Meeting a Stranger

Harry Potter, 23, was sitting at his favourite Muggle bar thinking about the lost passion in his life. He had been alone for a couple of days now and it was getting depressive. Still, he wanted something new, something passionate.

He thought about Tuesday night. He had come back from a Quidditch practice, sore and lethargic. Normally, he preferred his fiancé's arms for a recovery, but she was no longer the same source of rejuvenation. Instead of going to her place, he decided to go to bed. Just before he entered his bedroom, he heard a loud pop. He turned back to face his fiancé who had a grim expression on her face.

"Where were you?" she asked. I was worried sick waiting for you."

"Here," he replied.

"Yes, I see that Harry. The question is "Why"? You always come to me when your practice is over."

"I'm not in the mood tonight, sorry." She seemed disappointed, but he was too tired to argue, too tired to do anything... He sat on the couch and she tried to caress him a bit, but it was useless. The spark was gone; he felt nothing at all. It was just the same woman, the same touch, the same smell... He realized he wanted to run away from all these settled feelings. He was, to say the truth, afraid of belonging to her forever. What if they became an old couple who bickered all the time? What if one of them found "The One"? What if they realized they were not meant to be? What if one of them cheated? Too many questions.... She called his name to get his attention, but he just closed his eyes. He could feel that she was upset. He didn't have the right to upset her. He made love to her just because of the fear of hurting her. He even didn't care if she was satisfied. He just did what he had to do. No, there was no passion left at all. It was routine now... That was the reason why he had come to this bar this week for the third time. He preferred to come here, instead of staying at home, where she could easily find him.

It was nearly midnight when a young woman with straight jet-black hair sat next to him, eyeing him mischievously. A few minutes passed before she clearly turned and stared at him without any shyness in her face, or her body, for that manner. Harry couldn't help but notice the way her crimson lips melded perfectly around her pearly teeth when she smiled. He couldn't resist the need to watch her when she was wearing that tiny piece of fabric called a "dress".

Cliché, he thought. The female always wears something sexy with red lips and black hair. He took a deep breath.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she answered.

"Harry Potter." He extended his hand. It was strange to be recognized by a Muggle.

She smiled as she took it and said, "I know. Famous Quidditch player, you are."

"So, you're a...?"

"A witch, yes." She leaned towards him. Still holding his hand, she whispered, "Nice to meet you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you... stranger." He was starting to feel dizzy from all the alcohol he drank. He mentally made a note to take a Hangover Potion next time.

"Fancy a drink?" he asked her.

"Sure. Obviously nothing like Firewhisky, but I can survive with vodka."

Vodka? he thought. Who drinks vodka in Britain, let alone a witch?

Countless drinks and 45 minutes later they were snogging on Harry's couch. When Harry backed for air, he studied her for a brief moment until she literally attacked him with her lips. Harry found himself burning. He remembered all the passion in his life before, the times they spent all the Sunday afternoon making love with his fiancé... Then something happened. It was the way she kissed him, perhaps, or the way she touched him. He remembered her. His fiancé. Suddenly the stranger girl reminded him of his fiancé. Weird... It was like she suddenly became "her" for a second then she became herself again. How you kiss tells a lot. He could clearly picture the day Hermione said this. Damn Hermione! Why do you always have to be right?

"NO!" Harry shouted, louder than he meant and jumped up from the couch. He started pacing.

"I can't do this to her. I love her! Look, you are hot and beautiful, probably intelligent, but I love my fiancé and..." He couldn't look at her.

"Stop it, Harry," she said calmly; no burst of anger, no cursing, crying. She only sat there, legs crossed, and repeated, "Stop it!"

"No! You don't understand!"

"Yes, I do, and stop it now."

Her voice... is it different or am I panicked? he thought. "But..." he said.

"HARRY! Harry James Potter! Look at me this instant!"

He was shocked at the mention of his middle name. How the hell...? he thought, but obeyed and looked at her thinking, Her voice is definitely different. His jaw dropped--Hermione Granger was looking directly at him with a smirk on her lips.

"Polyjuice Potion," she said before he could speak. His mouth hung limp with shock and he had no idea what to do. He closed his mouth, and then opened to say something, anything, but failed. No sound came out. He just stared at her, still not believing what was happening.

"You asked for passion, and your wish is my command, Harry," she dramatically whispered reaching for his cheek. It was obvious she enjoyed every moment of this. She slowly pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He was still trying to understand what was going on. He didn't move when she kissed him. She kissed him slowly, filling the kiss with all her love. One could have sworn that there was a glow coming out of her lips. Although it was not a passionate one, the warmth of her lips, the way she kissed him started to build a fire inside. It was like magic, the way her lips danced on his lips. He slowly began to slide his lips against hers. It was difficult to resist when the female wore such a sexy dress, especially when that female was Hermione. Now that his mind was clear, he decided to enjoy it all.

"Hermione... I can't believe what you did!" He kissed her again. "You are just... I'm just..." He was silenced by a finger placed on his lips.

"The luckiest man in the world," she growled. "Can we please have sex now?" she pleaded, trying not to moan as he started to suck on her finger, which was no longer lingering on his lips, but between them. He moved to her neck, smiling. Hermione let out a low moan.

"Sure, stranger," he said. This time, he was the one who attacked her with his lips. Night was young, and the couch was comfortable...