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however you like, as long as you promise me three things:
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Did everybody miss me? Did anybody miss me?
So it's been a long time. Sorry about that. I have to be honest, my interest in writing fanfiction has cooled over time, to the point where it's basically stagnated. However, I came across this story while I was doing some file cleaning, and I thought it had a lot of promise, so I'm going to try to finish it. I hope I can continue to live up to the level of quality you guys have come to expect of me.
Today's prompt is 'What does your character’s bed look like when he/she wakes up? Are the covers off one side of the bed, are they all curled around a pillow, sprawled everywhere? In what position might they sleep?' The answer may not be what you expect, but I thought it fit in pretty well.
Chronologically, this chapter takes place between one and two years after chapter 8. Enjoy!
“OW! Dammit, lumos. Fucking end-table.â€
Harry Potter cursed violently as his want illuminated the piece of furniture that had so viciously assaulted his innocent foot. Remembering himself suddenly he quieted, listening to the stillness of the house and breathing a sigh of relief when he heard no stirring. Lord knows his girlfriend â€" fiancee, he corrected himself â€" had a hard enough job without being woken well before the crack of dawn by his blundering and sailor's tongue.
“I've got to talk to Ward about getting re-scheduled,†he muttered to himself as he padded up the stairs. Working the late-late shift at St. Mungo's, while rewarding in its own special ways, was not the best way to build a relationship â€" especially not when one's future partner worked a 9-to-5 Ministry desk job. Such a schedule led to situations like tonight's, where Harry's clumsy arrival at 2 o'clock in the morning risked robbing his girlfriend â€" fiancee â€" of the three-or-so hours of blessed sleep she would have otherwise enjoyed.
Still, he reminded himself, his early arrival was not without perks, one of which he enjoyed with a wry grin as he gently nudged open the door o his â€" their â€" bedroom. It was an intimate moment, to see another person sleeping, but that wasn't what he enjoyed most about it. The reason he was glad of â€" or, at least, less annoyed about - his late schedule was knowing that he was getting a rare glimpse of the woman behind the facade of proper perfection.
To the average persion, the woman lying in his â€" their â€" bed would have been unrecognizeable. There were certain characteristics that typically came to mind when describing Hermione Granger, neatness and propriety being high on the list.
Neither of these words could be fairly applied to the lump half-buried in bedsheets. A more accurate descriptor would be 'sheet-splosion,' for it truly looked as though a local tornado had touched down on the bed.
Hermione had managed to rotate herself nearly 180 degrees from where Harry knew she had started; a wild mane of brown hair falling over the foot of the bed betrayed the location of her head, while two bare legs were draped respectively over the headboard and one nightstand. How she was able to breathe was a mystery, as the sheets completely engulfed her head and upper body (aside from the previously-mentioned hair), leaving exposed only her charateristically-sensible white knickers and the hem of what he knew to be an old T-shirt of his.
Harry stifled a chuckle as he shed his medical robes, remebering the time he had come home to find that Hermione had rolled off the bed completely, and a few feet away, and wrapped herself in blankets like a caterpillar. It amused him endlessly how Hermione Granger, in waking life one of the most put-together people who ever lived, lost all sense of herself and her surroundings when she slept.
Working carefully so as not to wake her, Harry gently untangled his girlfriend â€" fiancee â€" from her nest and righted her in the bed, head on pillow where it belonged, before settling in himself. It may have been his imagination when he heard a mumbled “loveou†from her direction, but he didn't hesitate to respond.
"Love you too."
Hermione's eyes were open the moment the clock struck 5, very surprised to find herself beneath neat blankets, with her head on a pillow. It was not typical; Hermione had always been a restless sleeper, and she would never forget the mortification she felt in her first year when her entire dormitory caught her crawling out from underneath her bed, where she had somehow managed to roll in the night.
But Hermione's surprise was only momentary: the solid warmth she was clinging to was enough to remind her of her recent move from her tiny, civil servant's flat to Harry's small house and, more importantly, Harry's bed. She smiled to herself, lightly kissing the bare shoulder that was presented to her, before she rose from the bed, careful not to wake her boyfriend â€" fiancé â€" and prepared for the day.
It may haeve been her imagination when she heard a mumbled "loveou" from his direction, but she didn't hesitate to respond.
"Love you too."