Fic again
For bartsspace, who wanted Harry and Hermione having a slightly suggestive conversation. Ah well, my friends, I tried.
Harry Potter was woken early on the first of January by a loud Crack and the appearance of Hermione Granger in his bedroom.
He pulled a pillow over his face and then, on second thoughts, pulled his blanket up over his chest.
He heard an amused snort at this.
“Wrong room,” he grunted through the pillow. “Ron’s next door. Go away, Hermione.”
The pillow was rested from his hands, and he blinked up at Hermione, looming over him. She was wearing a tracksuit and a determined expression, both of which worried Harry.
“I know perfectly well where Ron’s room is,” she said. “Honestly, Harry, that sort of Apparition mistake is for beginners.”
Damn it. He thought she’d been asleep when he’d once Apparated into her room instead of Ginny’s.
“Okay, very funny, Hermione. Now go away. Please.”
“I’m not here to make fun of you,” she said. She still wasn’t leaving.
Harry groaned and sat up. Then he remembered that he was Harry Potter and although all was now right with the world, there had once been a war and there might be again. The old instincts and fears came back too easily. He pulled on his glasses and forced himself to be awake.
“Why are you here, then? What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?”
Hermione’s expression softened, and she sat down on Harry’s bed. “No one’s hurt, Harry,” she said gently. “Nothing’s happened.”
Harry felt foolish. “Oh. Then why are you here? Er, at six o’clock in the morning, I mean.”
“Because it’s time to get up.”
Harry demonstrated what he thought of this idea by taking his glasses off again and pressing his face back into his remaining pillow. “Go and bother Ron,” he said. “You’re allowed to bother him in the middle of the night. Not me.”
She tried to take away his second pillow, but Harry clung on tightly until Hermione sent a ticking hex under his arms and he had to let go, rolling on the bed.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he mumbled.
Hermione gave him a Look. It was one of the looks that said ‘I am the smartest witch of the age, I am one of your best friends, I am a girl and I know better than you do. There is nothing you can do to hurt me.’
Harry and Ron often marvelled at how Hermione could fit whole conversations - let alone sentences - into her Looks.
Harry sighed. “I’ll get you back next time you don’t know which Cannons strip Ron wants for his birthday.”
Hermione looked smug. “In which case I won’t tell you which engagement ring Ginny would like.”
Harry was fully awake now. He gawped at Hermione. “How did you know?” he asked. He hadn’t mentioned the idea to Ron yet, or asked Mr Weasley’s permission. He hadn’t even really decided that he was going to do it; only the engagement rings in shop windows looked a lot more interesting these days.
Hermione sat next to him on the bed. “Of course I know, Harry. I always know with you. We’ve known each other for thirteen years, for goodness sake.”
“But I don’t know everything about you!” Harry said, thinking as he did that he was quite happy not knowing everything about Hermione, just as long as he knew most things.
Hermione gave him another Look which plainly said, ‘Yes, but that’s because you’re a boy and therefore predisposed to be useless. But I love you anyway.’
Harry supposed that the fact he understood Hermione’s vast array of Looks even without his glasses on meant that he was doing something right. He squeezed her shoulder.
“Does Ginny know?” he asked.
“No. But I know she’ll say yes. And don’t worry. I won’t tell her if you want it to be a surprise.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, wondering how on earth a ‘maybe looking at rings perhaps’ had now turned into full-scale engagement plans after three minutes’ conversation with Hermione. Yet somehow it had.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and put his glasses on for the second time that morning. “All right. So the world isn’t ending, no one’s hurt, you’re not looking for Ron and you know more about my romantic plans than I do. Any other reason you’re here, Hermione? Because, you know, normally when girls kick me out of bed, I’ve slept with them first.”
Hermione swatted him. “I have no desire to hear about that kind of thing,” she said crisply. “Especially when you’re dating one of my best friends.”
Harry wasn’t apologetic. “Well it’s too early to be polite,” he said. “And when I said girls, I meant Ginny. And really, Hermione,” he carried on, heartened the fact that Hermione was trying not to smile, “so far the closest you’ve come is giving me a broomstick servicing kit.”
Hermione gave a horrified gasp and then laughed. “You liked that broomstick servicing kit,” she protested.
If this conversation was going to take place at such an early hour of the morning, Harry was bloody well going to make it worth it.
“Well,” he said, very seriously. “What can you expect, Hermione? I was thirteen. Polishing my broomstick was very important to me.”
“Harry Potter!” Hermione giggled helplessly. “And my parents were always telling me what a nice boy you seemed.”
Just then the floorboards creaked outside Harry’s door and Ron’s sleep-bleared face appeared.
“Lo, Harry, Hermione,” he said around a huge yawn. “Anyone want to tell me why my girlfriend just screamed my best friend’s name?”
Ron was obviously half asleep, for he seemed to have no idea why Harry and Hermione found the question so funny.
“Jogging,” Hermione said at last.
Both Harry and Ron blinked at her. “Jogging?”
Harry had a nasty memory of the night before and felt that maybe Hermione’s tracksuit was just as ominous as he’d thought it was.
“Yes, jogging,” Hermione said, standing up and crossing the room. “Harry, last night when we did our new year’s resolutions, you promised that you’d come jogging with me.”
Ron sniggered.
“Oh yes,” said Harry. The situation was rapidly losing its humour. “So I did. Hermione, get out of there!”
Hermione was rifling through Harry’s chest of drawers, and when she straightened up she was holding a faded tracksuit that had once belonged to (but never worn by) Dudley.
“This is priceless,” Ron said, clinging to the doorframe.
“Please, Hermione,” Harry said in desperation. “Can’t I just buy you a treadmill or something?”
“I want to jog outside in the fresh air, and you promised you’d come with me,” Hermione said in a tone that made Harry very sure he was going to lose this one.
“Can’t you take Ron?”
“No way, mate,” Ron said. “You’re not getting me out into the fresh air before breakfast.”
Harry reflected that the air was likely to be very fresh considering it was midwinter. He sighed. “But she’s your girlfriend,” he said to Ron.
Ron nodded, still grinning. “Yup, and you can give her back - preferably sweaty - ” he dodged Hermione’s arm as she made to hit him, “at a more reasonable hour of the morning. Until then she’s all yours.” With that he ducked back into his own bedroom.
Hermione glared at the empty doorway. “Right,” she said in her most business-like tone. “You have three minutes to get dressed, Harry.”
Harry debated getting two and a half more minutes’ sleep, but decided against it. He pulled on his tracksuit and left the room. He kicked Ron’s door and yelled, “I’m going to marry your sister!” before he and Hermione Apparated out into the still-dark morning.
Harry Potter was woken early on the first of January by a loud Crack and the appearance of Hermione Granger in his bedroom.
He pulled a pillow over his face and then, on second thoughts, pulled his blanket up over his chest.
He heard an amused snort at this.
“Wrong room,” he grunted through the pillow. “Ron’s next door. Go away, Hermione.”
The pillow was rested from his hands, and he blinked up at Hermione, looming over him. She was wearing a tracksuit and a determined expression, both of which worried Harry.
“I know perfectly well where Ron’s room is,” she said. “Honestly, Harry, that sort of Apparition mistake is for beginners.”
Damn it. He thought she’d been asleep when he’d once Apparated into her room instead of Ginny’s.
“Okay, very funny, Hermione. Now go away. Please.”
“I’m not here to make fun of you,” she said. She still wasn’t leaving.
Harry groaned and sat up. Then he remembered that he was Harry Potter and although all was now right with the world, there had once been a war and there might be again. The old instincts and fears came back too easily. He pulled on his glasses and forced himself to be awake.
“Why are you here, then? What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?”
Hermione’s expression softened, and she sat down on Harry’s bed. “No one’s hurt, Harry,” she said gently. “Nothing’s happened.”
Harry felt foolish. “Oh. Then why are you here? Er, at six o’clock in the morning, I mean.”
“Because it’s time to get up.”
Harry demonstrated what he thought of this idea by taking his glasses off again and pressing his face back into his remaining pillow. “Go and bother Ron,” he said. “You’re allowed to bother him in the middle of the night. Not me.”
She tried to take away his second pillow, but Harry clung on tightly until Hermione sent a ticking hex under his arms and he had to let go, rolling on the bed.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he mumbled.
Hermione gave him a Look. It was one of the looks that said ‘I am the smartest witch of the age, I am one of your best friends, I am a girl and I know better than you do. There is nothing you can do to hurt me.’
Harry and Ron often marvelled at how Hermione could fit whole conversations - let alone sentences - into her Looks.
Harry sighed. “I’ll get you back next time you don’t know which Cannons strip Ron wants for his birthday.”
Hermione looked smug. “In which case I won’t tell you which engagement ring Ginny would like.”
Harry was fully awake now. He gawped at Hermione. “How did you know?” he asked. He hadn’t mentioned the idea to Ron yet, or asked Mr Weasley’s permission. He hadn’t even really decided that he was going to do it; only the engagement rings in shop windows looked a lot more interesting these days.
Hermione sat next to him on the bed. “Of course I know, Harry. I always know with you. We’ve known each other for thirteen years, for goodness sake.”
“But I don’t know everything about you!” Harry said, thinking as he did that he was quite happy not knowing everything about Hermione, just as long as he knew most things.
Hermione gave him another Look which plainly said, ‘Yes, but that’s because you’re a boy and therefore predisposed to be useless. But I love you anyway.’
Harry supposed that the fact he understood Hermione’s vast array of Looks even without his glasses on meant that he was doing something right. He squeezed her shoulder.
“Does Ginny know?” he asked.
“No. But I know she’ll say yes. And don’t worry. I won’t tell her if you want it to be a surprise.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, wondering how on earth a ‘maybe looking at rings perhaps’ had now turned into full-scale engagement plans after three minutes’ conversation with Hermione. Yet somehow it had.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and put his glasses on for the second time that morning. “All right. So the world isn’t ending, no one’s hurt, you’re not looking for Ron and you know more about my romantic plans than I do. Any other reason you’re here, Hermione? Because, you know, normally when girls kick me out of bed, I’ve slept with them first.”
Hermione swatted him. “I have no desire to hear about that kind of thing,” she said crisply. “Especially when you’re dating one of my best friends.”
Harry wasn’t apologetic. “Well it’s too early to be polite,” he said. “And when I said girls, I meant Ginny. And really, Hermione,” he carried on, heartened the fact that Hermione was trying not to smile, “so far the closest you’ve come is giving me a broomstick servicing kit.”
Hermione gave a horrified gasp and then laughed. “You liked that broomstick servicing kit,” she protested.
If this conversation was going to take place at such an early hour of the morning, Harry was bloody well going to make it worth it.
“Well,” he said, very seriously. “What can you expect, Hermione? I was thirteen. Polishing my broomstick was very important to me.”
“Harry Potter!” Hermione giggled helplessly. “And my parents were always telling me what a nice boy you seemed.”
Just then the floorboards creaked outside Harry’s door and Ron’s sleep-bleared face appeared.
“Lo, Harry, Hermione,” he said around a huge yawn. “Anyone want to tell me why my girlfriend just screamed my best friend’s name?”
Ron was obviously half asleep, for he seemed to have no idea why Harry and Hermione found the question so funny.
“Jogging,” Hermione said at last.
Both Harry and Ron blinked at her. “Jogging?”
Harry had a nasty memory of the night before and felt that maybe Hermione’s tracksuit was just as ominous as he’d thought it was.
“Yes, jogging,” Hermione said, standing up and crossing the room. “Harry, last night when we did our new year’s resolutions, you promised that you’d come jogging with me.”
Ron sniggered.
“Oh yes,” said Harry. The situation was rapidly losing its humour. “So I did. Hermione, get out of there!”
Hermione was rifling through Harry’s chest of drawers, and when she straightened up she was holding a faded tracksuit that had once belonged to (but never worn by) Dudley.
“This is priceless,” Ron said, clinging to the doorframe.
“Please, Hermione,” Harry said in desperation. “Can’t I just buy you a treadmill or something?”
“I want to jog outside in the fresh air, and you promised you’d come with me,” Hermione said in a tone that made Harry very sure he was going to lose this one.
“Can’t you take Ron?”
“No way, mate,” Ron said. “You’re not getting me out into the fresh air before breakfast.”
Harry reflected that the air was likely to be very fresh considering it was midwinter. He sighed. “But she’s your girlfriend,” he said to Ron.
Ron nodded, still grinning. “Yup, and you can give her back - preferably sweaty - ” he dodged Hermione’s arm as she made to hit him, “at a more reasonable hour of the morning. Until then she’s all yours.” With that he ducked back into his own bedroom.
Hermione glared at the empty doorway. “Right,” she said in her most business-like tone. “You have three minutes to get dressed, Harry.”
Harry debated getting two and a half more minutes’ sleep, but decided against it. He pulled on his tracksuit and left the room. He kicked Ron’s door and yelled, “I’m going to marry your sister!” before he and Hermione Apparated out into the still-dark morning.