Just Desserts

Anne U

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 09/04/2005
Last Updated: 09/04/2005
Status: completed

After an argument on Harry's birthday, he finds a clever way to make up with Hermione.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Just Desserts

By Anne U

Genre: Romance/Humor

Pairing: H/Hr

Rating: R

Summary: After an argument on Harry's birthday, he finds a clever way to make up with Hermione.

Disclaimers: JKR and those big corporations own everything. This is just for fun.

Author's Note: This story is just a short dose of slighty-angsty fluff. In case it looks familiar to some of you, I posted this on Astronomy Tower at Fiction Alley about 18 months ago. This was my first foray into ^cough^ adult-themed HP fic; I really hope my writing has improved a lot since I wrote this!

Hermione hated when they argued. Sure, she and Harry had their ups and downs. All couples do. But our relationship is different, she thought, biting her lower lip as she steered the Volvo away from the curry shop, past the first roundabout and toward the house they shared a few kilometers away in Paddington. Most other couples our age haven’t been together, day in and day out, since they were eleven or twelve years old, or been friends for fifteen years before admitting they couldn’t live without each other. And no other couple comprises The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Doesn’t Deserve Him....

No, I mustn’t think that way, Hermione chided herself. Keep your mind on the road or you’ll crash the car! Driving is no time to be a git. When she had to focus, Hermione’s powers of concentration were formidable. Hadn’t she been the one to figure out the potions puzzle when she and Harry were but one chamber away from where the Philosopher’s Stone was hidden? She did it, not Ron, not Harry, but herself, Hermione Granger. Books and cleverness teamed up with friendship and bravery to save the day, that day and on many others. She smiled at the memory...not that it was a happy event, but at her own innocence, and Harry’s and Ron’s, back then. So long ago, so much water—and mayhem—under the bridge now...

Whenever she got into a mood like this, Hermione couldn’t figure out what Harry saw in her or why he loved her as much as he kept insisting he did. Books and cleverness had always been her way of dealing with the nagging feeling that she would never, ever be good enough. Front teeth too big? Focus the attention above your head; a hand shooting up in the air to answer every question was a good distraction. Afraid of not getting top marks in every subject? Merely attempt to memorize every book in every subject before term started on September first. Elementary, dear Granger. If only relationships were that easy. She had learned long ago that her extensive book learning was often useless in matters of the heart.

Arriving at the townhouse, Hermione muttered "Alohomora!" distractedly toward the garage door, which glided up in its tracks. Being a witch means never having to use a garage-door opener, she chuckled as she pulled the car into the garage. She was glad to have something to take her mind off how lousy she felt at that moment. She couldn’t even remember what they had argued about – all she could remember was that Harry had become so angry and exasperated with her that he’d Disapparated before the waiter returned from the kitchen with their desserts. So she never got to give him his birthday present – and he never got to eat his banana split.

Merlin’s beard, what a mess this is, she cringed as she opened the door into the kitchen. The kitchen wasn’t a mess, of course; Hermione was much too organized, tidy and meticulous to let that happen, even with Harry sharing the house. The mess was... wait, the house was a mess. Well, at least he’s home. But what in blazes is going on?

A black windbreaker lay askew over a wingback chair in the lounge. An emerald green polo shirt (the one she always told him brought out his eyes so well) dangled from the newel post. A leather belt lay loosely coiled near the top of the stairs, and the crumpled pile further up the landing had to be Harry’s gray slacks.

A terrifying thought struck Hermione....He’s here with another woman.

Pausing, thinking hard. You silly prat, use your eyes, and your head. All the clothes were Harry’s. Not a stitch of clothing belonging to anyone else was in sight. Unless....the bitch, whoever she was, was doing the seducing, not him, and she’d kept him from ripping her clothes off until they got upstairs.... But then why would they be here, in my house? In our house? They would have gone to her place; why come here where I could find them? Bollocks! That son of a bitch! I’ll hex him from here back to that cupboard under the stairs. I’ll....I’ll...

"Hermione? Is that you, love?"

Harry’s voice brought Hermione back from the edge of the abyss of jealousy. It didn’t sound like the voice of a man who had "another woman" stashed somewhere in the house. In fact it sounded like the voice of a man who had nothing to be guilty about ... not unless lusting after his girlfriend qualified.

Snapping back to reality, she moved somewhat gingerly up the stairs, using a cleaning charm to straighten up the errant clothing into a neat pile on the top landing. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar, and through the crack she could see the warm glow of the vanilla candles she liked to light whenever they were about to make love....

She pushed the door open carefully. Harry was reclined on several pillows on their king-sized bed, naked to the waist, covered with only a sheet. He was still wearing his glasses, as though he’d just gotten into bed a few moments earlier and was waiting for her. He smiled as she moved tentatively into the room.

"I’m sorry!" they said simultaneously, then each gave a small, nervous laugh.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the hollow of Harry’s throat because she was afraid to look in those green eyes. "I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry we argued at supper. It was a stupid argument over nothing important and I’m sorry I ruined your birthday and—"

Harry raised two fingers to her lips and quieted her. "Shhhhh, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry for. I was a stupid prat tonight. Things have been tetchy at the Ministry lately, and I let my frustration with Percy Weasley spill over onto you. Please forgive me."

Hermione’s anxious face softened into a loving smile. "I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you’d gone." She bit her lip. "So...why were your clothes all over the place? I started thinking the worst..."

He took her hands in his. "Oh bollocks, I should never have just Disapparated like that. When I Apparated back home, I realized what a git I’d been, how worried you must be, and I kind of tore my clothes off in disgust as I ran upstairs. Once I got up here, I thought maybe there might be something I could do... to make it up to you...."

His lips curled in a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile. He pulled her down on top of him and captured her lips with his, and through the thin sheet she could tell he was very glad to be holding her so close.

"Speaking of being glad to see you," she breathed into the crook of his neck, "I never got to give you your birthday present...."

A smile creased the corners of his eyes. "It just so happens I’ve got a present for you..."

He rolled her to one side and then flung the sheet off. Hermione gasped at the sight of her lover’s "attire." Harry was in his birthday suit, wearing nothing but a thin, crimson satin ribbon and a maraschino cherry.

"Nice package," she sighed, licking her lips. "Very nicely decorated too." Hermione recognized the ribbon as the one he’d given her for her fifteenth birthday. Oh honestly, she thought. Harry Potter, you are totally wicked!

"Thanks very much. I’m glad you like it," he returned with a straight face. "I spent quite awhile making an attractive bow and getting the cherry in just the right ...position."

Two could play at this game, Hermione thought. "How’d you get it so...big?"

"The cherry? Oh, just the Engorgement charm," Harry said in a matter-of-fact tone. "But you know, this present is for you. Don’t you want to...unwrap it?"

"Oh, may I please?" she returned, repressing both a large giggle and an even larger desire to retrieve the cherry with her tongue right that moment.

"No time like the present, I always say," he replied, licking his lips and enjoying the situation immensely. Whatever bad feelings had existed between them an hour ago were gone, and he’d spend the rest of the night making sure she forgot them. "You know, I never got to eat my pudding after supper. Did you get to eat your pudding?"

Hermione’s hand trailed slowly from his lips down the center of his body. "No, I didn’t. But I’d be happy to help with yours. Did you know that I love banana splits too?" She kissed him firmly where she knew he wouldn’t forget, then quickly pushed off the bed and headed out the door.

"Hey! HEY!" Harry groaned. "Where the hell are you going?"

Hermione paused. "Just to the kitchen. You know, it’s not really a banana split without whipped cream."

The End

A/N: Thanks to Raye Johnsen (Windtear) for the loan of the crimson silk ribbon. And thanks to Ebony (aka AngieJ) and Lissanne for their support and to both of them plus Lori Summers for the inspiration I’ve found in their H/Hr fics (not to mention they write the best sex scenes). The HMS Pumpkin Pie is a long-haul freighter J