant nothing, not even in comparison to last night…
"Honey, I'm home," he called out again, now even more - though inexplicably - determined to see her raging down the stairs.
But alas - nothing.
Harry was slightly disappointed, though not at all surprised considering all the racket that was coming from upstairs. Perhaps she hadn't heard him?
Maybe she was redecorating her room as she had been meaning to do for ages?
He sure hoped she was. He was tired of hearing her complain about the endless greens, blacks, and silvers that adorned this entire madhouse. Of course, Harry usually complained along with her, but she was the girl in the house; she actually knew how to do things like this. He had absolutely no bloody clue as to how he was going to go about fixing this place up. He had it in mind to ask Mrs. Weasley for some help, as she had done fabulously with the cleaning, but Ron begged him not to. According to him, she would take full charge of the expedition, and leave no room for anyone else's input.
Harry was suddenly struck with how funny it would be to see Ron's face at seeing that his mum had decorated his room all in lavender…
After searching the kitchen for food and finding no such thing in the vicinity, he eagerly ran up to Hermione's room to see how far she had gotten along. He remembered her saying that she wanted her room to be done in different shades of blue…he was looking forward to seeing a room in the house that actually looked livable.
You could imagine Harry's astonishment when he got to Hermione's room and found it looking exactly as it had before. Harry frowned. Then what on earth was all that racket-
Before he could even finish his thought, he heard a great big boom coming from upstairs, along with what he could now distinguish as loud music. Not only was it loud music - it was the Beatles.
And where one could hear the Beatles, one would find Hermione.
Of course, logically speaking, it had to be Hermione. The only thing Ron knew about the Beatles was that they were insects that could be very annoying when they wanted to be, particularly if they were actually eavesdropping witches in disguise, and not really beetles at all.
Ever since Harry had known her, Hermione had loved the Beatles. Not the way she loved Tobey Maguire…no…that was nothing compared to the Beatles. The Beatles adorned her girlhood room…the Beatles were the epitome of humanity…
It was kind of cute, really, since she got all fan girlish when it came to them, and "fangirl" was definitely not an adjective he would normally use when describing Hermione Granger.
The odd thing was that this particular love of the Beatles was something that she not only shared with her mum, but also something she had in common with Petunia Dursley…
Harry was quite curious as he made his way up to his room. What was she doing in there? Suddenly, a weird sense of panic kicked in…what if she was being attacked?
Like a mad man, Harry sprinted all the way up to his room and charged inside, wand raised, ready to kill anyone who might even be trying to hurt Hermione.
However, the only thing he found upon entering the room was a completely different world.
Is this my room? Harry thought to himself as he looked around. Everything was in its correct place…the bed was where it had stood before, as was the rest of the furniture, but the colors…
Harry wanted to die of happiness. Everything: all the Slytherin-ish trappings, the green wallpaper with the velvet snake pattern, the silver curtains, the silver serpent shaped candleholders…
All gone.
The curtains were a wonderful scarlet velvet, matching the new sitting area, which beforehand had been in the style of Louis XVI and highly uncomfortable. Now, however, the sitting area was very much reminiscent of the big comfy chairs in the Gryffindor common room.
As he gazed around the room in wonder, he was startled by the sudden appearance of Hermione, wearing nothing but a shirt. His shirt. Only a shirt, and no pants, which meant that…
"Merlin's legs-er…teeth," Harry stammered. "You gave me a fright."
"Oh!" Hermione gasped, equally as startled by Harry. "I - I was in the bathroom I - I didn't think you'd be back so early."
Harry, who was trying his hardest to keep his gaze on her face blinked. "Hermione, it's eight o'clock at night."
Hermione looked puzzled, looked around the room. "Time sure has gone by rather quickly…what do you think of it?"
"Huh?" Harry said, still trying very hard not to look at her legs. Vestal virgins had legs?
"What do you think of the room?" Hermione asked eagerly. A small part of her was afraid that he wouldn't like it. "It isn't quite finished yet, but it is a big room. I was going for the Gryffindor theme, because I remember you mentioning it when we talked about decorating before. I personally like the wallpaper the most; I quite like the random streak of gold in between the scarlet and white stripes, and thank goodness that hideous snake print is gone!"
Harry nodded along dumbly, trying his hardest to pay attention to everything she was saying but finding that he was losing the battle. Which in itself was a first: he never loses battles.
"And what about the bed? Don't you like the bed? I opted for red silk sheets…aren't they just decadent? I didn't necessarily pick it out just because I thought you would like them, I'm actually looking forward to trying them out myself…Harry please tell me you like it. You can change whatever you want, and I can just reverse everything if you hate all of it…"
Harry was keenly aware that the longer he stayed silent, the more she'd think that he hated everything, but he found that he couldn't really say anything at all at the moment. Why did she have to mention his bed with the red silk sheets? The only things he could now form in his mind were images of one of her delectable legs sticking out of his red silk sheets, waiting for him…
And the Beatles weren't helping him any.
It's been a hard days night, and I've been working like a dog
It's been a hard days night, I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do, will make me feel all right
"I love it." Harry finally managed to gulp out.
"Thank Merlin!" Hermione yelled and wrapped her arms around him. "I was beginning to get worried! I was beginning to think that perhaps you detested everything…"
Harry noticed that the shirt rose a little up her thigh as she reached up to hug him, and he made a chivalrous effort to shield himself from the sight by trying to close his eyes.
Alas, another battle lost.
"Harry, are you ok?" Hermione asked, suddenly concerned. "You look a bit flushed, and you feel kind of warm…"
"Oh, no, I'm just shocked, you know? I never expected…but I love it! I really do…"
"I'm glad," she said, beaming. "The bathroom is still the same, although I'm sure you'd like to do that yourself…Harry, what is it? Do I have something on my face?"
Harry didn't answer her. He couldn't answer her. Where the hell was his brain when he needed it?!
"Oh…are you angry because of the shirt?" Hermione asked, looking alarmed. "I know there is a bit of paint on it…I'm sorry I ruined it! I can fix it, I promise! I found it thrown behind the bathroom door, and you know how splotchy it can get when you cast paint charms, and well, I couldn't go down to my room to get some of my clothes because, well…Normally it would never have gotten this messy, but I kept changing my mind about the specific shade of scarlet I wanted on the wall above the fireplace, which was ridiculous of me since I covered the entire thing with the big mirror. You'd be surprised how quickly things get delivered when you order them, nothing at all like Muggle-mail order…"
Harry was shaking his head, though he still couldn't articulate anything resembling a word. A couple of squeaks perhaps but no, not words. A dull ache began to throb around the area where the bruise had been yesterday and suddenly he felt his robes were too constricting.
"If you want," Hermione continued, "I'll take the shirt off right this moment and-"
"No!" Harry blurted out. "No, please, don't take the shirt off right now-"
"I didn't mean I was going to take it off right now in front of you," Hermione said with a grin on her face. "I meant if you want I'll go change and wash it for you if that is what you wished."
Harry blushed, completely abashed by the absurdity of his thought. Of course she wasn't going to go starkers with him right in front of her! Why would she?
Indeed. Why would she?
"Hermione, what I meant was, uh ... that.... that it is ok. I don't care if you messed up my shirt; it's only a sleeping shirt anyways. The beautiful room you created more than makes up for it…"
Hermione beamed, though just as quickly frowned. "So…this is the nightshirt you couldn't find yesterday, is it?"
"Yes," Harry said. Thinking about the night before returned him to his previous incoherent status.
"I see…" Hermione replied, suddenly understanding the flush in Harry's cheeks, and the reversal of his vocabulary to that of a four-year-old. She relished in the irony of it all.
"So…since you don't mind that I damaged your shirt with paint…I guess you wouldn't mind if I went down and made us dinner in it? You know, I wouldn't want to stain any of my other clothes and since this is already stained…"
Harry gulped. "Of course I wouldn't mind, Hermione."
"Good. Let's go downstairs then; If you think you are going to just sit there while I slave away making dinner, you are seriously mistaken. I'll require your assistance, of course."
Harry was about to wriggle his way out of it by declaring weariness, but before he knew it Hermione grabbed his hand and practically dragged him down the stairs, all along maintaining a suspiciously naughty swivel in her hips.
She would be the death of him, and she knew it. Let him get a taste of what she went though the night before…
*~*~*~*~*
"You are out of your mind if you think that I'll agree to this idiocy," Hermione said hotly as she set the plates on the table with a bang.
"Hermione, it's not what you're thinking," Harry stated calmly.
Harry had no bloody clue how this argument had begun. They had gone downstairs, Hermione amicably chatting about decorating ideas, Harry still trying hard to keep his gaze eye level. He finally managed to get enough control of his voice to join in on the one-sided conversation and make a few suggestions pertaining to the current inhospitable state of the drawing room. From there the conversation turned to the pitiable state of the kitchen and dining room, when Harry finally got the courage to mention an idea he'd had for a while now.
Damn his Gryffindor courage!
"Its just that…we're hardly ever home!" Harry continued, determined to make her see sense. "And then we come home late and start dinner when we should just be able to get home, eat it, and sleep. It does get a bit tiresome after a while, and Ron and I are getting sick of pasta."
Looking completely stricken, Hermione threw the forks down on the table. "So you've discussed this over with Ron, have you?"
"No! No, not really…Hermione, I'm mentioning this to you first because I didn't want to get Ron's hopes up."
Harry cringed at the look in Hermione's eye. Perhaps he never should've mentioned this…
Especially since arguing with her was made all the more difficult when considering her current state of dress.
"If you and Ron are so sick of eating pasta, then I suggest you learn to make something else, as we eat pasta usually when it is yours and Ron's turn to make dinner. I at least try to-"
"Yes, yes, and we appreciate it Hermione, really we do. And although we find Cajun cuisine to be quite splendid, sometimes I sit around daydreaming about treacle tart, or those lovely Hogwarts mashed potatoes, and…"
"Harry. We are NOT getting a House Elf. I'll move out first!"
Harry paled, the very idea causing him major amounts of distress. But he composed himself quickly enough to get angry at the threat. How dare she!
"You shall do no such thing," he informed her sternly.
Hermione, who had been stirring their dinner rice, dropped what she was doing and turned to look at him, an icy expression in her eyes. "What did you just say to me?"
The nerve of him! After everything she'd done for him, everything! She spent the past seven years of her life being there for him, helping him, being the best friend she could be, worrying about him to death every single second of her life to the point of insanity! And this is the thanks she gets?
"I said you shall do no such thing." Harry crossed his arms and looked at her, taking the bait. How dare she think about leaving him. Does she think he could actually survive without her?
His heart was beating about twenty million times faster than it normally would, but of course he attributed this to his anger at the current turn the discussion had taken. He didn't even think about considering the other thing…
She walked toward him, menacingly, her wand in her hand. "Repeat it," she commanded. So what if he looked positively shaggable standing there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms crossed, looking as angry as he did during his battle with Lord Voldemort. So what if her palms were sweaty and her breathing heavy? She was not about to let him boss her around! That was her job, after all…
"You. Shall. Do. No. Such. Thing," Harry finished gravely. Something about the way he held his head reminded Hermione strangely of Draco Malfoy.
Hermione, in all her Head Girl haughtiness, raised her wand up to his chest. "And where do you presume to tell me what to do?"
Harry, who by this time was ready to sit down with a shot of Firewhiskey, or Scotch - whichever, it didn't really matter - could no longer deny the little fact that kept dancing its way in front of him: he was positively, undeniably attracted to his best friend. And no, he didn't mean Ron; he was attracted to Hermione.
Hermione.
And the only thing stopping him from throwing her on the table and doing unthinkable things to her was the wand she had pointed to his chest.
"I said," Hermione began, "Where do you presume to tell me what to do?" This time she was a little less haughty, and a little more self-conscious. He was doing this to her. His eyes…where were they looking? He was looking at her as if for the first time, and quite frankly she was a little unnerved by it all…
Though not at all frightened.
Harry reached out, grabbed her wrist, and slid his finger up to her hand. "Let it go," he whispered in her ear.
Without a second thought, Hermione let the wand go. It dropped to the floor, though neither Harry nor Hermione noticed it at all. They were much more preoccupied with the fact that the hand that Hermione previously had wrapped around her wand, was now firmly placed on Harry's chest…
Hermione gripped Harry's shirt, and pulled him as close to her as she possible could. Having achieved this, she went on her tiptoes, letting her face linger in front of Harry's for a few seconds, until finally moving her lips up to his ear.
"We are not getting a house elf," she whispered softly. Every single part of her body was hot, and as much as she wanted to give in to the overwhelming need to just move her lips a couple of inches to Harry's mouth, she wanted above all else to have the upper hand in this battle.
Harry's eyes were heavily lidded, and his breathing ragged. He decided that at that moment, he would've agreed to anything Hermione demanded. Would you like all the gold in my Gringott's account? Yes Hermione, by all means, help yourself! Would you love to suck out my soul? Of course you can! I have no need for this silly thing anyways. Oh…and what is that? You would like to chop me up into little pieces just for fun? Wonderful. Name the time and place…
"Children! Mummy's home!" came a yell from out in the hall, announcing Ron. Just as Ron entered the kitchen, Harry and Hermione jumped away from each other as if fleeing a fate worse than death.
Which they were.
"Am I - did I miss something?" Ron asked, eyeing his best friends suspiciously. He could be mistaken, but did he just see them standing really close to each other? As in, close enough to snog? And what is Hermione wearing?
"Umm…well…Hermione and I had our First Domestic Squabble," Harry said with a half-smile, clearly trying to clear the awkward situation.
"Indeed," Hermione said, who was busing herself with the now burned rice.
"Lovely. So you guys decided to have our First Domestic Squabble without me? Some friends you are," Ron said with a grin. They were arguing, 'twas all. No need to get his knickers in a bunch. "What was this Infamous Squabble about? Harry hogging the bathroom, Hermione?"
Hermione huffed. "His Highness deems it necessary to employ the services of a House Elf to better serve his Royal Household," she said frostily.
Ron looked as if he had just been promised the gold of ancient Egypt. "Are you serious mate? Our own House Elf…"
Harry nodded gravely. "Yes Ron, employ being the operative word. Of course, I don't expect you and Hermione to bear the brunt of it as Hermione is against it and it's my idea, but yes, I plan to employ a House Elf. The reason why I began to think about this in the first place was because Dobby himself requested to become a part of my household, seeing as he didn't really get along with the other Elves at Hogwarts due to their overbearing superiority complexes. Of course I promised Dobby a full paycheck, weekends off, and 6 weeks a year vacation, all with pay. Or at least, as much as he'll allow me to pay him."
Hermione stopped what she was doing, and turned around. "What? Are you serious? You never mentioned…"
"Oh, and I promised him lots of clothes as well. Can't have naked Elves running about now, can we?" Harry tried his hardest not to look too triumphant at Hermione's expression.
"Harry, if you had mentioned all this from the start, we wouldn't have had that-"
"Well, if you had shut your mouth for one minute, maybe I would've."
Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, and back again, waiting for them to have a Second Domestic Squabble, one that he could be a part of. Alas, no such luck. Fighting with each other was not something that was in their nature. Now he and Hermione…
"I - I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled apologetically. "I-"
"It's ok," Harry said with a grin. "You don't have to say anything else."
Hermione smiled at him, and Harry smiled back. Ron decided to take advantage of this moment to catch both his friends unawares, and ask the question that he had been dying to ask since the second he walked into the kitchen.
"Hermione, why exactly are you dressed like that…"
*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry sat in his bed, perusing Hermione's copy of "Chicken Soup for the Auror Soul" and enjoying his new room. The silk sheets felt simply delicious, and the room was superbly decorated. He had to admit, Hermione did have a talent for this as she did for everything, flying being the glaring exception.
He sighed, placed the book on a bedside table, and dimmed the lights. He tried to get himself comfortable and fall asleep, but he found he couldn't. At first he was confused as to why; normally, when he was not distracted, he fell asleep immediately, almost as if he had an "off" button.
Upon hearing the shower running in his bathroom, the reason why he couldn't fall asleep became clear: Hermione.
Hermione was not there next to him.
How funny; he'd spent almost twenty years of his life sleeping alone, and after only a couple of nights with Hermione, he couldn't go back.
He tossed and turned for a while, wondering what on earth Hermione did in the shower that was taking her so long. But then he began imaging exactly what she could be doing in the shower, and it all went own hill from there…
He needed to go out for a run. Yes, a run at ten o'clock at night. It was cold outside and he'd exert himself. Since his shower was occupied he couldn't take a cold one, he'd have to go out for a run. Unless he just sauntered over there, tapped Hermione on the shoulder, and asked her if he could join…
Yikes! Now he was in an even greater need of cold air and exercise.
He stumbled around the room looking for a suitable pair of shoes but all he could do was find objects that were completely foreign to him. First, he found copies of books and magazines with titles such as "Decorating Charms" and "Renovation Transfiguration" all over the place. And of course, there was that strange selection of research on her current project at work. And then there was Crookshanks, sitting on the couch looking quite at home. Add to that a random selection of Hermione's clothes here and there: a pair of jeans, a shirt, and what was that funny looking thing…
Never mind; he didn't want to know.
She really was a messy girl, which you wouldn't think when you saw her. Most people would be inclined to think him quite sloppy, and the irony struck him as funny.
She who looked polished was in fact untidy; he who looked messy was in fact quite neat. They were perfect opposites.
When Harry finally found his shoes, which were in a corner along with Hermione's, Harry was also overcome with amusement at the weird propensity girls had to mark their territory. Hermione was the same way in Hogwarts as she was here; he remembered once opening his trunk to find a bag of Crookshanks' cat food among other things, and the way Ron would constantly complain about a new book underneath his pillow once a week. Parvati, the brief period that he dated her, was exactly the same way. Only the things she left behind for him to find were of a completely different sort…
"Going somewhere?" Hermione asked daintily.
Harry was snapped out of his reverie by her sudden appearance. She was dressed in her normal, conservative pajama top and bottom (though whether he was happy or sad about this, he couldn't tell) and her hair was dry, though she had that wonderful after shower glow.
Please, kill me now.
"Umm…I was thinking of going for a quick run," Harry said absently. Why on earth was it so hard to tie his bloody shoelaces?
"Don't be stupid. It's almost half past ten and tomorrow we have breakfast at the Weasley's…" Hermione chided delicately. That, and if he wasn't with her, she could not fall asleep herself. Of that she was sure of.
Harry groaned. Not that he didn't love the Weasleys, but Sundays were usually the only days he was able to sleep in.
"Come to bed," she implored softly, grabbing him by the hand.
Harry melted. He felt like Lockhart had removed every single bone from his body. How was he supposed to deny her anything?
Once in bed, Hermione snuggled close to Harry, making sure to plant her feet firmly between his.
"Using me to keep warm, Granger?" Harry asked with a grin.
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, you might as well make yourself useful."
At first Harry was stiff: every single part of his body was screaming for Hermione, but his head was firmly against it. In the end, he relaxed, and decided that he was a big boy; he could control himself. Or at least he hoped.
"So…Dobby, eh?" Hermione asked after a moment of quiet.
"Yup." Harry said, his eyes closed and ready to sleep. "I'll go collect him sometime during the week, when I have time."
Hermione yawned in response, and rubbed her hand on his fully clothed chest, which both dismayed and relieved her.
"Hermione?" Harry asked after a bit.
"Hmmm?"
"Thank you for the beautiful room."
Hermione smiled. "Well, I did this for myself as much as for you. Hate Slytherin décor. Love silk sheets."
Harry grinned, and pinched her arm. She slapped his hand away.
"You better watch yourself, Potter," she said, though the threat in her voice was overpowered by the extreme fatigue.
"I'm trying…" Harry replied.
And so finally, they both fell asleep.
*~*~*~*~*