Non Sequitur

There were a number of things that Harry Potter disliked in the world. Daytime television, mushrooms on pizza, black coffee, and Dark Lords were some of them. But, he decided after another long-suffering sigh, glaring balefully at the never-diminishing pile of parchment in his in-tray, bureaucracy was the one thing he hated the most.

Sign, countersign, approve, reject. Stamp and move on.

Honestly, if he had been told during training that the life of an Auror was so glamorous and exciting, he’d hardly have believed it. With a barely-suppressed grunt of indignation, he blinked several times as another few errant memos collided lightly with the side of his head, dropping to the surface of his desk before unfurling themselves.

Requisition order #1049568

FAO: Auror Wandsergeant Potter (he grimaced)

Following on from our previously adjusted memorandum detailing…

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses pushed up onto his forehead as he closed his eyes in frustration. One more week, he told himself. One more week and I’ll be back in First Element.

First Element was the name given to his, for lack of a better term, unit in the Auror Corps. Every newly inducted Auror Wandsman was assigned according to his/her specialisation during training into one of several “Elements” that comprised the Combat and Protection section of the service. Since he’d scored top marks in Observation and Engagement (thanks in no small part to his excessive level of prior experience, dealing with Voldemort and his Death Eaters), he was sorted into a recently vacated post in First. He’d never asked why it had been vacated, nor did he particularly want to know. However, last month the training rota for the Elements had been changed, with Sixth moving to active duty and First being placed back into Instruction. With both of his unit’s Hit Wizards teaching Apprentices, he’d found himself at somewhat of a loose end (or drawn the short straw, depending on how you chose to look at it) and had been assigned to Admin for the duration of the training period.

“I don’t believe it.” A voice came from above him, and Harry’s head snapped up to glare at whoever had dared disturb his wallowing. “Auror Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Vigilante Extraordinaire.” The newcomer lifted a memo, holding it up to the light as if to inspect it for hidden qualities. “Defeated by parchment.” Harry grinned, before snatching the message out of his best friend’s hand.

“Sod off, Weasley. Not all of us can be as big and brave as you are.” He looked around wide-eyed, scrabbling under papers and cups as if looking for something. “Where did I put that damn tarantula?”

“Har freaking har.” Ron smirked, sitting half-on, half-off the edge of Harry’s desk. “Careful, or I’ll get your girlfriend to bust you for insubordination.”

“She’s not my bloody girlfriend.” Harry muttered under his breath, launching a quill half-heartedly at the tall redhead, who snatched it out of the air deftly before placing it back in his desk tidy in one, smooth motion. “She’s my flatmate.”

“Harry, how many blokes do you know who live with another girl for years, and aren’t sleeping with or haven’t already slept with them?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement as his friend coloured slightly, before his sensibilities got the better of him and he started glaring.

“You know how it is between me and Hermione, and you’d better not be implying what I think you are about her.” Ron just chuckled, causing the other man’s eyes to narrow even further.

“Easy, tiger.” He smiled, picking up a paperweight and tossing it idly between his hands. “I just don’t get this whole,” he paused, as if thinking of the words “platonic, inter-gender relationship thing you two have.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry began, taking the paperweight off of him, “Stop that, it’s annoying.” He stood, picking his travelling cloak off of the coat stand next to his desk. “Not all of us think with our…” He trailed off, looking the man up and down appraisingly, staring pointedly at his midsection, “…wands.”

“Hmm,” Ron grumbled, “And some of us practice elementary wand safety a little too much.” He glanced down at Harry’s still-covered desk, the various unread memoranda now flapping about desperately, straining to grab their recipient’s attention. “Aren’t you gonna get them?” He asked nonchalantly as Harry fastened the shoulder clasp on his cloak, the ensign of the Most Ancient and Honourable House of Potter gleaming dully in the simulated sunlight from his window. It depicted two lions battling with each other against a backdrop of crossed wands, with the words “Spéiread ach Eanach” just visible in a curled scroll lining the bottom. It was one of the few family possessions that had still remained at the shell of Godric’s Hollow when he, Ron and Hermione had visited it briefly five years ago. He picked a speck of dirt off of it automatically, sighing slightly at the memory of that terrible year. It seemed so long ago, now…

“Oi!” Ron’s voice, and the slightly over-zealous slap on the back shrugged him out of his reverie.

“Oh…er…nah. It’s Friday, they’ll still be here on Monday.” He stuttered, waving his hand disinterestedly. Ron’s eyebrow arched again as the memos jumped off the table and fell neatly into a draw, which proceeded to close itself.

“One of these days,” He said slowly, regarding Harry’s almost unconscious wandless and nonverbal spellcasting. “You’ll have to show me how you do that.”

“Magic,” He murmured in reply as he picked the last of his items off of the desk, earning him an eye-roll from his friend. “Come on, let’s get Hermione and go down the pub. I fancy a bit of the Rover’s steak and kidney. “

“Hear hear,” Ron replied, as they both started walking swiftly towards the door, nodding as the next duty Sergeant took over. They moved to one side as a group of tired-looking Apprentices filed through the entrance. Harry smirked, winking at the Hit Wizard who led them through.

“Pietersen,” He said in greeting, stopping Ron for a moment. “How’ve they been?”

“Useless,” He barked in a gruff, surly voice, turning his glare on the assembled group, who seemed to wither under his gaze. “I know a few Beauxbatons fourth years who can conjure a better Patronus than this lot.” The slight curve of a smile at the corner of the wizard’s mouth let the two men know he was only half-serious. “Go on Sarge, enjoy your weekend.” Harry inclined his head in response, and the two moved off again, through the doors of the Auror Department and out of the maze of cubicles, finding themselves in a marble-lined corridor. The afternoon sunlight highlighted the gold trim around the walls, giving the entire passageway an almost unearthly glow. Harry had been told that it made many people feel uneasy, but personally, he rather liked the almost mystical feel it gave to the building. Well, more mystical than it already was, of course, being the Ministry of Magic and all.

“She gonna be downstairs?” Ron asked, as they made their way over to the elevator. Harry shook his head, glancing briefly at the gold pocket watch he kept inside his robes, embossed with the Gryffindor crest. Another item retrieved from the Hollow that he’d decided to keep. He’d found out recently (or more accurately, Hermione had found out) through tracing his family line, that there was a relation to the House of Gryffindor that kept reoccurring throughout the centuries, so he felt justified in holding onto the pocket watch.

“Doubt it, she’s usually finished by now.” He replied, stepping to one side as the doors opened and a tall, pale looking man with a hooked nose and a battered bowler hat stepped out and walked past them, heading towards the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. “She’ll have closed up and gone home, I reckon.” Hermione worked as a liason between the MLE and the Department of Mysteries, a position that afforded her the chance to work forensics on a number of the more important field cases, as well as pursue her research interests in various fields. She wasn’t quite an Unspeakable, per se, but Harry and Ron both saw her as more that than a Detective. She outranked Harry anyway, as the equivalent of an officer, a detail in which Ron found endless amusement.

“Back to yours, then?” Ron asked as they stepped in, Harry stating their destination as the Entrance Lobby.

“Yeah, need anything from yours?” He asked, leaning back against the wall, and finally allowing the adrenaline from the promise of a Friday night out to flow through him.

“Nah.” He patted himself down. “Wand, check, wallet, check.”

“Ring?” Harry enquired, unconsciously feeling his hand to check his was indeed still there. After the defeat of Voldemort at the hands of Harry and Ron, and the ensuing backlash from the remaining Death Eaters, Hermione had charmed their respective homes to allow only a specific signature to Apparate directly in, keying it into three silver rings which they all wore. She said she got the idea from some cartoon she used to watch when she was a child.

“No, left it at home.” Ron replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” Harry mentioned with a sigh.

“Superciliousness doesn’t become you.” His friend retorted, smiling slightly.

“And eloquence, you.”

“Touché.” The doors of the elevator opened with an ominous sounding ‘thunk’, and the pair glanced at each other before stepping out hastily.

“Luna?” Harry replied, carrying on their previous checklist of things that they should probably remember. He smirked inwardly at this…who’d have thought Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood would ever make a good couple? A few months ago, Harry had called round his friend’s apartment to pick up some Quidditch gear he’d left after their last pick-up game, and accidentally picked-up a rather lacy, rather feminine piece of underwear. Along with a slight black eye when the shoe Ron had thrown at him from their rather compromising position on the kitchen table struck him in the face.

He’d made a point of knocking after that.

“Check, she’s meeting us later. She’s working on some project in, you know…downstairs…for another hour or so. I said I’d floo her when we decided where we’re going.”

“Ah,” Harry replied, as they stepped into one of the designated Apparition departure areas. Luna, unlike Hermione, was actually a fully-fledged Unspeakable. Aptly named as well, as Ron moaned after his many failed attempts to engage her in conversation about what in the hell they actually did down there. They’d been to the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year at Hogwarts, of course, but after that particular incursion security had been stepped up so tight that it was nearly impossible to even get on the same level without a signed note from Minister Kettlemore herself.

It didn’t break Harry’s heart. To be honest, after seeing the things he did in his line of work, he rather thought that if things were locked up tight it was generally for a good reason. That, and neither he nor Ron had any particular urge to come across those damn brains ever again. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed that the other man had already left, and returned.

“Hurry up Harry, come on!” Ron snapped irritably, before Disapparating with a cracking noise, not unlike a bullwhip. Harry took a last look around the entrance hall, before sighing contently at the prospect of two days of freedom before feeling the familiar squeezing sensation, the slight turn on the spot and momentary blindness as he literally bent through space and time.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“Hey Ron!” Hermione’s voice called from the lounge as Ron appeared in the kitchen, followed momentarily by her entrance. She was still wearing her light-blue robes that marked her as a member of the DMLE, obviously she hadn’t been home that long. She smiled warmly and hugged her friend before pulling a chair out from under the counter top and taking a seat, a steaming mug of tea clutched possessively between her hands.

“How d’you always know it’s me?” Ron asked, waving away her non-verbal offer of a cup. She grinned.

“Because, Ron, the way you charge through the universe as you Apparate, it’s a wonder you don’t punch a hole through reality.” She slapped his arm playfully. “Harry kind of just…slips through. He’s like a breeze to your hurricane…” She trailed, off, a faint smile alighting on her lips before she blinked, colouring slightly as she took her reading glasses off and placed them on the table before her. “What?” She asked, at Ron’s smug countenance, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

“Nothing,” He replied airily, eyebrows raised as if to say I-know-something-you-don’t-know. “Anyway, your…flatmate…seems to have got lost, I’ll go get him quickly.” He announced, standing up and smoothing his robes. He Disapparated, leaving a flustered Hermione in his wake.

What was that about?

Luckily, she didn’t have long to ponder the meaning of Ron’s cryptic and peculiar behaviour, before he reappeared back at her feet, the signature crack jolting Hermione out of her thoughts with a shock.

“Ron!” She snapped, about to berate him for his (lack of) Apparition etiquette when Harry appeared next to her with a soft pop.

“Honey, I’m home!” He announced in an unnecessarily exuberant voice, turning to find Hermione next to him. Without warning, he picked her up and twirled her about once, despite her soft yelp, before setting her back down. “Miss me?” he asked, grinning. She couldn’t help but smile back, her annoyance at Ron melting away as she winked.

“No. Miss me?” She replied, pulling him into a hug and standing on her toes to reach over his shoulders.

“Nope.” He replied, receiving a swat on the back as a result from Hermione. “Well, maybe a little.”

“You two are disgusting.” Ron observed with a flat, bored voice from the bread bin, having helped himself to a muffin. They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised before shrugging and stepping apart. Hermione strode hurriedly over to one of the units, pulling the door open and retrieving a plate that she promptly thrust under Ron’s crumbling muffin, before delivering him a sharp, chastising slap to the back of the head. Harry smiled, the three of them had been through Hell together, saved each others’ lives countless times, loved and lost and comforted through twelve years of friendship, but he could still count on Ron and Hermione’s bickering as a constant. Even if everything else changed around them.

“What’re you so happy about?” Ron asked apprehensively, causing Harry to notice the two of them looking at him with confused expressions.

“Nothing. Ready to go?” He asked Hermione, already knowing the answer before it came.

“Honestly, Harry. Do I look ready?” She shook her head, before leaving the room. He heard the soft click of a door, shortly before the sound of the shower started running. The two men looked at each other before simultaneously groaning. Having been inordinately bookish throughout her entire school career, Hermione had finally developed her girlish nature over the last few years. With a little help from Ginny and some of her workmates, she’d actually found something of a passion for things she’d previously dismissed as narcissistic and beneath her. The end result being, of course, that it took her hours to get ready to go anywhere.

“Set the chess board up, Ron.” Harry said resignedly, “I’ll go get changed.”

“Right you are.” The other man replied, as Harry crossed into the corridor. He reached out for the handle of his door, before pausing, and glancing at Hermione’s. In a couple of steps, he’d crossed over to it, before knocking audibly.

“Hermione?” He called, waiting for a response. After a couple of moments it opened, his housemate clutching several towels and shampoo bottles to her chest.

“Yep?” Harry smiled, feeling slightly more jovial at the sight of Hermione in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, clutching haircare products and towels like they were made of gold. It just seemed so…un-Hermione.

It seemed fairly cute, actually.

“Ten minutes, then we’re going.” He half-said, half-ordered, getting a slight kick out of seeing her eyes narrow.

“I’ll be ready when I’m ready, Harry James Potter. Now, to Ron with you!” She said sternly, ushering him out of the doorway with her free hand before exiting herself and making her way over to the bathroom opposite. “Twenty minutes, you go and get the drinks if I’m not done by then?” She proposed, grinning, for some reason, slightly shyly at him.

“Deal.” He replied, giving her a parting wink before she closed the door. He was about to set off, when he heard her again through the door.

“Harry?” The muffled sound of her voice came through, distorted by the wood of the door and the hiss of the shower, but audible.

“Yeah?” He replied, leaning back against the doorframe.

“If you get the chance, could you or Ron pick up some bread, we’re running low. Oh, and something for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re in?”

“Yeah, no problem. Have we paid the water yet?”

“No, we must do that on Monday.”

“I can charge it to my account now, if you like?”

“We have the Flat account for a reason, Harry. I’m not living out of your pocket.”

“Alright, alright. Just a suggestion.”

“We’ll do it Monday. How was work?”

“Boring. They’ve still got me pushing paper on the floor.”

“It’s only for another week though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Whether or not I…speed up that time…by eliminating every member of Sixth or not is another factor.”

“Harry…”

“I’m just kidding. How about you?”

“Oh, it’s going well. We’re working on the Avery/Nott case still. Any word from your office on the interrogation transcripts?”

“They’re still being reviewed by Third, and then Kingsley wants them duplicated and filed before he releases them to you.”

“Honestly, Harry. This could be rather important.”

“My hands are tied, sorry.”

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t get grumpy with you about it. It’s not your fault.”

“Say that again, I want to record it for posterity.”

“Don’t be tiresome, Harry.”

“Heh, sorry. So where do you want to go? The Rover seems like a popular choice.”

“Anywhere that isn’t full of people who’ll try to get our autographs, take our picture or kill us is fine by me. Oh, and somewhere with food, I skipped lunch today.”

“Hermione…”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll make it up by having a big dinner tonight. Happy?”

“No.”

“Tough, then.” Harry grinned, he could practically hear her smiling. Their banter died down as the shower stopped abruptly, the roar of the falling water turning into the mild drip of individual drops. Within a few minutes, the door opened again, and Hermione stepped through, this time with a towel wrapped around her head and looking slightly flushed. “Right,” she started, “just let me dry my hair, and I’ll be with you.” She stopped then, and glanced at him with a shrewd expression. “Honestly, Harry! Have you not even got dressed yet? I don’t want to be waiting around for you to get ready all night again.” She turned around, grinning as she did so. “Go, shoo, get changed!” Her door closed at that, leaving a still-smiling Harry to retreat to his room, before throwing on a pair of jeans and an old band t-shirt he’d bought at a gig a couple of years back in Cardiff. He was lacing up his trainers, when Ron walked in.

“Let me get this straight,” He said, leaning sideways against the open door. “You have a shared bank account?” His face was incredulous, his mouth hanging open in a “dear-god-who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-best-friend” sort of expression. Harry, for his part, merely shrugged in reply.

“We had a meeting…”

“You had a meeting?!”

“…and we decided by consensus…”

“There’s two of you!”

“…that it would be easier if we had a joint bank account for bills and stuff. Some of our pay goes into it every month and it pays for things like water, gas, Internet…”

“You talk to her in the shower?”

Harry replied with another shrug.

“You’re not that comfortable with the people you live with?” he asked, pulling his laces tightly on the other shoe before beginning to form a bow with them.

“I live with Neville.” Ron replied bluntly, folding his arms.

“Good point. What’s the problem?”

“The problem, Harry, is that you’re becoming domesticated. You’re not a bachelor, you’re a…a kept man! And you’re not even kept! She’s turned you into some sort of…responsible, respectable gent.”

“Ron,” Harry said, placing one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What in the name of Merlin are you going on about?” Ron’s faced soured slightly for a second, “Never mind,” he grumbled, stalking back towards the kitchen, muttering something about cows and milk. Harry followed him, scratching his head quizzically as he walked into the room, fetching himself a glass from the cabinet and running it under the tap.

“What’s your issue?” He asked.

“I don’t have one, mate.” Ron replied, shrugging his coat on. “You’re the one who’s got their eyes firmly closed.”

“Ron, what the hell are you chatting about?” He just smiled knowingly in response.

“Can’t tell you if you don’t know.” He replied. “Can I nick one of those?” He pointed towards a plate of biscuits on the side. Harry’s mouth opened and closed for a second in confusion.

“Er, yeah, knock yourself out.”

“Cheers.”

“Oh, don’t forget to floo Luna,” He said, thankful for the sudden dropping of the subject. Ron nodded, his mouth full of crumbs.

“I’ll go do it now.” He said between mouthfuls. “Can I use yours?”

“Yes, you do that.” Harry muttered distractedly, draining the rest of his water before rinsing his glass and leaving it to dry on the side. From the hallway, he heard the sound of Hermione’s door opening, and she appeared moments later. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail; he noticed that a few locks around the front had escaped the tie, and were framing her face quite pleasantly. Like Harry, she wore a pair of blue jeans, and a simple, form-fitting, button down shirt. Harry had the strangest urge to go up and put his arm around her as she flashed a grin at him, setting her bag down on the counter.

“You look nice,” He commented, earning a slight blush from her.

“You too,” She replied, checking her purse, and the thousands of other items she seemed to deem essential for going to the pub that floated around in her bag.

“Thanks,” He murmured, distractedly. Why in god’s name was he so fascinated with how that little curl fell just shy of her right eye, moving gently with the breeze from the window? She really does look nice, he decided, now he thought about it. I mean, the outfit wouldn’t be seen on a catwalk any time soon, but it just screams…her. The way she carries it, the light pastel tones of her shirt and the way it accentuates the slight highlights in her hair…

“Everything alright, Harry?” She asked, a trace of a smile forming around the corners of her mouth. With a start, he realised he’d been staring, gawking in fact! Gawking at his flat mate, and best friend of twelve years! He was sure he’d read somewhere that things like that sent you straight to hell.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. No problems. Where’s Ron got to?” He stammered slightly, inwardly wincing. He knew he was rambling, but for some reason he couldn’t stop his mouth moving. Hermione grinned to herself as she bent over her bag. “What?” Harry asked, noticing her smirk.

“You were looking at me.” She said simply.

“What? I was doing no such thing!” He replied defensively, getting up and leaning back on the sink top several times before he forced himself to stay still. Hermione’s grin widened, although she continued to rummage about in her bag.

“You were looking at me.” She repeated.

“Well, you look pretty.” Harry grumbled under his breath, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at an ant he’d just noticed on their floor.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, only suddenly she was now closer. Much, much closer actually. How did she get from over there to in front of him?

“Err…I um…” He stammered, noticing now just how brown her eyes were, how her scent reminded him of summer fruits, how the hug she’d given him earlier had felt.

“What?” She asked softly, cocking her head to one side with…something dancing behind her eyes. They weren’t twinkling with mirth as such…but they were just, alive with an energy of some kind. “What did you say?” She asked again, her voice even quieter this time as she brushed his messy hair gently out of his eyes.

“I um…I said you were…that you look…” He stumbled over his words, the light touch of her fingertips sending sensations shooting through his skin to impact with devastating force in his brain, making his knees weak with the tremors of each successive wave of sensation and reducing his mental capacity to that of a flobberworm.

“Hmm?” She half-said, half breathed as she continued to play with his hair, not really meeting his eyes as her hand began to slide slowly, inexorably down his cheek, following the line of his jaw.

“That you look…very pretty…Her-Hermione.” He finally managed to say, shocked at how difficult that had been. A small, satisfied smile crossed her face for just a second, her hand lingering by his chin, before she beamed fully at him.

“Thank you.” She said brightly, before nearly skipping back to her bag. Ron chose that point to walk into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in a very pale, slightly trembling Harry and a radiant, happy Hermione. His eyes tracked between the two with a furious speed, brow furrowing as he added the two pieces together.

“Shall we be off then?” Hermione chirped, as she passed Ron to get out into the hallway, shrugging a lightweight jacket on as she did so. “Come along, boys!” They waited until they heard the front door open before meeting each other’s gazes, Ron looking slightly concerned.

“You alright, mate?” He asked, reaching subconsciously for another biscuit.

“What,” Harry began after a moment, hand absently touching his chin where her fingertips had so recently been, “The bloody hell, was that?”

Author’s Note:

Hello again all, this is probably going to be a two-part piece. Nothing major’s going to happen in it, just a bit of fluff. Because, well, I needed cheering up today, and I felt like writing something like this :)

I have to confess a bad though, I lifted a line from Spaced, because I just thought it was superb. The line in question is:

“Easy, tiger.” He smiled, picking up a paperweight and tossing it idly between his hands. “I just don’t get this whole,” he paused, as if thinking of the words “inter-gender platonic relationship thing.”

It’s from an episode in the first season, and Tyres is the speaker, although I forget which episode specifically.

“Spéiread ach Eanach”, the Potter family motto, is supposed to read “Courage And Honour” in Gaelic, but I used a dodgy online translator, so it’s probably horrifically wrong. Oh well.

If anyone gets the song reference in this part, I hope it made you smile :D

So yeah, tell me if you liked it. I personally had a lot of fun writing it :) It was only supposed to be a brief one-shot at first, but I was having such a good time I thought I’d carry it on.

- Castledown.

Harry turned the collar of his long coat upwards as they left the warmth of the apartment building, looking as he fastened the last button to make sure that Ron had shut the door properly. It was a bright evening, the sun having slipped just that fraction lower to make it dusk rather than sunset. A slight chill permeated the Autumnal air, brown leaves skittering across the pavement with each slight breeze. He glanced over at Hermione, the stray locks of hair mesmerising him slightly as they blew across her face while she slipped both her hands into her jean pockets, her pale yellow jacket hugging her form as her cheeks began to colour slightly from the change of environment. She caught his gaze and gave him an ever-so-slight smile, one that barely turned up the corner of her mouth, but it was enough to send him blushing with the memory of whatever had just happened in the kitchen, and he looked to the side where Ron joined him.

“Cold, innit?” He asked, obviously mistaking Harry’s ruddy cheeks as an indication of the temperature. Hermione continued to smile that infuriating non-smile, knowing full well why his complexion was red.

“Er, yeah.” Harry replied, stuffing his hands inside his dark blue coat as Ron did the same with his brown leather bomber jacket. “Shall we?”

“Onwards and upwards.” Ron answered, moving to Hermione’s left as Harry took up position on her right. He almost didn’t notice as she linked her arm with his, the gesture was so practiced that it was more comforting than anything. For the first time in about twenty minutes, Harry felt at ease around his flatmate again as the trio crossed the road, pausing halfway for a Beetle to pass before continuing onwards.

“This is nice.” Hermione sighed, smiling warmly at her two best friends as another sharp breeze whipped through the street.

“The weather?” Ron replied, slightly incredulously. “It’s freezing.”

“No, you idiot.” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Us three, going out on a Friday night together.”

“Oh, yeah, s’alright I spose.” He answered nonchalantly, grinning as Hermione lightly swatted his arm.

“Don’t be mean.” She pouted, turning to Harry as her arm tightened around his. “He’s being mean!”

“Ron, stop being mean.” Harry stated casually. “Hermione, stop pouting.”

“I’ll pout if I want…” she replied mutinously under her breath. Harry just smiled. It was nice, actually. The air was crisp, it was light enough out to feel like the night hadn’t really begun yet, he was out with his favourite two people in the world, and best of all, he didn’t have work for two days. Life, it seemed, couldn’t really get better at the moment.

They rounded the corner on Grosvenor Court, turning into Walpole Road with a companionable chatter between them. Nothing was really being said, it was the kind of idle banter that only close friends can really share, carrying on a conversation of no substance without really trying, just content to hear each other’s voices and be in each other’s company.

“So what happened with the odd wheel then?”

“I don’t know. Andy from Broom Repair came down and took it away before we really found out why it wouldn’t spin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, kind of a shame really. We wanted to test it by putting the intern inside, then rolling it down Constitution View.”

“Oh Ronald, honestly…”

“Hey, we didn’t actually do it in the end!”

“I worry about you, you know.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron simply smirked, kicking a discarded Coke can playfully along the street in front of him. With a flick of his ankle, it skittered directly in the path of Harry, who lobbed it upwards and back to the redhead without breaking stride.

“Nice.” Ron remarked, controlling the can with his left foot before sending it careening in front of him again with a tap of his insole.

“I know.” Harry replied offhandedly. “Should have been a footballer. Dean always told me that.”

“Have you heard from him, recently?” Hermione asked, reaching up to tuck her hair back where it had blown into her eyes.

“Yeah, got an Owl from him the other day in the middle of an orientation talk.” He answered, grinning slightly. “Mad-Eye went…err…mad.”

Hermione and Ron just chuckled.

“What’s he doing with himself now then?” The redhead asked, finally walking past the battered can, leaving it to be pecked at by a pigeon on the kerbside.

“Bill’s old job, actually. He’s still in the Ghana, but he’s doing some sort of contracted curse-breaking for Gringotts.” Harry replied. “It’s funny, Dean was always one of those people I imagined returning to the Muggle world after Hogwarts.”

“Me too,” Hermione replied softly, a fond smile coming over her face. “I still remember the arguments about football and Quidditch.”

“Quidditch.” Ron replied automatically.

“Football.” Harry countered, just to be contrary.

“Boys!” Hermione said sharply, causing both of them to look meekly at their feet. Harry winked at his friend across the top of her head, both of them smirking and failing miserably to hide it. To her credit, Hermione simply clucked her tongue in disapproval. With a quick exhalation, she glanced upwards at the dark-blue front of the pub they were approaching, the words “The Wild Rover” etched in gold across the sapphire sign that hung lazily in the Autumn breeze, swaying from side to side laconically. “Here we are.”

Everything about the Rover seemed to scream comfort, at least from their chilly viewpoint. A warm yellow glow came through the old plate-glass windows, the flickering candles on each table adding to the light given off from the roaring fire that was just visible as they approached the door. The noise level rose appreciably, but not intrusively as Ron opened it, the three of them stepping in and immediately being engulfed by a wave of warmth. The dark oak panelling of the bar, and the squashy, comfortable looking crimson-cushioned seats lent an instant feeling of homeliness as they began to remove scarves, coats and jackets. Several people sat in the tall stools at the bar whilst various other groups of different sizes dotted the tables and booths around the small, intimate seated area as their eyes scanned automatically for a free seat.

“I’ll get these,” Hermione announced, pulling her purse out of her bag as she handed it to Ron. “Go grab us a table Ronald.”

“Yeah, I’ll help her with them. Want anything to eat?” Harry asked his friend, as he also handed over his coat.

“Ask a stupid question.” Ron replied, taking the garment off of Harry before flashing him a roguish grin. “In the corner.” He motioned with his head towards the small, two-seater sofas by a window looking out into the street, but far removed enough to not be distracting or directly in the line of sight of someone passing by. A long, thin wooden table stretched between them. Harry nodded in response, before joining Hermione at the bar, leaning one elbow on an old beer-towel that just about read “Stella Artois” in white and red.

“Alright ‘Arry, ‘Ermione?” A voice came from beside him as Harry glanced up.

“Hello John,” Hermione replied pleasantly, smiling at the landlord as he leant lightly on the Fullers pump, Harry nodding in greeting also. Ever since discovering the Rover after they’d moved into their flat four years ago, Harry and Hermione had been coming in once or twice every week, sometimes with each other, sometimes with friends. Neither of them would admit it, but the comfort level did have something to do with the eerie reminiscence that the pub had to the Gryffindor Common Room, even down to the uncannily similar heraldic shield perched atop the fireplace, a golden lion on top of a yellow and red device.

“What can I get fer yer?” He asked, his thick North London accent making his voice sound gruff and unfriendly, but they knew better. Several lock-ins had taught him that, underneath his tough exterior, John the Landlord was a bit of a teddy bear, really.

“I’ll have a dry white wine, please. Ron will have a…” She trailed off shrugging, looking at Harry.

“A pint of Bods, and a pint of Guinness please mate.” Harry replied, snapping back to reality after gazing around the bar, as he was wont to do. John nodded and set about pouring their drinks, and Hermione fiddled around in her purse for something.

“I thought you said you didn’t like starting the night on stout.” Hermione said offhandedly as they waited for the Guinness to settle.

“I feel like living dangerously.” Harry replied with a wink, turning round to place both his elbows on the bar next to her.

“Ooh,” Hermione mock-purred, sidling up next to him, “Do you now?” Harry laughed, before playfully shoving her.

“Get out of it, you.” He teased, wrapping his arm around her a second later. His other hand tucked the wild, free lock that had caused so much trouble this evening already behind her ear, feeling his smile turn into a self-satisfied smirk as she blushed.

Hah. Two can play at that, Miss Granger.

Vaguely, he wondered if this kind of casual flirting they’d been engaging in for the last couple of weeks, especially today, was something that friends did. But the louder, more sensible (in his view) voice telling him to carry on luckily drowned it out.

“Anything else?” John asked, placing the two pints on the counter before him.

“Yeah, you doing food yet?” Harry asked, picking up the drinks and taking a quick sip of his.

“Not really, but since it’s you lot.” John winked. “What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have the steak and kidney pie please mate, Hermione?”

“Erm, I’ll just have the same.” She replied, taking a sip from her wine glass also.

“Special for the lard arse in the corner?” John asked, scribbling their orders down on a notepad.

“He has been putting on weight, actually…” Hermione agreed softly, staring vaguely in the direction of Ron, who noticed and waved in response.

“Yeah, nice one.” Harry replied. “Something for Luna? When did Ron say she’d be here?”

“In a minute, actually.” Hermione thought. “And a Madras with chips.”

“Eighteen pound fifty please boss.” John asked, totting the orders up on the till, glancing at Harry for payment.

“I’m the boss, he’s the peon.” Hermione replied, earning her a narrowing of the eyes from her companion as she handed over a twenty-pound note. “What?”

“I’ll show you whose boss…” Harry muttered. Hermione simply grinned.

“Promise?” She asked, slightly throatily. They stared at each other for the briefest of moments, before she took off once again in the direction of their table, her eyes leaving his almost reluctantly. As they reached it, Hermione slipped in to the sofa, scooting along until she was on the far end, facing out onto the floor. Harry sat beside her, placing Ron’s Boddingtons in front of him before setting his own drink down on an ominously stained beer mat. He chuckled, as Ron seemed to fight the urge to lick his lips, before taking a long and satisfying draught.

“That’s better.” He sighed, having drained a good quarter of his glass. Hermione looked vaguely disgusted.

“Honestly, Ron, must you drink like you eat?” She asked, wrinkling her nose in disdain

“How’s that?” He shot back, slightly confused.

“Like a farmyard animal.” Ron simply rolled his eyes, jerking his thumb in her direction as he leaned in towards Harry.

“Just because they can’t hold it like us blokes can.” He whispered conspiratorially, winking as Harry laughed. Once again, Hermione slapped him on the arm.

“And you, don’t encourage him.”

Harry merely grinned. At that point, the door opened and all three of them instinctively looked up, eyes narrowing slightly as they waited to see who was arriving.

“Luna!” Ron greeted, standing as the tall, willowy blonde walked in. She had the slightly flustered look of someone who’d been in an exceptional hurry to get where she was going, the short skirt and cardigan combination she wore with mismatched stockings also a testament to that.

But then, Luna tended to dress like that anyway.

“Hello, Ronald.” She replied airily, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the cheek as she rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Hello Harry, Hermione. How are you all?”

“Good,” came the collective murmured reply, along with the appropriate greetings. Luna walked swiftly over to the table before settling herself down on the sofa.

“D’you want a drink, love?” Ron asked, digging around in his pockets for his wallet.

“Oh, please.” She replied politely, leaning backwards into the cushion as she crossed her legs.

“Right you are.” He answered, moving off in the direction of the bar. “John, yes please mate…”

“How are you two, then?” She repeated, now they were in a more comfortable speaking environment. “Oh, Hermione, Drexl wondered if you could pop into the Level on Monday morning, he wants you to look over something he’s been working on for the Temporal Misadventures team.”

“Of course.” Hermione replied. “What’s he been doing now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Luna said simply, half-sighing. “If that boy wasn’t so brilliant, I’d swear he had a purple-nosed Harriman nesting in his head, the things he goes on about...”

Harry and Hermione simply shared an amused glance. Luna’s eccentricities, by no means becoming normal, had nevertheless become accustomed to in their company. Hermione especially found her presence a breath of fresh air these days, yet another development in their life she would have scoffed at in fifth year. Ron returned then, taking his seat next to Luna as he set her scotch and lemonade down in front of her, blushing at her slightly excessive thank you kiss.

“Let’s not talk shop, anyway.” Harry interjected, leaning backwards with a comfortable arm thrown across the back of the sofa where Hermione was sitting, his Guinness perched on his thigh and supported with his free hand. “I for one want to hear what was so important, Ron, that it required you cancelling our weekly pick-up game with Neville, Seamus, Ginny and Fred, and had you running all over London like a man possessed last week.”

“Oh,” Luna replied lightly, waving the subject matter aside as if it were the week’s fixtures. “Ronald and I were looking at flats. We found a rather nice one in Holborn, actually.” Ron flushed a very deep, very dark shade of crimson.

“You’re moving in together?” Hermione asked, in a slightly excited, high-pitched voice that was somewhere between a squeal and a shriek.

“Might be,” Ron murmured, wincing as Luna’s face suddenly fell.

“Are you embarrassed, Ronald?” She asked in a small voice, looking at her hands, which were now knotted together.

“Ron Weasley,” Hermione muttered, “you are the…”

“…most insensitive wart you’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, I know.” He recited, rolling his eyes before taking Luna’s hands in his with one, his other resting lightly on her cheek. “Of course I’m not embarrassed, sweetheart.” He said placatingly, as he smiled warmly at her. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“Oh, Ron.” Luna yelped, before throwing her arms around him. Hermione smiled in turn, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder as they watched the two embrace, sniffing slightly.

“How sweet,” She murmured fondly, quietly, so only Harry could hear. He just grinned lightly, and leaned his head against the top of hers.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Their meal and the evening passed by in high spirits, with Luna and Hermione animatedly discussing the potential drawbacks of having anti-Nargle infestation systems installed by the front door (something, Hermione was told, which resembled a giant mallet that swung up to the ceiling every time it was opened), whilst Harry and Ron propped up the bar, waiting for the next round to come in. The pub had gotten busier over the last couple of hours, with people stumbling in either with friends, relatives, or simply on their own and seeking some refuge from the increasingly frosty night. This meant a longer wait at the bar of course, but they didn’t really care. It’s not like they were going anywhere fast, anyway.

“So…” Harry began after several moments of silence. “Sharing a bank account yet?” The comment earned him a quick cuff on the back of the head from Ron, and a muttered threat.

“You’re one to talk, at least I’m sleeping with my financial co-dependent.” He muttered, smirking at Harry’s grimace.

“The details of which, thank you, can remain unknown to me. Or at least, they would have done if they weren’t burned into my eyelids. What were you doing with her leg, any-?” He stopped abruptly as his head was slapped again. “You’re giving me brain damage, stop it.”

“Stop being a wanker then.” He said with a grin, nodding at John, who glanced inquisitively in their direction. As the landlord set about pouring their latest round, they pulled up two recently vacated stools and sat down. “We’ll have a double nip as well please mate.” At Harry’s arched eyebrow, he grinned unashamedly. “What, wouldn’t Hermione approve?” He teased, nearly laughing outright as his friend’s eyes tracked back to the table, taking in the sight of their female best friend laughing at something Luna had just said.

“You dunno what you’re on about.” He grumbled, finally looking back towards the optics. “Grouse’ll do, John.”

“Right you are, ‘Arry.”

“And you’re in denial.” Ron replied simply, opening his wallet and retrieving a ten note, scrabbling about in his pocket at the same time for any errant pound coins that might be lost in the depths of his jeans.

“Whatever. You’re imagining things.” Harry replied, nodding as John placed their pints and the two shots in front of them.

“Suit yourself.” Ron answered simply, raising his glass and clinking it to Harry’s after he paid the total. “For strength,” He murmured, just as the liquid spilled down Harry’s throat. One quick swig of stout later, Harry stood as he felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest.

“Cheers,” He said, picking up Hermione’s wine glass as they made their way back.

“Any time.” Ron replied. “Listen, I think me and Luna are gonna head back after these, you and ‘Mione alright to get home?” He asked, giving a salacious wink as he did so. Harry just didn’t know what had gotten into him today.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He replied dryly, setting the glass down in front of his flatmate, who smiled broadly at him as he sat down and leant against his shoulder companionably, her legs brought up onto the seat underneath her.

“Be fine with what?” She asked, once they were both seated.

“Oh, we’re probably going after these I reckon, I’ve got training tomorrow lunchtime and I can’t be in too much of a bad way.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking slightly disappointed. Harry’s arm moved around to squeeze her slightly.

“I’ll stick around.” He said, frowning at her look of trepidation.

“Do I have to stay with him?” She asked Ron and Luna, who smiled indulgently at her pout. Harry made a noise of indignation, and moved to take his arm away but she just pressed more firmly into him in response.

“Sorry Hermione. I need Won-Won to myself tonight.” Luna replied, followed immediately by suppressed snorts of laughter from Harry and Hermione, and a thunderous expression from Ron. “You’ll just have to put up with Harry. I know he’s tiresome...”

“Oi!”

“…but he means well.” By this point, Hermione was laughing outright, her eyes shining as she glanced up at Harry, who couldn’t help but feel his wounded ego soften slightly at the sight of her enjoyment. With a good-natured roll of his eyes, he sipped at his pint and said nothing.

“You coming round tomorrow?” Harry asked Ron, who nodded as he set down his glass.

“Definitely. Irish versus Ospreys?” Harry grinned – despite Ron’s arguments that Quidditch was by far the best sport ever invented by humanity, he’d taken a rather peculiar liking to rugby over the last few years, all due to Seamus forcing him to play at short notice in a digs league he participated in at University.

“And…” Hermione interjected with a long-suffering sigh. She wasn’t a rugby fan. “…Dinner, boys. My mother and father are over, so nothing from the Twins’ shop.”

“Alright, Hermione.” Ron replied sheepishly.

“We’ll behave,” Harry echoed.

“There’ll be rewards if you do.” Luna breathed, reaching over to run a hand through Ron’s hair. He wasn’t the only one at the table who blushed.

“And what about mine?” Harry turned to Hermione, mimicking Luna’s movement of running his hand through her hair. She coloured slightly, before slapping his hand away.

“Yours will be escaping with the ability to have, god forbid, little Harry Potters sometime in the future.” She replied aloofly, her grin giving away her lack of seriousness. Harry grunted amusedly in reply, and turned back around to adjust his position on the sofa. Ron drained the last of his beer as he did so, and looked pointedly at Luna to hurry up. She cordially obliged, sucking the rest of her drink through her small pink straw at worrying speed. Even her boyfriend looked slightly impressed. The pair stood up, putting on coats, jackets and other items before turning to Harry and Hermione.

“Right, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Ron said, leaning in to kiss Hermione on the cheek as he hugged her. “Cheers for a lovely night.”

“You too, she replied, hugging him back, before turning her attention to Luna as Ron moved to shake Harry’s hand companionably. With a few moments, good byes had been said, and they had departed, leaving them alone on the sofa. There was a few moments silence, even though the other couch had been vacated, neither one of them made a move to get up, the closeness comfortable enough between them to not warrant it.

“They work so well together,” Hermione sighed, staring out the window at their retreating forms wistfully. Harry didn’t comment, not particularly thinking about Ron and Luna, but rather, the way the candlelight highlighted the fine lines of Hermione’s face, the warm hues reflecting off her skin, making it look nearly golden, accentuated by soft shadows…

“You’re doing it again.” She said softly, still looking out of the window, although it seemed pointedly now as opposed to unintentionally.

“Doing what?” Harry replied innocently, smiling despite himself as he reached for his glass, still not taking his eyes off of her.

“Staring at me.” She answered. “You do it a lot.”

“I do?” Perhaps feigning stupidity isn’t the best option, he thought to himself wryly, although part of him enjoyed the game they’d been playing all night. Accidentally brushing each other’s hands, sitting closely, glancing at the other when they weren’t looking, but not quite looking away in time to not get caught. He’d have enough to drink to mostly cancel out his little…display of nervousness in the kitchen earlier now. Not enough to be drunk, but just enough to make him feel deeply content, and comfortable, sitting here with Hermione on a sofa in a warm place that looked just like the Gryffindor common room…

“Yeah.” She replied simply, her gaze finally leaving the outdoors to rest on his eyes. “But it’s alright, I don’t mind.” There was a few moments pause then, a lingering sense that the next few things to be said might decide something important, something that may or may not transgress the thin line that they’d marked in the sand, the one that had their close, personal, and fantastic friendship on one side, and the unknown on the other. A line they’d been playing with, these past few weeks.

“You do the same.” He said softly after a while, both of them looking out at the busy floor and sipping their drinks. Despite the buzz of chatter, and the atmosphere that permeated the air in the pub though, they felt almost cocooned, insulated from the noise in a kind of bubble that surrounded their table. It was almost as if, no matter how quietly they spoke, they could pick out each other’s syllables over the noise around them. As their eyes locked once more though, Harry realised they’d always been able to do that. And that sometimes…just sometimes, they didn’t need words to speak. I know, her eyes seemed to say to him, and he felt his lip curve involuntarily. Without meaning to, really, he started to shift slowly closer to her, entranced by the dark chocolate pools of her eyes, wanting desperately, more than anything, to find out what it was that was lighting them from behind. He didn’t even know what he was doing, to tell the truth, all he felt was this magnetic, instinctive pull towards her, encouraged by her ever-so-slight movements in his direction that told him it was okay. That she wanted him to move closer, that she was comfortable. Before he knew it, her hand was on his thigh, and he was so close to her they may as well have been pressed together. She smiled lightly at him as he moved in closer still, his lips opening ever so slightly…

“Harry,” She said softly, jolting him back to reality with a start. For a single, fleeting moment, he felt a flood of panic run through him and a desire to jump up and run. Run as fast as he could, and just get out of there. Luckily, the same voice that had been telling him it was a good idea to do all this was still the loudest one, and he forced himself to remain still, where he was, and issue a questioning noise from his throat.

“Mmm?” He murmured, trying his hardest to scry what she was thinking through their still-connected gazes.

“Let’s get out of here,” She whispered, squeezing his hand. When had they become linked? He nodded anyway, and stood up, offering her his free hand, which she accepted with a grin, allowing herself to be lifted up and out of the sofa. They shrugged on their coats, Hermione wrapping her scarf around her neck as Harry took their glasses back to the bar, bidding goodnight to John and the regulars as he rejoined her at the door. With a smile, he held it open and she nodded courteously at him, walking through with a brisk pace. She waited for him outside as he closed the connecting doors, and finally the front one as they left, setting off back down the street together, standing closely against the night time chill. The overhead streetlights cast an orange glow that penetrated the thick darkness of the night around them, the moon adding it’s pale luminescence that reflected off of windscreens and gates as they walked. Long moments of silence passed between them, stretching on to make seconds feel like hours as Harry concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, but finally turning to her.

“Hermione…” He said, wanting to ask her about what was happening, wanting to know desperately what was going on between them, how their friendship had changed so much, how long she’d felt like this. Hell, knowing even what she felt…

But he never got the chance. As soon as he’d stopped, and her name was out of his mouth, his slightly hoarse voice reaching his ears, she’d wheeled on him and pushed him, hard, against the wall. Before he could even react, she was pressed against him, and their lips collided as she grasped his coat lapels in her hands, forcing him to push into her.

The bitter cold of the night was suddenly cancelled out as he felt the warmth of her mouth on his, any other kind of chill evaporating as soon as he opened his mouth to her, allowing their tongues to intertwine. The fierceness of the initial kiss soon gave way to a more languorous pace, Harry’s hand coming round to grasp the small of her back, and the nape of her neck as they tasted each other for the first time, shared this experience with each other and finally put paid to what they’d wanted for so long now. It was a searing kiss, yes, but it wasn’t what Harry had thought it would be. Fireworks didn’t go off overhead, a bulb from a camera didn’t flash nearby, and a crowd didn’t cheer with delight. It was just Hermione and himself, and the night around them. And it wasn’t an epiphany of any sort, everything just kind of fit into place without any moment of great revelation. It just seemed as if this was the way it had always been, the way it should be, and they’d taken a wrong left somewhere, finally getting back on track. Although, having said that, he still felt as if his heart was hammering against his ribcage with the intent to escape. Eventually, they broke apart, eyes opening somewhat tentatively to see each other reflected in their gaze.

“I’ve…wanted to do that for a while now.” Hermione admitted sheepishly, her cheeks flushed bright red.

“No reason to stop.” Harry whispered, pulling her towards him again as she finally released his lapels, her arms snaking round his neck to rest on his shoulders as she leaned in, her lips murmuring against his softly as they met again.

“No reason at all.”

The End.

Author’s Note:

And here’s the concluding part. Thanks for your lovely reviews guys, I had such a great time writing this little one-shot ( or should that be two-shot ;) ). It’s been really fun, and I’m glad people enjoyed it so much.

I’m sure I’ll be back soon with something new. Who knows, I may even update Priori one of these days :D Let me know what you thought of Non Sequitur anyway, it takes two seconds to review, and it makes me feel all happy every time Yahoo tells me I have a review alert :D

Take care,

Castledown.