Disclaimer: As usual, not mine.
AN: Hermione's POV. This is a long one! The rating has been changed for upcoming chapters.
Chapter 5: The Glop
Professor McGonagall's owl came just after lunchtime on a bright afternoon in May. Written in her dignified hand was a hasty summons to Hogwarts, where Harry had apparently done something extraordinarily stupid.
"Your extreme discretion is advised in this matter. Speak to no one until arriving in my office."
Needless to say, upon reading those words I dropped my tattered old copy of Hogwarts, A History like it was on fire. I nearly flew to the fireplace, my hands shaking as I drew out the Floo powder. McGonagall had written that she'd opened her fireplace to the Floo Network for the moment-just enough time for me to arrive safely.
A moment later, I'd gathered my wand and my coat and had tossed the powder into the fireplace. The green flames burst up and I felt the usual odd warmth as I stepped into them, shouting, "McGonagall's office!"
Stumbling almost instantaneously out onto the cold stone floors I'd grown so accustomed to in my years at Hogwarts, I immediately looked for my old professor. She stood in a far corner of the room, facing the window, and did not move to acknowledge my presence. My heart fluttered despairingly as I took in her appearance. It was unnaturally cold, her mouth set in a grim line and her eyes dark.
Looking out over the grounds, she seemed to pass judgment over all before her. I prepared for the worst, swallowing back tears. "Professor?" I queried.
"In all my time as a professor here," she began slowly, still looking off in the direction of Hagrid's hut, "I have never met anyone as prone to accident as Harry Potter."
"What happened?" I was desperate to know.
McGonagall turned sharply to look at me, her eyes shrewd and black underneath her glasses. "He was consumed by one of Professor Longbottom's plants!" she exclaimed, her nostrils flaring. "The Galumphing Godel!"
"What!" My knees gave way. I sank helplessly to the floor, my head leaning back against the stone wall.
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," she emphasized contemptuously. "And I'll thank you for allowing your husband to suggest such a stunt in the first place! Why, if the healers hadn't been there, we'd be telling a pregnant woman that her husband didn't have the good sense to live long enough to support his children!" McGonagall was fuming. "To think that I have to contend with such nonsense from fully grown adults! It's an outrage!"
I could only gape openmouthed at her. "Harry's alive?"
McGonagall nodded grimly.
"And Ron did what?"
"It doesn't matter," she spat. "Follow me."
With a swish of her robes, she brushed past me, descending the revolving steps and making a beeline for the grounds. We arrived at Greenhouse Five almost immediately; it was still surrounded with terrified first years and, unsurprisingly, a small pack of Daily Prophet reporters.
"Mrs. Weasley!" one called, stretching out his wand for better voice amplification. "What's going on? Has he died? Is Mrs. Potter on her way?"
"Bugger off," I replied, savoring the flabbergasted look on his features before the greenhouse door slammed in his face. Being Ron's wife certainly had its advantages.
McGonagall led me to the far corner of the greenhouse, where a single mediwizard crouched next to what appeared to be a large glob of pink goo. That is, until it moved.
I gasped, my stomach lurching. "Harry?"
He looked terrible and smelled even worse. He was absolutely covered, from head to toe, in what can only be described as bubble gum pink goo. It wobbled worrisomely as he turned to look up at me.
"Mmph," he replied, his mouth ejecting a copious amount of the fluid.
McGonagall's eyes were nothing but slits. "Mr. Potter," she hissed through her teeth. "Hermione has agreed to attend to you. Perhaps she will be able to get some of this mess off, since our scouring spells have had no effect." She turned to leave with the mediwizard, but whirled back around once again. "And I will be having a discussion with you, in my office, about setting a better example for my students. Good day." And with that, she was gone.
I sighed. Leave it to Harry to get himself stuck in a situation like this. "Hi Harry."
"Mmph, Miomph."
With a flick of my wand, I conjured up a washcloth. If scouring charms didn't work, then maybe some good old muggle scrubbing would. After all, nothing worked better on my muddy little Hugo.
"I thought you'd died," I told Harry quietly as I set to work scrubbing. His eyes, nearly hidden beneath the slime, glanced up at me in concern. "I suppose I should be relieved you didn't." The area around his mouth was nearly clear. "Open up."
The slime oozed out, trickling down his chin. He coughed, the goo gurgling out his mouth until he nearly choked. I tried to use the washcloth to scrub his tongue, but he pushed me away, leaving globs of the gunk on my arm.
"Stop," he spat, sending flecks of pink stuff airborne.
"Fine," I agreed. "But let me keep digging through this mess on your face."
He nodded and stopped trying to squirm away from me, but it was hard for me to concentrate on getting him clean. For a fleeting moment when I was up in McGonagall's office, I had truly thought my best friend had died. To have him so close to me just minutes later was a shock that I was still recovering from. I wanted more than anything to throw my arms around his neck-to hold him close and reaffirm that he was, in fact, alive and in the safety of my care. But for his sake, I pushed those compulsions aside. Instead, I tried my hardest to put on a stern face and in the end settled for lecturing him.
"Honestly, Harry," I scolded as his crusty eyes looked up at me. "That was the most ridiculous, the most worthless, the stupidest thing that you have ever done."
I scrubbed harder at his forehead, leaving clean pink skin in my wake. He shifted uncomfortably beneath me. "Why are you here, anyway?" he challenged, his face a horrid mixture of embarrassment and anger.
"I was owled," I sniffed, now picking out the sludge from his ears. "Ginny was out with the kids, so here I am."
"Lucky me," he mumbled, glaring at the washcloth in my hand. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"
"Of course you can," I acknowledged. "But how would I have the pleasure of being angry at you otherwise?"
"Right." He allowed himself a grimace, clearly intending-and failing-to smile. He let me scrub at him for a few more moments before saying more. "You probably think I'm an idiot, eh?" he asked sheepishly, leaning back on one elbow and tilting his face up so I could clean his chin.
I sighed. I was leaning over him rather uncomfortably, struggling with the sticky pink mess, as I formulated a reply. "Not an idiot," I finally decided. "Decidedly stupid, maybe, but there's still hope for you."
He laughed despite his embarrassment. "That's promising," he agreed.
"Didn't they cover carnivorous plants' digestive systems in Auror training?" I teased. "I would have thought you'd know better than to get yourself eaten by one."
He grumbled lowly. "I do this every year. It's always been fine."
"Well, clearly the plants were sick of it."
"Clearly," he smiled in spite of himself.
I ran my washcloth over his eyebrows for good measure, brushing out the flakes of glop still encrusted there. Almost done.
"Well, I've finally uncovered your face," I announced. "Now, take off your shirt."
~~~~~~~~
When Rose was born, Ron was out of town on assignment with his father's office. That day, I had been tidying up around the house, humming an old tune I remembered from my days at Hogwarts, when I went into labor. It was a cold winter morning, a Friday, and I knew that in my state of panic I was in absolutely no condition to apparate or use the Floo Network. Panting in pain, I sank helplessly onto the couch, clutching my stomach in terror.
Frantically, I tried to think of the spell for the talking Patronus. Nothing. Merlin, it was like the time I'd been frozen by the sight of that troll in the girl's bathroom. I was useless like this, a terrible excuse for a bloody witch. I moaned, feeling the baby kick.
It seemed like sheer luck when the loud pop of a wizard apparating filled my ears just minutes later. I looked up, sweating and scared, to see Harry come around the corner from the dining room.
"Hermione?" he gasped, rushing over to me.
"Harry," I moaned, grasping at his shoulders. "Help!"
"Oh, God," he whispered, reaching to pick me up. I saw a mild panic in his eyes as he looked down at me, but it clouded over almost instantly. "Hang on," he whispered, and I felt the familiar pull of side-along apparition. In the work of a moment, he was settling me into a wheelchair in the maternity ward of St. Mungo's and brushing back my hair reassuringly. "I'll call for Ginny and owl Ron," he promised, kissing my forehead. "And I'll be back in two minutes, I promise."
By the time he returned, the healers had gotten me onto a bed in the delivery room. He rushed to my side, his fingers interlacing with mine. "Ginny's on her way over. She'll take my place here if you want."
"No," I protested. "Stay, Harry. Please."
His eyes burned down at me as he nodded in consent, squeezing my hand. "All right," he promised.
Hours later, Harry's strong hand was still clasped protectively around mine as I screamed in pain. "It's ok," he chanted softly in my ear. "It's ok. It's ok. We're going to do this. It's ok."
As promised, he never left my side, not once through all the hours of labor. And when the doctor was ordering me to keep pushing and I was crushing his hand and screaming, he never once flinched, instead brushing back my hair and whispering encouragement.
Then, when the first cries of my daughter finally reached our ears, he looked down at me with such a triumphant smile on his face and such happiness in his eyes, I could hardly believe it was just him-my best friend-standing there in the place of my husband.
Later, after the room had been cleared out and after Rose was cleaned up and returned to me, my first visitor was Harry. He sidled through the door rather sheepishly, smiling uncertainly at me from across the room. I was briefly afraid that he would think I was rather repulsive after everything he'd just witnessed. I could feel my damp curls hanging limply around my face and knew that I was undoubtedly still covered in a sheen of sweat, but as he neared I saw plainly the smile twitching at the corners of his lips.
"How is she?" he asked, breaking into a full grin at the sight of the small bundle in my arms.
I looked down at my daughter's wrinkly, red face and watched her blinking up at me. "She's wonderful," I breathed. I could hardly take my eyes from her.
Harry smiled warmly. "Can I hold her?"
Carefully, I let him pick Rose up and cradle her against his chest. His eyes were wide with wonder as he rocked her slightly, supporting her tiny head with a hand. "Hi Rose," he whispered. "I'm Uncle Harry."
"You're her godfather, too, Harry," I added.
His grin made him look absolutely giddy. "I am?" he asked in wonder.
"Of course you are," I laughed. "What else would you be?"
The smile faded suddenly at my words as he continued looking at his goddaughter. After a moment, his eyes flicked to me, heavy with words unspoken. He held my gaze silently for just a second, then-
"Oh, I don't know-the creepy old uncle always stopping by for dinner?" He was grinning again, but his eyes were still dull, almost haunted.
I decided I was clearly imagining the whole thing.
"Well, you'll be that too, I'm sure," I teased.
He passed Rose back to me and I found myself humming an old lullaby, one I vaguely remembered from my own muggle childhood. Harry slowly began to quietly gather his coat and belongings, preparing to leave.
"Thank you, Harry," I said softly, interrupting the tune for a moment. "I don't know what I would have done without you today."
He smiled down at me and bent to kiss my forehead. My eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his lips on my skin. "You were amazing today," he replied, his breath hot against my forehead. "You're beautiful, you know." His lips pressed against my temple once, then again, hesitating. Then, as if it hadn't happened, he straightened and looked down at the baby in my arms. "She's beautiful. And you're going to be a wonderful mother, Hermione."
"Thank you, Harry."
"Anytime."
And, with a soft click of the door, he disappeared.
~~~~~~~~
"Take off my what?" Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide.
"Oh, come on," I sighed. "We're both adults. And you're a mess!"
"Fine," he grumbled, his fingers reaching down to undo the buttons. But he was still covered in the slimy liquid and was struggling to make the buttons cooperate.
I reached out to him, brushing his hands aside. "Here, let me."
Suddenly it was my hands that wouldn't work, my hands that shook as I slowly undid each of the buttons on his shirt, trying so hard to focus on each one rather than look up at my best friend. His breathing had hitched when I touched him, and I could feel his eyes blazing into the top of my head, daring me to look at him.
Despite the gross pink slime, despite the smell, despite everything…I was attracted to him. I silently hated myself for it, even as I shifted closer to his body, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
I finished undoing the last button and he shrugged off the shirt, baring his chest. Finally, I allowed my eyes to raise and was immediately shocked at the unrestrained passion in his gaze. I gasped in spite of myself, frozen over his body on the floor of the greenhouse.
"Hermione," he whispered, sitting up and cupping my face in his hand. I felt the sticky goo attach itself to my skin.
"Harry," I squeaked, helpless under his gaze.
Suddenly, a noise at the front of the greenhouse alerted us to someone's presence. I backed away, putting as much distance between us as I could before-
"Oi, Harry! What mess are you in now?"
In his ignorance, Ron had walked right up to us and was now happily smiling down at his adulterous friends.
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