When It All Gets Too Complicated

Hermione Apparated into the living room of her comfortable Maida Vale flat, unloaded her heavy bag of books onto a convenient side table and collapsed onto the expansive blue couch, letting its soft cushions mould to the shape of her back. She leaned her head back, swung her legs onto the pouffe and sighed. It had been a hard day. They'd had a practical lesson today, and she was certainly feeling it. All that running and jumping and hexing...she screwed her face up in recollection. And that tumble out of the tree hadn't done her any favours, either. Wibbling piteously to herself, she glanced up at the clock, hoping that either one of her flatmates would be home soon. No such luck; the two slender gold hands that bore Harry's and Ron's names were both pointing to "University." Hermione frowned to herself. It was three o'clock (according to her very unmagical watch), on a Friday. Harry should've finished classes at one, and Ron only had the one today, and that had finished at midday. Cursing Harry and Ron for not being around to wait on her hand and foot, Hermione Summoned from the mantelpiece the other clock, the personally customised one Fred and George had designed for them as a housewarming present. Instead of the usual designations such as "Home," "Work," "University" and the like, this one had been designed to reflect the University lifestyle the twins evidently thought Harry, Ron and Hermione lived, and sported events such as "Saving the world," "On the pull," "Drunk," "Napping in class," "Study binge," "Sucking up to lecturer," "Getting takeaway," and, as a little reference to Ron's antics at the Yule Ball in seventh year, "Singing Karaoke." Currently, Ron's was stuck on "Getting takeaway" and Harry's was violently swinging between "Sucking up to lecturer," "Having coffee" and "On the pull." Hermione giggled. Maybe Amy, Harry's Applied Hexes tutor, had finally given in to all his demands and agreed to go out with him.

A loud pop came from the kitchen, and Ron's arrow started spinning around the clock face.

"You here, Min?" Ron's voice was slightly muffled, as though there was something in his mouth. Hermione called out to him.

"Hello, Ron. I'm in the living room." Ron ambled into the room, and swung his long legs over the couch. He grinned, showing a mouth full of food.

"Urgh! Ron!" Hermione hit him with a cushion, and he leant over further, opening his mouth wider until she shrieked and poked him in the stomach. He swallowed and smiled at her.

"That's better. You're a disgusting thing, Ron Weasley."

Ron nodded sadly. "Yes, it's my curse. To have my innate charm and wit overlooked because of my manners."

"Yes. In fact, the curse is so strong that I've never seen any evidence of this supposed charm and wit, and we've been friends for nearly ten years," Hermione agreed.

"Haha. I bought you a kebab."

Hermione brightened, all of her aches and pains forgotten. "I take that back. You are charming." She put down the clock (which now registered Ron as "Veging out"), and began to nibble the kebab.

The two friends sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their food. As he finished, Ron belched loudly, and smirked at Hermione, waiting for her reaction. She raised one well-groomed eyebrow and belched even louder, and received an approving thumbs up from Ron.

"Nice work. Ah, that's what comes from living with men."

"Or Neanderthals."

"Shut up, Min."

"Nice comeback."

Ron smirked. "Yeah, your mum told me I could come back, too."

Hermione looked at her friend incredulously, and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Ron was grinning proudly. She shook her head.

"Honestly, Ron. You're worse than Seamus when it comes to discussions of people's mums."

"Yeah, well, I don't get to try it out much, because Harry goes all broody and boring." He frowned. "Hey, where is The Boy Who Moped?"

Hermione pointed to the clock, which was now stuck on "On the pull," but was slowly edging towards "Getting lucky."

"Oh! Go Harry! Who d'you reckon it is?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, it was on "Sucking up to lecturers" before, so I think it's a safe bet to say Amy."

Ron whistled appreciatively. "Go, Harry! Get some Tutor love!"

"Hey, you didn't say that when I was seeing Richard, Mr Double Standards."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Well, Miss Likes Older Men, he was a lecturer. And a lecher." Ron laughed at his own joke.

"It was just the one older man."

Much to the mixed horror and glee of Harry and Ron, Hermione had briefly become involved with her Mobile Charms lecturer last semester. The relationship had, admittedly, only involved a few secret snogs in his office, and one very uncomfortable dinner at the flat in which the boys had insisted on asking him if they could get extensions on their essays. However, Hermione had discovered that he was married shortly after, and promptly ended the affair, much to Ron's delight. They'd only heard from Professor Richie (as Harry dubbed him) once more, when he stood outside the flat for several hours in the middle of the night, begging Hermione to give him another chance. Eventually, he had fallen asleep and they'd called the Knight Bus to collect him.

"Anyway, I got a great mark for that course," she smiled wryly, and he scoffed.

"Ah, yes. I can just see your graduation now." He assumed a pompous air. "Bachelor of Magical Arts, with honours in Auror studies and shagging the professors, Miss Hermione Granger."

"Well, at least I'll graduate sometime this decade."

"Oh, that's lovely, make it personal." Ron looked at her sadly. "It's not my fault I'm not doing well in my exams. There were extenuating circumstances."

Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Oh, what were those again? That's right, you turned up an hour late, with a hangover because you'd been out on the piss with some girl the night before, and had gone back to her house."

"Hey, it was the first bit of action I'd seen in about four months," Ron said mournfully. "And there hasn't been any since, either."

Hermione grinned. "Oh, poor ickle Ronniekins! Is he having a dry spell?" She leant her head on his shoulder and squeezed his arm sympathetically.

Ron melted internally. Hermione smelled great, a mixture of her shampoo, the woolen jumper she had on, and, for some reason he could never work out, lemongrass. He rested his head on hers, secretly delighting in the way the soft, curly hair felt against his cheek.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering...I mean, I've been sore all day since the practical this morning, could I please please please have one of your famous backrubs?" She gazed at him winsomely, and he agreed, of course. Anything for physical contact. Hermione arranged herself so that she was leaning against his chest, and as his hand with their long fingers began to massage the tension away from her neck, she closed her eyes and made little content noises.

A few minutes passed in silence, apart from the occasional quiet moan from Hermione. Ron was desperately trying to ignore the growing bulge in his pants, concentrating on his task at hand. There was no use, he reflected, in pretending that these feelings for Hermione had simply grown out of many months of celibacy and the fact that they shared a house. It had stopped simply being a yearning for physical intimacy some time around New Year's Eve, after she'd snogged him. Of course, she'd also snogged Harry, Dean and Lavender (that had been an image that had kept him warm in the long cold months that followed), as well as dropping a brief kiss on Bill's cheek in a fit of drunken high spirits. Hermione Granger had never been one for holding her drinks. But since then, he'd realised that she wasn't just his friend, nor merely wank fodder to tide him over until the next girl came along. He realised that he got all misty when she came out of the shower and the whole hallway and bathroom smelt like her shampoo (which he and Harry were forbidden to use, as it cost two galleons a bottle in Diagon Alley), and when he came out of his room at two in the morning for a snack, and saw her door open and her light on, and discovered that she'd fallen asleep studying again.

Of course, he still wanted to shag her.

Sometime later, Harry Apparated into the kitchen, and went in search of his friends. Because the kitchen was right next to the living room, it ended quickly as he walked in to find Hermione asleep on the couch, nestled against Ron who was watching her with the same expression Hagrid had whenever dragons were nearby.

"Hey, Ron."

Ron looked up, and smiled. "Shh. She's asleep."

"Quite." Harry raised a knowing eyebrow. Ron's feelings towards Hermione were completely obvious.

Choosing to ignore both the remark and the eyebrow, Ron changed the subject. "So, how's Amy?" He ran a critical eye down Harry, who seemed to be covered in some kind of liquid.

"How'd you know?" Ron pointed to the clock, and Harry rolled his eyes and sat down in the armchair. "Everything was fine until some first-year came up and started talking to me. I had no idea who she was, until she reminded me that we'd shagged a few months ago at a party. And then she got all mad that I didn't remember, and Amy called me, let's see; 'A pig who probably sleeps with girls more often than he changes his underwear,' and then both of them threw their drinks at me. And it was my favourite shirt, too."

Unable to help himself, Ron laughed, and the movement woke Hermione.

"Wha's happened?" she mumbled, staring blearily at Harry.

"Oh, nothing. Harry's wild bachelor lifestyle has caught up with him and kicked him in the pants;" Ron paused for effect, "again."

Hermione struggled briefly to right herself, and made a sympathetic face at Harry.

"Oh no. And you've been trying so hard..." She stretched her arms out towards him, indicating that she would love to give him a comforting hug, as long as she didn't have to leave the couch. He leant over and cuddled her, and she tugged his hand so that he sat down next to her.

"Poor you, Harry. And Ron."

Harry, hurt that some of the sympathy was going to someone else, frowned. "Why poor Ron? No one threw drinks down his favourite shirt."

"Yes, but that's because he hasn't had a date in forever. He's sexually deprived and you're emotionally deprived." She smiled sweetly. "Really, the best course of action is for you to shag each oth-ow!" She rubbed her arms where the two boys had simultaneously punched her, and pouted.

Ron gave in. "Sorry, Min."

"I try to offer advice, and you beat me. That's just lovely. Just for that, I'm not going to let you come out with me tonight."

Harry's interest was piqued. "You're going out? Where? With who? Lavender?"

"Yes, to Le Fey's, with Ginny and Seamus, no, and I'm not going to kiss her again just so you can watch."

"Hey, I never said anything..." Hermione fixed him with a stern gaze, and his expression turned to one of extreme guilt.

Ron was miffed. "Ginny's still with Seamus? That's, like, three months now. What's he doing with my sister?"

Hermione smiled primly. "What do you think he's doing? Apparently Ginny's also got the Weasley sex drive. Must be on the same chromosome as the red hair."

"Oh, ew. Hermione, remember how you're not allowed to talk about members of my family doing That?" Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh, was that the same time we decided you and Harry weren't allowed to ask me to snog my girlfriends in front of you again, because it's a bit off?"

"Shut up. At least you weren't psychologically scarred."

Harry stepped in. "Don't worry, Ron. If Seamus is shagging Ginny, we'll just take him out the back and practise a few Unforgivables on him."

Ron seemed to consider the jest in some earnest, tipping his head to the side ponderously. "Not a bad idea, Harry. That'll teach him to fuck my sister. I mean, what is he, some kind of sisterfucker?"

"Ah, yes. And henceforth, Seamus 'Sisterfucker' Finnigan, as he is now known, will live in fear of his girlfriend's strange brother and his bored friend." Hermione's narrative brought the boys - well, Harry at least, back to earth.

"I'm not bored. I have an interesting and active life."

"Yes, and Ron has his own private harem."

"Oh, I should so get one of those. That would be brilliant."

"I worry about you two. I really do." Hermione rolled her eyes. "So, are you going to come out with me tonight?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. It might be just the thing I need to get over Amy." Hermione scoffed at his heartbroken expression. "What about you, Ron?"

Ron chewed his lower lip, mulling it over. "Well, it is Friday. And I don't have any plans. And there's nothing good on the telly. Besides, I need to keep an eye on Sisterfucker."