The After-Pumpkin Hours: All's Fair in Snogs and War

The Prefect Bathroom

Part 1...when there's a situation...

Oh. Bloody. Hell. Bloody, bloody hell. Harry bloody Potter. In nothing but a towel. His muscular torso was cover in droplets of water that were dripping slowly down his chest. His hair was matted against his forehead in some sort of smoky-sexy look that should be outlawed everywhere. Then there was the dangerous hunger that glittered in his predatory gaze.

Best friend Harry = SAFE.

Harry in nothing but a towel = BAD.

*Very bad.*

Very bad in a good way... Well, just bad.... This was bad...

Hermione snapped out of her Harry-in-a-towel coma, throwing her hands up to cover her wide eyes in total mortification. She wasn't mortified because she had seen her best friend, her very hot best friend, in a towel. No, no... not her. He was delicious... very kissable.

This was *bad*.

She was mortified because she was having those thoughts. Those very, very bad thoughts about her best friend...who was in a towel and only a towel. She wanted to cry, or yell, or for god's sake hit something at least.

Or better yet, kissing him sounded nice.

Oh god.

Okay, okay. Let's review the situation as a reminder.

Best friend Harry = SAFE.

Sexy towel-clad Harry =

*Bad*

Er, good--- no, it was *very bad*.

A throaty chuckle interrupted her inner ramblings. Then an arm found its way around her waist, reminding her that her best friend did have those Slytherin tendencies every so often.

Bad... Bad, bad, bad...

She realized that if he pulled her any closer, she would actually be leaning against his well-toned, hard, muscular -not to mention wet- chest. And against a few other things that the very thought of which was making her blush.

She could feel the heat spread across her cheeks.

"You do know, we're locked in here."

Her eyes widened. And suddenly she couldn't breathe

Oh hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

Part 2...or when those damn Slytherin tendencies let loose...

"We're locked in?!"

Harry Potter was about to get down on his knees and thank the Fates or even Merlin for locking him in the Prefects' bathroom with a beautiful girl. Ah, but not just any beautiful girl. This beautiful girl happened to be his best friend, who not only was extraordinarily beautiful, but brilliant as well. And then she had those lips... Those perfect, perfect lips that were full, rose petal pink, and then when she did that moisten her lips with her tongue thing, what he wouldn't give to-

Okay, mind of the gutter.

The point was... scratch that... the *fact* was that he had a very flushed Hermione in his arms looking like a sheep in a wolf's den. Well, more like the serpent's den.

A slow smirk crossed his lips.

Now what on earth could he do...

If he were any other guy- he mentally growled at his own audacity to say those words 'any other guy'. He would have tried to take advantage of the situation. But he was Harry Potter and Harry Potter counted his blessings. And by Merlin, this was a *blessing*.

He was going to savor this moment to every last drop.

"I'm wet," Hermione commented crossly, finally breaking free from her mental wanderings and noticing their closeness. He fought back a grin at the rosy flush spreading across her face even further. He happened to like being this close. He lifted a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

Review time.

Locked door. God bless Ginny for whatever plans she had when she suggested the prefects' bathroom. Check.

A very flustered and desirable- although he'd even go so far to say edible... Hermione looked so perfect for so many things now. Check.

Hell, he had gotten over that stupid cardinal rule about not being allowed to snog your best friend into bloody oblivion ages ago. Obviously the prat who wrote the rule never had a best friend that wore tight and low form-fitting jeans with a tank top that clung to certain areas...

Hmm...

The possibilities...

Hermione.

Him.

Locked door.

Bath.

"Well," he said lightly. "Ron and Ginny should be back in a couple hours or so. We could make the most of it."

He grinned and Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You do realize that we're locked in."

His grin widened. "Of course."

"You're wet."

"And so are you. Dirty too. You were coming back from that extra credit Herbology project with Longbottom, right?"

She blinked. "Your point?"

In one fluid motion, Harry picked up Hermione and dropped her into the water.

"I might as well help you clean up."

Part 3...or when Harry's a wicked, wicked boy, but Hermione can play too...

There were several things that registered on her mind as she emerged from the cold water of the bath.

One:

Do not under any circumstances trust a scheming Virginia Weasley. "Mya, you seriously need to spice up your love life!" should have been a clue.

Two:

Never, ever forget that the Prefects' bathroom had a faulty lock... not to mention Peabody the Perverted, the portrait at the entrance, could be bribed into just about anything.

Three:

She was wet, very wet and for some reason in her very hands she was clutching Harry's towel.

Now imagine that.

"You know if you wanted to borrow my towel... you could have asked."

Oh. My. God.

Her hands flew up to cover her eyes. A combination of horror , total embarrassment and curiosity filled her.

"Please put some clothes on."

"But they're diiirttyy," Harry whined playfully. "And I just came from Quidditch practice!"

"You know the damn cleaning charm," she snapped. "Use it!"

Harry chuckled, a deep rumbling sound came out from the back of his throat... almost like a sexy purr that reminded her of a very satisfied male lion.

Eep. Bad, bad, bad!

Focus Granger!

"But I like you all hot and bothered," he drawled.

Damn it. The steam had to be getting to his brain. That had to be the explanation.

"Accio Harry's Quidditch pants!"

She had no idea how on earth she managed to use her wand with one hand over her eyes and use her wand, but she let out a huge sigh of relief as she heard the distinct rustle of clothing.

"You can open your eyes now."

Hermione slowly lifted her hand from her eyes to be greeted by Harry kneeling before her in mud-clad Quidditch pants with his hands outstretched to help her out. There was something about this moment, she realized suddenly. It felt so important, so crucial to take his hand...

"Come on now," Harry urged. "I don't bite."

A slow smile curved onto her lips as she threaded her fingers through his.

"But I do."

And she yanked him in.

Part 4...when BadGirl!Hermione comes out to play...

Harry Potter knew many things about his best friend. Her favorite color was blue. She was a closet chocolate lover and Fall was her favorite season. And then there was this smile she had... Well, that one was hard to explain.

A genuine smile from Hermione Granger was rare. She had this certain smile where her eyes would light up and everyone including himself would fall victim to its brilliance.

And then there was this smile.

It was more like a half-smile, but a smile all the same. Her lips would purse together first. And then she'd slowly run her tongue over her bottom lip to moisten her lips. The ever-so-slowly, one corner of her mouth would curve up slightly. That's when you knew you were in real trouble.

Hence, the situation he had found himself in.

She was way past that half-smile phase. Her eyes were a hazy coffee brown, half-lidded and giving her a very sultry look. She looked ready to pounce.

Big trouble.

Big, big trouble.

Did he mention that she was dangerously close to him?

"You can dish it out, but you can't take the heat, Potter," she purred, causing his body temperature to rise. "I'm disappointed."

He unconsciously inched closer to her, the water forming small waves around their bodies. He recognized a challenge when he saw it. "I can take the heat."

She licked her lips and raised an eyebrow, lifting her hand and gently brushing her fingertips against his lips.

"Can you?"

Lavender and rose invaded his senses. He was being completely engulfed by Hermione's scent. But the Slytherin that lurked inside him, which only came out when Hermione was involved, refused to back down. This was a challenge he couldn't refuse. He would play.

He grabbed her by the waist, effectively pinning her to the marble seat in a corner with his body arched against hers.

"How interesting the situation is... especially when it always ends up in my favor."

Famous last words.

Her lips were so close he could almost taste them. The corners of her mouth slowly curved up into a wicked, wicked smile.

"Is it, then?"

In a fury of movement, Hermione flipped their position so he was sitting on the marble ledge and she straddling him. That wicked, wicked smile had no intentions of leaving either apparently.

"This isn't Quidditch, Harry," she whispered, softly blowing air onto his aching lips.

T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

"No," he breathed.

She lowered her lips and brushed a soft kiss against his forehead.

"And I'm not much for sport..."

Three more kisses, one for each eye-lid and then one for the side of his mouth.

"But what you have done, Mr. Potter, is start a very dangerous game between us."

She leaned down, her hair falling out of her loose tie and in waves around them.

"I can play... but can you?"

Part 5...and when WetSlytherin!Harry comes out on top...

"I can play, but can you?"

A sweetly poisoned challenge, as if Juliet herself was offering paradise in a deadly kiss. But then all thoughts of Juliet and poetry flew out of her mind as the green-eyed Devil himself stepped in to rise to the occasion.

"You're wicked," he murmured, pulling her hips tightly against his. She bit back a moan, a soft hiss escaping her pursed lips. His lips found a spot on the curve of her neck and then an earlobe.

"Am I?" she managed. She struggled to maintain any inch of control that she had left, but then his lips discovered another spot inches away from her breasts. Hermione's body arched backwards, her wild curls pooling into the water.

Harry chuckled. "But I'm wicked, too. Don't worry, I'll play your little game."

He grabbed her by the hair and crushed her lips to his own. Her arms tightened their hold around his neck. Teasing. Taunting. Burning. She could feel the flames begging to swallow her alive.

The Devil could take her now.

And he almost did.

But then Ginny Weasley opened the door.

**

"Why does Harry keep looking down this way?"

Ginny Weasley watched in avid amusement as Hermione refused to look down the long Gryffindor table at Harry, or even to look her in the eye. Not since the incident, of course.

The incident, Ginny mused with a quick glance towards Harry. Served as the ultimate and most successful matchmaking plan in Hogwarts' history. Harry kept looking like he wanted to devour Hermione while Hermione would sometimes allow that half-smile of hers on the edge of her lips. However, when one looked at the other...

Put it this way, Neville was a matchmaking genius in hiding.

"You didn't answer my question," Ginny spoke, leaning against an arm on the table.

"What did you say? I'm sorry"

"I asked you why Harry keeps looking over here," she repeated with a mischievous smile.

Hermione bit her lip. "Why don't you go and ask him yourself?"

She grinned suddenly, motion to their very topic of conversation that happen to just be standing behind Hermione. "Hey, Harry."

Hermione looked up to find Harry glancing down at her, a lop-sided grin on his lips. She had a very nervous look on her face but it was very cute nonetheless, Ginny thought.

"Hey, Gin," he replied, eyes still on her friend who reminded her of a deer caught in headlights- or whatever that Muggle expression was.

She watched in plain interest as Harry sat down next to Hermione. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned to show his Muggle rock band t-shirt underneath. He reached over and grasped Hermione by the chin, brushing his thumb over her lips in a very intimate gesture.

Ginny decided that the day got even better as Harry brushed his lips against Hermione's inciting several gasps among some Gryffindors.

Oh like they didn't see it coming, Ginny huffed.

Harry stood his hungry gaze still on Hermione. "Later, Gin."

She grinned. "Bye!"

As she turned to tease her best friend mercilessly, her gaze fell upon a mark on the pale skin of her neck.

Oh.

My.

God.

"You have a bloody *hickey*!"

Match point: Harry Potter.