Chapter 2: I just like to be organized
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the product of J.K. Rowling's imagination.
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Hermione's apartment, Harry notices, is very Hermione. From the high arched ceilings to the beige walls to the dark hardwood floor. Books inside the enormous bookcases softly whisper her name. Pictures hanging in the walls illuminate her smile. Even the aroma of the room is distinctly hers: cinnamon, spicy cinnamon-the color of her eyes, the scent of her skin, the hue of her hair.
"Well, what do you think?" she asks with a tone of amusement.
"Amazing, really amazing. It's very you." He answers. His eyes look at the picture on top of the fireplace. His picture.
"Good, since you're staying here the rest of the week-"
That brings him back to his senses. He cannot stay here the rest of the week if he wants to keep his sanity.
"I don't think-" he tries to tell her he cannot stay, but she continues to talk.
"Well, not exactly the whole week, since it's in two days-" she disappears from his sight. She goes to one of the rooms. He finds himself face to face with a picture of Krum staring back at him. He closes his eyes.
"- The wedding, I mean. But you get my drift. Anyway, come over here, Harry, I'll show you your room," Hermione calls out. Ignoring the spasms inside him after hearing the word, wedding, he follows the sound of her voice.
He finds himself in a small room, which unsurprisingly contains stacks upon stacks of books, all neatly arranged on a bookcase that covers an entire wall.
"Well, sorry for the books. This is actually the den, but I converted it into a bedroom for you. The bed was actually the desk before I transfigured it."
"Why am I not surprised?" he asks teasingly. Hermione rolls her eyes. He wonders if she does that to Krum.
"Anyway, I'll leave you alone for a second while I call for take out. Do you want anything?"
"Nothing really." He drops the suitcase on the floor.
"All right then, so pizza's fine?"
"Yeah, no problem with that. And Hermione-"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
"Anything, Harry," she says in a soft voice. Then she's gone.
He closes the door, picks up his suitcase, and opens it. He unpacks his clothes. He unpacks his shoes. He unpacks the last four years of his life. But he keeps the canvases inside. The five different canvases that project his soul, obsession, and torment.
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He watches her take a bite out of her pizza. For a split second, she closes her eyes. He feels like proposing to her, right then and there. But his suddenly overactive inner-voice tells him otherwise: she's already engaged, you moron. With a sigh, he focuses his eyes on somewhere safer instead, like the pizza box.
"By the way, nobody knows you're here," she says out of nowhere.
"Huh?" he asks, confused.
"Ron, Ginny, Luna, Mrs. Weasley?"
"Oh!" he manages to say, comprehension dawning on him. He feels guilty. Ron, his best friend Ron, will go berserk when he finds out.
"I presumed that it's best if nobody knows you're here yet-but I can owl them if you like!"
"Oh no, that's all right," he says as he removes the anchovies.
"Oops, sorry about that," Hermione says with a giggle, "I forgot that you hate anchovies!"
"Nice hostess you are, Granger!" he says as he playfully throws an anchovy. It hits her nose.
"Harry Potter!!!!" she shrieks. "Your manners are atrocious!"
"Well, this is my first time to actually sit down and have dinner with someone!" he answers defensively.
"Well, you could have invited me! At least you'll have someone to talk to when you've had enough of your `soul searching'. But then, you deserve it. I'm still mad at you for running off like that."
Suddenly, the mood turns somber. Harry turns to look at the pizza box again. He hears her take a deep breath. He knows she's struggling to find the right words. He knows she wants to ask him the real reason why he left. He decides to steer the direction away from there, and asks,
"Are you still mad at me?"
A smile breaks out in her face.
"No, of course not! I was kidding!"
"Relax, I was just asking,"
"By the way, speaking of asking, I'm quite shocked you haven't asked me about Viktor, or my wedding yet. You do know about the wedding don't you?" she asks, clearly oblivious to the fact that Harry is turning pale.
"Yes," he manages to say.
"Well?" she asks with a look of confusion in her face.
"Well what?" he asks back, dumbly.
"Honestly, Harry, did that `soul-searching' of yours leave you incapable of speaking?" she asks sarcastically.
Harry takes a deep breath. He tells himself it's bound to happen.
"Actually no, I'm just playing dumb to avoid hearing you gush, and go, `Vicky is just so adorable!'" he teases.
"I do not gush!" she defends herself. A giggle suddenly erupts. Harry finds himself experiencing a slow, painful death. He bites his lip.
"Anyway, I'm just so happy that Ginny's planning everything. I won't survive without her. You're probably wondering why I'm not going crazy two days before the big day, but I decided to stop being neurotic. Don't get me wrong though, I do worry, and I do panic, but Ginny assures me everything's in good hands, so I'm at peace. Besides, with 40 guests, I guess it's not too big of a worry."
He watches her the whole time. She widens her eyes when she says `survive'. She squints her eyes when she says `two'. She takes a deep breath between `neurotic' and `don't'. Her tone changes from thankful to shock when she says `Ginny' and `without her'. She crumples her nose when she says `worry'. She does all these, and he notices everything-especially the flush of her cheeks, and the glow in her face.
He realizes that she's happy.
He realizes that she's content.
He realizes that he's lost her, forever.
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He feels like drowning himself in the bathtub. But then decides against it since it will be too much trouble for Hermione.
"Oh dear God, I am pathetic," he mutters to himself. He's all too aware that he is crossing the borderline between sanity and depression. Immediately, he jumps out of the tub to repress any more thoughts. He wipes the warm towel around his body. He inhales her scent. The towel smells of cinnamon. Images of her flash his mind. Immediately, he wraps the towel around his waist to repress such thoughts. He decides to shave his three-day stubble instead.
He rubs the shaving gel around his lower face and down to this throat, neatly. He grabs his razor and works it downward. Suddenly, he cuts himself.
"Holy-" he screams, a little too loudly for his taste. Blood streams down from his cheek and he washes his face immediately. He does not hear the door open.
"Harry? Are you all right?"
"Yeah," he manages to say as he continues to wash his face. He turns off the faucet and gets a fresh towel from Hermione.
"Thanks," he mutters.
"What happened?"
"Stupid razor," he answers. He holds the razor up for her to see. She makes a face. Blood. He throws it on the bin.
"Do you have a new one?"
"Yeah, I'll get it," she makes her way to the cabinets, and grabs a wicker basket with a label that says, `Hair'. From the wicker basket, out comes a smaller container with a label that says, `razors'. She gets one and hands it to him.
"OC, aren't you?" he teases.
"I just like to be organized!" she answers back.
He starts squirting the shaving gel into his hand again. He notices that she's still standing there, watching him. A look of curiosity is on her face.
"You like what you see?" He flexes his bicep. She sticks out a tongue. But she does not leave.
"I do get quite conscious, you know," he says again. Finally, she takes a deep breath.
"Actually, let me do that," she finally says. She grabs the razor from him.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"I said, let me do that. I want to shave that stubble off your jaw," she answers, matter-of-factly.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"I don't know, practice?"
"Hermione, you shave your legs, not your jaw." And then it dawns on him. She wants to learn how to shave Krum. He feels his jaw tighten.
"Oh Harry, just let me do it, please?" she asks, her doe eyes shining with excitement. He gives out a small smile, and sits on the counter. He wipes the gel from his hand and gives her the can.
She squirts the gel. She scoops a little and rubs it on his right cheek.
"More," he instructs.
She scoops more and rubs it all across his cheek and down to his jaw. She squirts more from the can and rubs it on the other side. He closes his eyes. His breath hitches. Her hands are on his throat. Her soft hands are touching him softly and lightly, and he finds it very sensual.
"What do I do next?" she finally asks. He notices that her voice is a little deeper.
"Start on my right cheek," she obeys.
"Do short, slow strokes-" she presses the razor downwards.
"Don't be too hard-" his voice is definitely animalistic now. He feels a hand on his shoulder.
"-But don't be too light, either-"
He hears a sound emit deep within her throat. His self-control is slowly dwindling.
"Just… be-" he tries to finish what he's saying, but he finds it too hard to speak. The razor is dangerously close to his mouth. Her hand is moving down his chest. His lower body is emitting too much heat.
"Just be what, Harry?" she whispers. She stops moving the razor.
"Firm."
She starts shaving again. He decides it's best not to open his eyes. He feels her instead. He feels her wipe off the gel with her hands. He feels her splash some water in his face. He feels her wipe it off with a soft cloth. He feels her.
And he regrets the fact that she'll never do this to him again. So he opens his eyes. He finds himself staring into hers.
"How'd I do?" she asks, softly. He notices that she's breathing unevenly. Her chest is rising up and down. Her eyes are glossy. Her cheeks are flushed.
He touches his face. He feels for any hair. There's none.
"Good job," he manages to say.
Hermione gives him a smile. The one that makes his heart burst. And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, not all is lost.
She kisses his cheek.
"Thanks for letting me do that," she whispers. Then she leaves.
Harry sits on the counter for the next five minutes.
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate it! Do keep them coming though! It makes me motivated! Hee hee!
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