A/N : I have to give huge accolades and thanks to Mabel, who was my goddess of a beta. This is the second time she has betaed for me and she is awesome! Thank you so much, Mabel.
Also, this one shot is a collaboration with MrsHermionePotter, who gets total and complete credit for the events that transpire. So, between the two of us, we bring you….Trust.
Harry stepped into the bathroom at 12 Grimmauld Place and carefully laid his towel on the counter. The search for the horcruxes had taken their toll as he looked in the mirror and he noticed he had bags under his eyes. He chuckled to himself as he rid himself of his shirt and looked at his reflection. His mother's eyes. He'd been told about them over and over again and yet, he'd never get to see his mother. He sighed as he stripped down to his boxer shorts. All he wanted was a shower to rid him of the dirt and filth he felt overcame his entire body. Of course there had been no horcrux that night.
***********
Five hours earlier:
"Why did I think this was a good idea, Hermione?" pleaded Harry as he walked into the library of their latest destination. He was covered from head to toe in mud and sprigs from weeping willow trees.
"Honestly Harry," she turned toward him with a furrowed brow. "We need to know if it's here or not." Exasperation warred with relief as Hermione looked up from her attempts at prying open a box. 'What happened to you?' Her dark eyes widened as she took in his appearance.
Harry mumbled something unintelligible about crawling around cemeteries being a nasty bit of work, avoiding her eyes and further explanation.
Meanwhile, Ron stood over in the corner was muttering to himself as he flicked his wand around.
"Bloody hell Harry, I'm getting nothing over here."
It seemed like a good idea at the time, a horcrux buried in the depths of a mansion in New Orleans. Why wouldn't it be logical? After all, they'd found out that Rowena Ravenclaw had contacts in the United States and it was commonly known among Muggles that there was magic within that house. Voodoo....magic....something was within that mansion. That's what they all thought anyway.
Harry looked over at his two best friends and frowned. What if they were in danger? What if he had led them into another trap? Just like today's lead, it had seemed a good piece of information. Harry's stare drifted past Ron and to the stained glass windows, but the beautiful designs lit by a sinking sun were not what filled his vision...
The had met the private detective in a small flat. Muggle London. Ron had frowned mightily at this, as he did not share his father's fascination with the Muggle World. The detective's name was Watson, and whether it was a first or last name Harry neither knew or cared, he was just hoping the information was good. It had been too long since they'd had anything resembling success. That, alone, was what had him trying to ignore his unease and going along with Ron and Hermione to meet this person. They weren't there very long at all. The meeting was concluded in short order with Watson divulging a muggle pawnshop, The Philospher's Stone (how they all kept a straight face was something he never knew), was rumored to have the object they were looking for. Helga Hufflepuff's cup.
They'd had no trouble finding the place. None at all. And they'd decided on a plan. Ron and Hermione were posing as husband and wife out doing a bit of shopping. A bickering husband and wife, Harry thought, as he trailed behind them covered by the invisibility cloak, listening to them argue about who would do the talking and how they'd bring up the Hufflepuff cup. Harry just shook his head as Ron tactlessly reminded Hermione of what happened the last time she had tried to pull off a con like this in their sixth year at Borgin and Burke's. Hermione had her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at Ron as they opened the shop door to the tinkling sound of a bell, which Harry supposed announced the arrival of new customers to the clerk inside. But before anyone could say a word, they were suddenly surrounded by Death Eaters. Harry hastily cast a silent 'Protego' to shield them long enough to apparate out, but the death eaters had cast anti-apparition wards. The spellfire flew fast and furious, multi-coloured jets of light illuminating the room. They had to get out of there. Hermione fired off an "Impedimenta!" freezing two of the death eaters.
'Bloody hell.' breathed Ron as he turned suddenly barking out 'Stupefy!' dropping another masked man in black.
'We have to get out of here.' Harry muttered so only they could hear him. 'Be ready to MOVE.' Harry was a mere shadow in the strange light of dueling wands as he positioned himself, the cloak fluttering around him and exposing him in part as he moved. He waited for Ron and Hermione's twin nods of understanding as they continued to disarm and block the spells hammering at them furiously. 'Reducto!' Harry roared and the wall of the pawn shop exploded outward, rattling the interior of the store. 'Now!' Harry hissed, grabbing each by the arm and dragging them through the hole they'd created while Voldemort's followers scattered in the wake of the falling debris.
Once clear of the store, they'd all apparated to just outside 12 Grimmauld Place. As all three stumbled into the foyer, Harry tripped over that ugly umbrella stand, causing a chain reaction and all three landed in a heap at Remus Lupin's feet. A furious Remus Lupin...
"Good evening, you three," came the soft greeting from their former professor as his eyes narrowed on them. "Care to join me for dinner? Unfortunately, Nymphandora has just been called away."
Harry's stomach began to knot up at his soft words.
Remus' mouth smiled, but his eyes did not. "'You'll never believe what happened at a pawn shop in Muggle London today. A shop called, funnily enough, The Philosopher's Stone."
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances and then looked up at Lupin once more from their position on the floor.
Bloody hell, thought Harry. He knew there was going to be hell to pay from the Ministry, never mind what Tonks was going to do to them when she got back…
Harry shook himself out of the memory, violently brushing at the sprigs of Willow tree sticking to him. "Guys, I don't like this. Something just isn't right," he stated as he readjusted his glasses.
"Harry, you've been crawling around a cemetery that's centuries old. Of course that isn't going to feel right," suggested Ron as he turned away from the bookshelf in the mansion.
Hermione looked at him worriedly before throwing down the box she had been desperately trying to open and looked up at the clock.
"Harry's right, we haven't found anything in hours. We should go."
Whatever Ron and Harry might have said was lost as three arms reached for a tattered copy of The Great Gatsby and were transported back to 12 Grimmauld Place in a pile. Ron got up first and shook his head.
"Bloody hell, I'll never get used to that. Damn portkeys. I'm starving...you guys want anything?"
Harry and Hermione shook their heads.
"Go ahead mate, I think I need a shower more than anything," Harry said, looking off into the distance.
**************
And so it was that Harry was standing in his Gryffindor snitch patterned boxer shorts, pondering the stubble on his face. He hadn't really had to shave all that much before, but as he rubbed his hand over his chin; he realized that he'd have to shave tonight. Just another added bonus, he thought sardonically as he glanced around the bathroom, taking in its contents, trying to find a razorblade. Nope. He checked the cabinet behind the mirror. Still nothing. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived and who faced Voldemort and who couldn't keep a girlfriend to save his life was without a razor or shaving cream. Stupendous, he thought as he stripped himself of his boxers and stepped into the scalding shower, attempting to wipe the grime of the day's events off of him. He scrubbed his skin almost raw trying to get rid of the filth.
It's not everyday that one is traipsing about the dead.
That train of thought had his mind flashing back to the cave and the inferi. He shivered and tried to push the thoughts away, telling himself that it was only the water beginning to run cold as he turned off the taps. He rested his head against the shower wall as he struggled against the memories, his throat burning in that terrible way he hated. He heard soft footsteps in the hall, and was startled to remember that he wasn't alone. He hurriedly wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped from the warmth of the shower into the cooler air.
He swung his head around at her voice. Hermione.
"Harry, are you okay?" He could hear the worry in her tone. "Can I come in?'
"Err...yeah, I'm fine. Hang on a sec..."
His sentence trailed off as the door opened and she entered the steamy bathroom. He squinted as he tried to bring her blurry form into focus, but it was a lost cause without his glasses and was rendered moot when she launched her smaller form at him, gripping him tightly to her as he swallowed hard. He, for all intents and purposes, was covered but he was not at all used to having a female in his bathroom with him.
"Hermione...I...I'm okay it's just..." He couldn't even see, let alone think as she was wrapped around his chest and breathing against his neck. He wondered briefly about the way his stomach fluttered as her warm breath caressed his skin, but her next admission distracted him sufficiently to pause that train of thought.
"Harry, I was so scared out there." She pulled away for a second to gather her thoughts. "I was terrified...for you."
Harry gathered his senses enough to step back.
"You, were terrified for me?"
He didn't know why her voicing such a thing had surprised him. He was well aware that her fear for his safety had driven her to participate in some rather dangerous and harebrained plots in the last years. As he fumbled around to find his glasses, a memory of a nighttime flight on a hippogriff sprang to mind. She had clung to him as tightly then as she had moments ago and again, he wondered at the somersaults in his stomach. He frowned as he finally put his glasses on his face and discovered them to be completely fogged up. He promptly slapped them back down on the counter, muttering something unflattering beneath his breath.
Hermione smiled and reached up to grab his face.
"Of course I was. You were the one out there alone, crawling around in that muck ridden cemetery." She said it lightly but the words were serious. The unspoken fear of another trap hung between them and the easy smile faded and was replaced by a slight frown as her hand made contact with a couple of day's worth of stubble. "You need to shave." she said succinctly.
He looked down sheepishly, and blushed ten shades of red, as he was reminded that he had been standing in a relatively confined space with a woman and he was wearing nothing but a towel.
"I, uh, was going to shave after my shower but...thing is…" He looked up to see her grinning at him.
"Let me guess Harry, you don't have a razor?"
He could hear the smile in her voice. He wasn't sure why, but he was loathe to admit that he didn't have a razor and he needed his damn glasses, which was irritating. He felt around for them for the second time, hoping he'd be able to see out of them this time, though that still did nothing for the fact that he needed a razor. All of this only added to the agitation he felt at having Hermione standing casually talking to him while he was only covered by a bloody towel as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He jammed the glasses on his head at last and his vision cleared, though he wasn't sure that was such a good thing. He saw Hermione clearly, dressed in her own sleepwear, a pink camisole and boxer set, and she was smiling bemusedly at him. He couldn't help the thought that she looked adorable standing in his bathroom. Wait. When did he think it was his bathroom? When did he think she looked adorable? This was Sirius' house but it was his house now. Where the hell was Ron? So he did the logical thing in that uncomfortable situation and ran his right hand through his hair and looked down at the floor.
Hermione had watched all of this transpire with great interest; Harry seemed okay. He seemed normal and yet, there was something she couldn't put her finger on. Something seemed to be bothering him and now he was staring at the floor, his fingers pushing through the thick, wet hair in apparent frustration. All of this because he had no razor? She sighed.
"Oh, honestly, Harry. You're a wizard aren't you? Where's your wand?"
He glanced up at her again. "In my room."
She simply shook her head at him. "What would Moody say?" she teased him as she pulled out her own wand. "I think I can help you a bit."
Harry stood dumbfounded as Hermione waved her wand over the sink and there appeared shaving cream and a razor.
He stared at the objects on the sink, his eyes fixing on the blade. It was a straight razor. He couldn't possibly use that. He swallowed visibly.
"Hermione, I've never used one of those." His voice was slightly strangled as he thought of placing the shining silver blade against his own throat.
"Harry, do you trust me?" she asked.
"Honestly, Hermione, I'm the one standing here in a towel and you're the one with the razor. I'd be stupid not to say yes, but, of course, I trust you. I trust you more than anyone else I've ever known. I trust no one like I trust you, Hermione." When did that come out? He certainly didn't mean to say that out loud. But there it was. He waited for her to walk away, except she didn't.
Hermione blushed at his reference to his attire, or lack thereof, as she took him in from head to toe and the implications of standing within touching distance of a nearly naked man finally sank in. She felt a nervous sort of feeling beginning in her belly and she took a deep breath as his words about trusting her pushed past her physical reaction and made her heart leap with joy. A smile lit her face.
"Good," she replied as she looked at Harry and pushed up onto the sink, bare feet dangling. "So let's do something about this."
She reached up with both hands, her touch soft, almost a caress, as she assessed his chin. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensations of being touched by gentle hands and as her fingers trailed away, his eyes shot open. He could have sworn she made a sound. Merlin, he really should have put on some jeans, he thought, as she pulled him flush against the vanity where she was perched and he found himself standing between her parted legs.
He watched her curiously as she twisted from the waist to run warm water into the sink, causing her pajama top to expose a patch of skin. He wondered idly if it were as soft as her hands had been. She smiled up at him as she righted her posture and began lathering the shaving soap in her hands; hands that were now spreading the soap carefully along his face and neck; hands that were playing havoc with his senses at this point. Typical Hermione, determined to do the task properly and every touch was setting him on fire. Her face was mere inches from his own as he stifled a groan, watching a pink tongue peek out at him as she clamped it between her lips in concentration. He took a deep breath; her scent permeated his senses and he could almost taste her. His jaw clenched reflexively and he closed his eyes as he felt more than one base male instinct rising to the fore.
"Harry...HARRY?" His eyes shot open and focused on her face. Her expression seemed a mix of amusement and exasperation. Exactly how long had she been talking to him, he wondered.
"Yes?" he managed to get out. Concentrate, Potter, concentrate, he berated himself.
"Harry you need to pay attention so that I don't cut you." He looked into her eyes. She was so determined to do this right and yet there was something else there that he didn't quite understand. He had to remind himself to breathe normally as she braced herself against him, her feet resting on the backs of his thighs and one hand resting against the side of his neck, the other picking up the razor. She looked up into his eyes one last time before she started each stroke of the blade.
Slowly, and with infinite care, she pulled the blade across his skin over and over again. He watched her as she allowed her task to consume her, her brow furrowed in concentration. Oddly, he had no fear as he felt the blade scrape across his face and neck. He trusted her hand more than even his own. In fact, this was the most fun he'd ever had shaving. His lips quirked slightly as she stretched to reach his upper jaw and the camisole rose again, exposing her navel to him. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides as the desire to touch the smooth, flat surface of her stomach became a near tangible thing.
The sound of her laying the razor down on the sink diverted his attention and his eyes focused on her intently as she dampened a washcloth with warm water and reached up, yet again, to wipe the remnants of the soap from his skin. He could feel water droplets making their way down his neck and chest.
As Hermione washed the soap from his face, she found herself transfixed by the rivulets of excess water making their way down Harry's neck and chest; a very bare chest, she noted with a sharp intake of breath. She locked eyes with Harry, startled by the intensity of his watchful gaze. She hurriedly broke eye contact and picked up a towel and began patting his skin along his face dry. She smiled up at him, about to announce that her work was done, but his gaze left her mouth dry and anything she was going to say left her head.
"You missed a spot," Harry rasped out at her, and covering her hands with his own, moved the towel to dry his chest.
Hermione stared as their joined hands dried the moisture from his skin and she felt her cheeks growing pink. She drew her hands away and laid the towel flat on the sink and almost desperately searched for something to say as their eyes locked again. His bright green gaze seemed to look right through her and she adopted a brisk tone and said the first thing that entered her mind.
"Well, let's see then."
Harry's dark brows rose and he leaned down in acquiescence as she indicated his newly shaven face. She put her hands on either side of his face, rubbing the now smooth skin and curled her fingers slightly as she allowed them to run along his jaw line and trail down his neck.
"This is much better Harry." There was a breathless smile in her voice.
Harry felt like he was in a dream state as Hermione's thighs rested against his own, and her bare feet rested on the backs of his legs just above his knees. Her hands then began drifting softly over his skin all while he was in a towel and she had just spent the last twenty minutes shaving his face. He barely comprehended that she was talking to him.
Hermione would never know what prompted her next words, let alone the action that followed. She certainly did not think about it beforehand, she simply heard her own voice saying,
"Well, there's only one way to be sure we've gotten it right." And she reached up and pulled his face to hers, rubbing her cheek softly against his, encountering only smooth skin. Then she turned and placed her mouth against his jaw line, leaving a trail of feather light kisses. She was breathing in the scent of the shaving soap and she pulled back, saying, "Oh, yes. That's just perfect, Harry."
"Thank you Hermione", he gasped out, his mind reeling at the onslaught her mouth grazing his skin had brought.
"It was my pleasure, Harry. Anytime." She smiled up at him as she slipped from the sink to land lightly on her feet, her body brushing his as she did so. Harry's hands reached up to cup her shoulders, automatically steadying her, as he took a step back. Their gazes locked once more and pink graced two sets of cheeks.
"G'night."
"Night, Hermione," he replied softly, his gaze speculative as she exited the bathroom. He couldn't help the small smile that had his lips lifting at the corners as he laid a hand against his smooth jaw.
*******************