Melted

Melted

By GracieInGreek

Hermione smiled, watching Harry fiddle around with the old brass door handle.

Lips pursed and eyes frustrated, Harry was trying to fit a number of keys on a large silver key ring, one after the other, into the mouth of the old-fashioned keyhole in the surprisingly sturdy front door.

They were outside their current hideout---ahem, that is, residence. Hermione's arms were full of brown paper bags of groceries, her hip resting against the archway of the stoop they were both currently standing on; her brown curls were up and loosely covered under a rather floppy hat, brown eyes half-hidden by sunglasses perched down the length of her nose.

They were still on their quest, Ron, Harry and herself. But, unfortunately, as discreet as they ever tried to be in wherever they would currently be living, Harry was completely insistent that they change locations as often as possible. Being in one place too long tended to make him anxious and antsy these days, and, as rational as Hermione tried to be, Harry's skittishness tended to rub off on her and Ron, making them both nervous enough to follow him without much protest.

This, eventually, had led them out of Godric's Hollow, and right back in some months later--in an entirely new and inconspicuous building, of course. Harry, predictably, had been very resistant on coming back to live in the same place twice, but with some levelheaded prodding from Hermione--slightly helped by Ron's insistence that it wouldn't hurt them at all to go back living in a place where he wouldn't get lost every five minutes--they were able to convince Harry that no one would expect them to backtrack into the same city.

Harry had said that the thought had been very Mad-Eye of her. Hermione had smirked. Ron had been relieved that he could go down to the corner pub and not have to call either Harry or Hermione to come and lead him back home.

It was a boarding house, on a rather residential but usually calm side of the town. (Harry actually liked the fact that it was rather residential. It made the chance of someone from the wizarding-world looking for them there slimmer.)

The woman who'd been running it had met with them thinking that each would want to rent a separate room. Imagine her surprise upon finding out that Harry had intended the whole building for just the three of them. Hermione had understood why. It was big and roomy, lots of individual space for each of them as well as a good amount work-and-study space. Perhaps a few studies, an intercom system, or even a library. Hermione knew Harry'd thought she'd like that. Plus, several rooms had fireplaces. That would be convenient.

The woman had been vocal and sure about the fact that three kids their age couldn't afford to rent a house that size. ...Harry, though politely, had smirked.

A few dozen--or hundred, maybe--charms, spells, and enchantments later, there they were. They'd actually managed to stay there over a month, both Hermione and Ron convincing and re-convincing Harry of its safety every week or so...and Harry still couldn't figure out which bloody key went in which bleeding lock. Hermione hid her smirk behind the loaf of pumpernickel peaking out of one of the brown paper bags in her arms.

"Ugh!" Harry said, showing his frustrations by finally just thrusting his shoulder against the high wooden door. Rubbing his arm a moment later, he glared at the lock. "That's it. None of them work. Someone's been tampering with this lock--they could be in there now--we have to find somewhere else, Hermione, nip over to the Burrow and tell Ron to cut his trip short so we can get moving--"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Harry," Hermione giggled, amused, as she thrust one of the bags at him. She shook out her tired arm. "Considering this is the sixtieth time you haven't been able to find the correct key for the correct lock--which, by the way, works out to twice every day for the last month--and considering that none of those times have resulted in some sort of Dark-Wizard infiltration, I think it's safe to conclude that the door has simply whooped your arse. ...Again."

"Oh, ha-ha," drawled Harry, shaking his long bangs out of his eyes. He'd managed to color that famous-black hair once they'd started on their mission. It went -back- to black within a day, but still. Harry was adamant.

"Why don't you get it open, then, Miss Smarty-Pants?"

"Hey, hey, now, Mr. Safety Man. It was your idea to make the whole place impenetrable to magical entry, remember? And besides, what would our lovely Muggle neighbors think if I just bombarda'd down the door?" Hermione was still amused. They had been at this for a rather long time, but, after living with Harry and Ron, Hermione's patients had grown wonders.

And it was very funny to Hermione that Harry had grown into one of the most powerful and infamous Wizards in the magical world today, and yet still had trouble with something as mundane as opening the front door after shopping.

Hermione physically broke down laughing when Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

"And you know what just may help?" she said.

"What, may I ask, would that be?"

"Put your glasses on, you silly twit."

Harry blinked at her giggling face, a curl or two escaping from under her hat as she shook her head.

"...Oh." Harry took his round-rimmed glasses from out of his pocket with his free hand, slipping them on his nose. Whenever they left the house, he insisted on taking them off. He bumped into every other person and a decent number of street lamps even as Hermione guided him by the arm, but he insisted it was all for the best. After being out for a while, actually, he sometimes forgot that he wasn't usually blind as a bat.

"You could have reminded me of that ten minutes ago, you know."

"It's less funny that way."

"Oh, ha-ha."

"Just open the door, Harry. The ice-cream is melting."

He stuck his tongue out at her smirking face again, and turned to peer down at the key ring in his hands, trying to force another key back into the lock.

Clink, clink. Grunt, grunt. ..Argh.

"...Oh, just come over here and do it for me, will you?"

Hermione gave a very theatrical and bored sigh, pretending to be annoyed as she thrust the other grocery bags into his arms and plucked the keys from his fingers.

She rifled through them for a second, and soon the door pushed open with ease. Harry raised his eyebrows, just as he had done on many occasions before.

"...Don't smirk at me, Hermione, I would have gotten it eventualeemmph..."

Hermione, intent on stopping him mid-grump, had pushed his shoulder until he was pressed up against the open door panel. Leaning over the bags of pumpernickel bread and tea to push her lips against his, their glasses and noses bumped together and the leaves of some cabbage got stuck between their faces. Harry half-fumbled with one of the bags when Hermione slipped a few of her warm fingers up under his jumper; mouth still against his, she laughed. Hermione had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him and cracked some of the eggs when she'd teetered and accidentally leaned into one of his full arms. Finally, looking dazed and no longer frustrated, Harry tried to say something.

"Mmf...Hermione?"

"Mmm?" she responded, reaching up to wipe their very foggy glasses; there mouths were hardly separated.

"...I think the ice-cream's melted."

Hermione smirked.

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