A/N - Here it is, chapter four. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. BTW, you will see here that I have made it clear that this includes Half-Blood Prince. I should warn you though: as this is mostly PWP and silly, fluffy PWP at that, I will include details from Half-Blood Prince, I will take liberty with them as I see fit. So if you're a strict constructionist and plan on flaming me for wiggling around with the details, don't bother. I know that not all of them are strictly accurate and I don't care. Take it in the fun spirit it's meant. Thanks and enjoy!
~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~
Chapter Four - The Question Warrants Further Study
Hermione was inattentive to say the least in her Potions class that morning. Her head had been buzzing with questions and confusion since Saturday when Harry had said he had lots to ask. Her nerves jangled as she distractedly chopped roots for her Sleeping Draught potion.
What questions could Harry have to ask her of all people? Would she be able to answer them? What if she didn't know the answer; would he ask for another partner? What could he possibly have to ask her that he couldn't ask the whole group? Honestly, it stood to reason, didn't it, that if he was going to ask someone a question regarding being a girl, shouldn't he ask someone he actually considers a girl? And he certainly didn't look at her as if she had any distinctly female parts when-
"Hermione, if you don't mind what you're doing, you're going to leave a gouge that can't be patched," Harry said, jerking Hermione out of her train of thought that had currently resembled a bullet liner.
Her head popped up as she regarded Harry - his face thick with a smirk - and then she looked back to her chopping. She had, in her distraction, allowed her knife to drift away from the roots she'd been dicing and was now scoring the desktop beneath her right hand in swift, jagged strokes. Hermione gasped in surprise, reddening in the cheeks as she received a pointed glance from Slughorn, who would unknowingly make a fool of her if he found her doing something this ridiculous. Hermione chided herself as she tried to repair the damage to her roots and surreptitiously repair the table with her wand. She'd have to be a little more composed if she was going to make it through today and tomorrow's lessons before her meeting with Harry tomorrow night, post-Quidditch. She was mentally ticking off a few questions to write down for tomorrow when she felt a tap on her shoulder and she squealed in surprise.
"Potter," Pansy Parkinson jeered from across the room, "can't you refrain from goosing your Mudblood pet during lessons? It's distracting to those of us who are actually studious workers."
Harry glowered in response and opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione grabbed his arm in warning. He grumbled a bit instead and went back to his potion, whose light green surface was gently sparkling.
"You're awfully jumpy today," he said as he counted the strokes of his wooden stirring spoon. "Nervous?"
Hermione's throat tightened in panic at the idea that he could so easily guess her distraction. But then she noticed he was glaring at Pansy. "What her?" she responded as easily as she could. "That little cow is just looking for any reason to restore her boyfriend's name by sullying yours. No worries; I could brew this potion in my sleep."
"Which is good, considering the amount of attention you've been giving it," Harry said with a smirk, earning him a playful slap on the arm.
"You're really enjoying being a better student than me without the Half-Blood Prince fiasco, aren't you?" Hermione returned with a mischievous grin.
"You know it," Harry replied. "I hate to sound like a traitor, but it's much easier doing the tough ones without Ron here."
Hermione scowled, her hands instinctively flying to her hips. "I told him that if he'd just apply himself, he could've past that final exam last year with flying colors! If he put half as much time and effort into his studies as he does into Quidditch practice and strategy, he could have done so much better. Honestly, I don't understand how anyone who can understand flight patterns and such could be so awful at-"
Harry dropped his wooden spoon and threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Peace, General Granger, peace!" Harry smiled. "Hermione, when are you going to let that tirade go? Those tests were six months ago, and who knew Slughorn would be so tough about letting people continue in N.E.W.T.'s classes?"
Hermione muttered to herself as she turned back to her potion, complaining that it wasn't shimmering the way that the textbook had said it should be doing at this stage.
"I wasn't talking about Pansy, though," Harry said as he tossed in the last potion ingredient. Hermione looked at him; he seemed to be trying to be casual, but was failing; his face was reddening just a bit and his hands faltered. "I was wondering if you were nervous about tomorrow night."
Hermione concentrated hard on the spoon she was stirring with and forced cheerfulness into her voice. "No, of course not," she said brightly. Harry nodded.
"Okay, a little," she conceded after a moment.
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Me, too."
"Silly really," Hermione said, as much to herself as to him. Her hands worked themselves into a steady rhythm as she stirred and counted.
"I mean, it's not as if it's some stranger," she said, her voice gaining confidence. Harry just nodded. "And it's only questions and all."
Another nod.
There was some silence between them as they worked on their potions. Harry cleared his throat a few times, but smiled over at her as she began mumbling about shimmer again. Harry laughed outright as she scowled into the cauldron.
"Come on, blast you," she muttered. "Shimmer! It's not that hard!"
Hermione looked back up at Harry as he chuckled. He picked up a flagon from his desk and carefully ladled a dollop of the potion into the bottle. Muttering a quick charm as he stoppered it, the panel on the front emblazoned itself with his name. He had become much more composed these days; serious and studious, Harry had grown up. She blushed as she wondered just what else growing up had done for Harry.
"Look there, you've got it after all!" Harry said, pleased and pointing to her potion. Over the lip of the cauldron, Hermione could see a delicate glittering steam rising.
"Shimmer," Hermione said with a grin.
"See, you're just a late bloomer," Harry responded and wandered off towards the front of the class with his beaker.
Hermione frowned in spite of herself as she too stoppered a beaker of potion and neatly penned her name on the front in crisp, careful letters. First her mother and now Harry with that phrase.
"Late bloomer," she muttered in frustration. Oh, we'll just see who's a late bloomer, Hermione thought, and a delicate, just slightly wicked plan wound its way into her mind. Hermione Granger was determined to be a late bloomer no more. If only she could pull it off …
*****
"Blast!" Hermione muttered as her quill dribbled ink all over her lips and chin. She'd been nibbling on the nib of her quill as her hand dangled over top of the parchment she was pretending contained her Arithmancy essay; apparently her mind had wandered far enough from the essay she was supposedly writing that she began to chew on the quill in full force, the result being the ink that smeared her chin when the tip splintered beneath her teeth. She swiped the back of her hand across her chin without thinking and then swore in frustration when she realized that this had only served to smear the ink from its channel down the side of her lip and jaw into a veritable river that now covered both her lips and the far side of her face. Hermione scowled and dropped her head into her outstretched hands. And then shrieked in anger when she realized the ink had been transferred, now, from her hands to splotches across her forehead.
Ron guffawed loudly as she crumpled the paper in front of her, broke her quill and threw it into the fire in an angry fit. His laughing stopped abruptly, however, when she reached across the table and used his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework to blot the stains off of her forehead. He snatched it back quickly and started to smirk again as she gathered up a section of her robes to remove the marks from her chin.
"Bad day?" he asked with a smirk.
"Shut it," she snapped, but couldn't help the smile that melted across her face as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her.
"Didn't realize you were getting so worked up over that Arithmancy job," he said. "Let it go and do something else for a bit, eh? That'll help."
Hermione's pride twitched at being told study tips from one Ronald Weasley and she couldn't help her hackles rising again. "Oh and you're such an expert. Tell me again why you're not out practicing Quidditch with Harry and Ginny? Don't think you're up to it tonight, do they?"
For a moment anger flitted across his face, but then he resettled in his chair. "In a lovely mood, aren't you?" he replied. "No, they're just training up the new Chasers and doing some maneuvers. It's not a full practice, just a brush up. They said having a keeper out there would be a waste."
"Hmm," Hermione answered. She knew she shouldn't be picking at him, it wasn't his fault she was jumpy. But she just couldn't settle on anything, especially not homework. Of course, she wasn't actually doing homework; not that Ron knew that. She was jotting down a few questions, tips, and ideas to bring up tonight in her meeting with Harry. But if she didn't get through the next half-hour until he was done on the pitch, it wouldn't matter.
After a few moments of silence in which Hermione jotted down a few more questions for Harry, Ron finally lifted his head from his homework and stared at her.
"What?"
"What's really bothering you, Hermione?" Ron asked.
When she raised her head, Hermione looked back into Ron's hazel eyes and was surprised at the amount of concern there. She wasn't certain how to word the situation to him without his getting upset, so she merely opened her mouth to rebut.
"And don't say, 'nothing,'" he said before she could speak. "I can see it; you're practically twitching with nervousness."
Hermione chewed on the bottom of her lip for a moment before looking Ron in the eye. "You promise you won't be … you?"
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that last part and say that I promise not to be upset."
Hermione smiled a bit. "I'm meeting with Harry tonight. For the group thing."
A flash of his typical stormy anger crossed his face for a moment but he composed himself. "Oh." He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. "Well, yeah, I could see how that would make you nervous."
"Ron, I-"
"It's all right, Hermione," he said, holding up a hand. "I'm not angry any more."
She paused a moment to make sure she'd heard correctly. "Are you sure?"
"Well, not entirely, but I can understand why you didn't partner with me."
"Really?" Hermione asked, astonished. She wasn't 100% certain she understood herself; sure, the reason she gave Ginny was viable, she just wasn't certain that was the whole reason.
"Yeah," Ron said, "I do understand. It's … okay." He still looked troubled for a moment, but then grinned. "I suppose you'll have an easier time of it than I will with old Loony Lovegood."
Hermione smiled and opened her mouth to retort something in Luna's defense, but a loud commotion coming from the portrait hole cut off her response. Ginny and the two beaters trooped in, Ginny telling a spectacular story of a dive she had made during a previous practice, complete with sound effects and wild hand gestures. Behind them, Harry followed, quiet but with an amused smile on his face, carrying his broomstick and a sodden towel. Large splotches of gritty mud covered all four of them and all appeared soaked to the skin.
"Rough practice?" Ron called out to the group.
Harry smiled and made a 'so-so' hand gesture. "The pitch was soaked from the rain and Jack," Harry cast a dark look in the direction of the younger player, "slipped off his broom half-way through a maneuver. It's a bit more difficult to catch falling people than a Snitch. Quaffle got covered in mud, so we got covered in mud and then Ginny-" Harry stopped in the middle of his sentence and cast an eye between Hermione and Ron. "Eh, I'll tell you about it all later. Wretched mess."
Harry started up the stairs, pulling his Quidditch robes and sweater over his head as he went. He stopped at the top of the staircase and leaned over the rail, bare-chested, to call down to Hermione. "I'm going to hit the bathroom and clean up a bit. Meet you in the Room of Requirement in about an hour, all right?"
Hermione nodded mutely as Harry drifted away into his room and then returned in his dressing gown, a towel and change of clothes in his hands. She barely noticed that he waved to her on his way out. Something stuck in her windpipe as she tried to resume normal activity. Her whole throat had closed off as she had watched Harry hang over the balcony without a shirt on. She wasn't sure exactly what, but something flip-flopped wildly in her stomach as she packed up her belongings and got ready to meet Harry in the Room of Requirement. She wasn't sure she could go ahead with her plan any longer.
On a dim level, she knew she could back out of it and he'd be none the wiser, but she couldn't decide whether seeing Harry half-naked made her want to back out of the plan, or proceed more forcefully than she had before. With reddened cheeks and a racing heart, Hermione strode out of Gryffindor Tower and out towards the Room of Requirement.
*****
Hermione looked around in nervous surprise at the room that had materialized before her. She had expected the return of the meeting room that they had used for their group discussions the first two times, but, while there were distinct similarities between the two, it seemed that she had walked into a completely different room. Which, in essence, she had. And she couldn't put her finger on why it surprised and unsettled her so much, but she couldn't seem to stop fidgeting as she walked the space.
It was much smaller, of course, but the room felt more expansive and accommodating than it actually was. The bay window appeared at the back of the room again, with a similar selection of books, although the curtain surrounding the window now appeared in front of the panes of glass - presumably to shut out possible in-lookers - instead of in front of the seat itself. A large fireplace covered almost the entirety of the right-hand wall of the room, heating the space nicely without being overpowering. A collection of antique bottles, whose contents Hermione could only guess at, covered the mantle of the fireplace. Hermione turned to walk the other side of the room.
She dropped her bag into one of the sturdy wooden chairs that flanked a carved tea table just large enough for the two of them. On top of the table were a set of dual silver inkwells, some blank parchment and, to Hermione's surprise, a calendar chart reading "Week One" with space to fill in "Day's activities." Unnerved that the room seemed already to be preparing for her ideas regardless of whether Harry went along with it or not, she continued moving about the room. Once she circled away from the table that had been set closer to the door on the left-hand side, Hermione discovered a cozy little alcove she had skipped over before. On the thick red wallpaper behind the table was a set of clothes hooks, presumably for cloaks that they might be wearing, but, oddly, beneath them were a series of shelves, most of which were empty. They looked similar to the shelves in her closet at home that she placed her sweaters on. The bottom two shelves boasted of a set of soft blue flannel sheets and a thick chenille blanket. Hermione smiled. Certainly, the room would get drafty if there was a big window at the back, and it was very considerate that blankets had already been laid out. Certainly, they wouldn't be sitting at the table all the time.
With a grin on her face, Hermione moved to the last corner of the room she had yet to explore. Just behind the shelves on the wall, a thick velvet curtain jutted out, partitioning the last part of the room off from what seemed to be the more formal portion. When Hermione pulled back the curtain, she felt her heart begin to race again. She couldn't be quite certain why, but the sight of the large, plush couch made her jumpy. It had been angled towards the center of the room, presumably to catch more warmth from the fire. The thick cushioned back seemed to turn from fuchsia to crimson to purple and back again in the flickering light from the fire, and, for reasons Hermione felt somewhat unsure of, she felt the need to light the sconces around the room and dispel some of the atmosphere of … whatever it was that this room was creating. She pulled the curtain back around the couch area and returned to pull the tea table towards the center of the room. For a moment, she simply just sat in her chosen chair at the table and stared at the dark mahogany top, wondering if she could actually go through with what she had planned.
*****
After a few minutes of complete silence, Hermione shook herself to sanity and then began carefully writing out a series of questions, issues and problems that she had hoped to discuss with Harry sometime over the next 9 weeks. She knew that many of them were complicated or delicate questions that they would have to work up to - to ask them now would only cause embarrassment, she was certain - but hopefully Harry would be more mature about this than most of the other boys, so she was reasonably certain that eventually her questions would get answered. And then maybe she wouldn't have to resort to that other plan.
Hermione looked down ruefully at her list and the manner in which it had been organized. Most of the questions were of a non-specific, general nature. She had reasoned that it would be best to ask questions that were more broadly based to avoid the possibility of embarrassment due to invasion of personal privacy. Being most pleased with her success on that front, Hermione folded her list and her hands atop it, waiting for Harry to arrive.
A few minutes later, the door to the Room of Requirement swung open to admit Harry. His hair still damp in places and his cheeks rosy from a warm shower, Harry moved easily across the room, scanning it as he went, and smiled to Hermione. After a precursory walk around the small space, Harry deposited his towel in one of the wooden shelves behind Hermione's chair and plunked down across from her, a small smile painting his face.
Hermione felt her cheeks warming to match his as she caught the scent of the spicy new bubble bath in the Prefects' bathroom and the lemony shampoo she often chose to use herself. Flustered by this new reaction to Harry - Hermione chalked it up to the knowledge of the topic at hand - it was a moment before she gained her tongue enough to talk.
"Well then," she said and cleared her throat, "I suppose we should get right to it, yeah? Are you … prepared?"
Harry shifted nervously but plunged a hand into the pocket of his bottle green dressing gown and produced a sheaf of parchment, covered with Harry's scrawling hand and splotched a bit with watermarks. "Revised a bit after thinking things over in the bath," Harry answered in response to her raised eyebrow.
For a minute or two, they both just stared at each other and then down at their lists in alternating stints. Finally, Harry mustered his courage and spoke. "Well, I … I guess the best place to begin would be to ask … well, how does a-a woman know that she's attracted to a fellow?"
Hermione looked away for a moment. "You mean physically attracted? How does she know?"
Harry nodded.
"Well, it's different for every lady but I …." She cleared her throat a bit and then steeled her courage. This question and answer nonsense had been her idea, after all, hadn't it? "I usually get little jumps and skips in here," she laid a hand over top of her heart, "and I feel all nervous and fluttery. And my cheeks usually get hot and I can't stop fidgeting or smiling, and sometimes I feel like I've just had a whole load of sugary candy and-" Hermione let her voice die off. She was very aware of the way Harry was looking at her. She knew her cheeks must be red enough for him to notice by now, and she hadn't stop fingering the quill she'd laid by the parchment. She tried to get a hold of herself. "Does that answer your question?"
"Well, erm, sort of." Harry smiled a bit. "Well, not really. I meant, how does a lady know that she's excited?"
When Hermione merely tilted her head to the side questioningly, Harry sighed. "It's a bit more obvious for us boys, you see …" He gestured vaguely over his lap and it was a moment before Hermione took his meaning.
"Oh," she said quietly, and then, "Oh! You mean, how do we know we're," Hermione forced the word out, "aroused?"
Harry blushed crimson, but nodded.
"Well, as I said, it's different for every lady, but …" Hermione floundered for a moment as she searched for a mature way to explain it without being mortified or getting the giggles.
"Do you remember the anatomy chart of the whole female body I made for the first class?" Without waiting for Harry's answer, she steamed on. "You see, when we start getting excited, our whole bodies heat up and we get kind of jittery and warm. And then, well, this usually happens when it's cold, but you see our, erm, nipples get sort of … hard, I suppose you could say, but not hard really in a sense of wood or metal obviously, but more in the sense of tightened flesh really, and then we get sort of tingly in the region of-"
Hermione realized with sudden clarity that she was babbling incessantly and Harry was so embarrassed that he had practically dropped his head to the table. "This isn't going to work at all, is it?" Hermione said suddenly.
Harry's head perked up and he returned her gaze alarmedly. Almost panicked. "What do you mean?"
Hermione sighed. "Well, I thought at first that we could just ask questions of a general nature and answer them as we know best without getting too specific. If we could avoid using personal anecdotes or examples, you see, we could avoid getting embarrassed."
Harry nodded and smiled weakly but said nothing.
"But I can see now that it isn't going to work."
Harry seemed startled and, given the amount he had been seemingly embarrassed, most unaccountably disappointed. "Well, we shouldn't just give up, should we? I mean, I still have a lot of things I wanted to ask and have answered and all and … well, I know it's embarrassing, but it's too important to let that get in the way isn't it? You said so yourself."
Hermione pondered this and rested her chin on her upturned hand, her elbow poised over top of her list of questions. "Oh, I'm not suggesting that we abandon the effort completely, I'm just saying that I don't think this question lark is going to work really. I hate to admit I'm wrong, but there it is."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She could tell that he was beginning to see her point, but completely baffled at whatever it was she might be suggesting to remedy the problem. Hermione sighed. She had circled back to her original plan - the one that she had secretly hoped she wouldn't have to use - and found that it was really the only thing that would answer their issues for all and good.
"What are you suggesting?" Harry asked slowly.
"Field research," Hermione said after a moment. "I think it's the only way to really set things straight. Find out for sure."
"What do you mean, 'field research'?"
Hermione leaned across the table and looked Harry straight in the eyes. "I think we're just going to have to get to the heart of sex by doing it all ourselves, Harry. Field research."
*****
Harry had merely sat across from Hermione, his mouth gaping open, as she scrawled down a precursory calendar. She was mumbling to herself, grimacing as she added things and scratched things out.
"Well, this is no good," she said after a few moments. "In order to get a really thorough look at everything, I'm going to have to go back through my textbooks, make a list of activities we should cover and then portion them out throughout the rest of the nine weeks. If we started each different category of action with one meeting early in the week - preferably Sundays, there's less to do - then we could call another meeting later in the week if we felt anything needed more explanation, and we could have a week to perfect each category-"
"Field research," Harry mumbled, as if he'd heard nothing else Hermione had said. Suddenly, Harry practically shouted at her. "Hermione, you can't be serious! You're not suggesting that I … that you.... You mean to say that you think we should do all those things? With each other?"
"Well, yes," she replied calmly. "An academic project, if you want to look at it that way. We'd be exploring the subject together because it is necessary to do so in pairs and reporting our findings together. It's really not all that different from Potions or Divination; you must do in order to learn!" She smiled at her own logic; it really did make the most sense.
"It's a lot different than Potions or Divination! You … I," Harry sputtered. "Don't you realize what you're suggesting? You're saying that we should … and we'd have to be … naked and all!"
Hermione raised her eyebrows and beamed at the fact that she no longer blushed. "Well, naturally; that's the only way to go about it properly."
"Hermione, you know that if your little 'project' goes off as necessary we'd actually have to," Harry paused to clear his throat, "have sex, you and I?"
Hermione drew a few even breaths. "I know it sounds like I'm asking a lot, but honestly, think about it as a sort of learning project. First of all, we approach this subject because we want to learn. Secondly," Harry tried to interrupt, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him and continued, "think about all the stories you've heard about people's first time with their fellow or their girlfriend. They're all wretched, aren't they? And all because people our age really don't know what they're going on about with their bits and their partner's bits and it's all just a great big old mess. Now, if you think of what we're endeavoring to do, we would be sacrificing our virginities to each other, true; but in the long run, it would be a sacrifice well spent. We learn to … work the bugs out, I guess you would say, with each other and then we each won't be a big, silly twit when we want to have a go with someone we really love and want to do it with. If you look at it that way, it really does make much more sense than trying to piece together information from questions we may or may not think to ask, doesn't it?"
Harry opened his mouth for a moment, but then shut it. Hermione lost her serenity for a moment as Harry's gaze swept over her - strangely probing and inscrutable - and she fell silent as he regarded the table top. Finally, when she was nearly certain he wouldn't speak again and nearly packed away her list, Harry nodded.
"I suppose you're right," he said. "It's just … weird."
"I know," Hermione said sympathetically, and patted Harry's hand. "But look at it this way:
it's just me. We've known each other for almost seven years now; if there's anyone I trust, it's you.
And I know you trust me. So we're both in good hands, really."
Harry nodded again silently, picking at a groove in the table and staring intently at his finger's work. Eventually
he raised his head and spoke quietly.
"Given the circumstances," he whispered, "I guess there's nobody better I could trust to do this with me."
Hermione smiled and laid her hand on top of his. Without looking directly into her eyes, he flipped his hand over to grip hers, palm to palm. Hermione felt curious warmth from the contact, but spoke nothing of it. She thought Harry's hand twitched just a bit in hers, so she decided to say something cheery.
"Well," she said with a grin in her voice that drew his eyes to her own, "we've got the first step down anyhow. Holding hands would be the first step."
Harry grinned at her and tightened his hand in hers. "I hope you know what you're getting the two of us into."
Hermione returned his squeeze and winked at him cheekily. "We'll find out, won't we?"