It's the Thought That Counts
Hermione Apparated into the flat she shared with Harry. It was the sort of day that, had she been a Muggle, she could have driven home fast, cursing the other drivers, then slammed the door shut and tossed her keys at the wall. As it was, she could only Apparate, then stomp about, muttering under her breath. She refrained from throwing things about.
Never had a day gone as badly as today. The four-scroll, 50-foot long report she'd worked for five weeks on had been lost by her idiot boss due to an errant charm as he tried to impress his secretary.
"Everyone already knows they're sleeping together - sometimes in the office at lunch - why he had to..." Hermione trailed off, saving the remainder of her vitriol.
She stomped into the bathroom. She wanted a long, hot bubble bath. She wanted chocolate and red wine. She wanted the brand-new edition of Hogwarts, a History that included her chapter about Voldemort's defeat. She wanted Harry. She wanted to cry.
Sniffling, she looked into the mirror. She blinked. Stuck to the mirror with a Sticking Charm was a piece of paper, Harry's spiky handwriting appearing as she read it.
Hermione, love, I can tell you've had a bad day. Step into the bath.
The scent of lavender drew her eyes to the bath. It was filled nearly to the top with scented water and bubbles. Hermione quickly shed her clothes and eased herself into the water.
She couldn't prevent a moan from escaping her throat. She spent a long time in that bath, the water never going cold, the bubbles never dissipating. Harry does a wonderful job with bubble baths, she thought, smiling.
While she toweled off, she noticed that the paper had a new message on it.
Hermione, love, please wrap yourself in the robe behind you and join me on the balcony. There are slippers, too.
She discovered a roomy, terrycloth bathrobe hanging on the hook on the back of the door, slippers beneath. Slipping both on, she made a note to thank Harry for the Warming Charm he'd placed on the items.
Feeling better, she trekked to the balcony off the dining room. She smiled brightly when she saw what Harry had done. The center of the glass-topped table held a bouquet of orchids in an ornate glass vase. Also on the table was a tray of double-chocolate brownies and a bottle of her favorite red wine.
Sitting on the other side of the table was Harry, relaxing in the lounge chair.
"It's no fair when you do that mind-reading thing, you know," she admonished.
He grinned, unrepentant. She had to swallow hard. That grin was deadly.
"I could tell you were upset and I wanted to make it better," he answered. He bent his head and looked up through his lashes, emerald eyes bright. "Is that so wrong?"
Laughing, she pounced on him, straddling the chair. "No, it's not." She kissed him deeply, then continued, "Did you conjure all this?"
Blushing, he nodded. "Is that okay?" As he asked, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Potter. I love you."
He kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too, Mrs. Potter."