Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter six:

"Restricted"

Harry hated liver. Since he was a child, Aunt Petunia had forced him to eat the greasy dark steaks while the rest of the family feasted on rosy roasted beef and jacked potatoes. He hated the smell of it, the texture, the strong flavour; it always made him sick. But there was one thing that Harry hated more than liver. It was tall, blonde and aristocratic. And he happened to be his partner at work.

When he was asked by the head of the department to go on a mission with Malfoy, he knew it would be a hard day. When it turned out the mission was to take control of an illegal breed of carnivorous plant that was causing pandemonium at a Muggle house, he knew his day would be hell. Carnivorous plants loved liver. And he was carrying a bag full of it, while directing his steps to the focus of mayhem.

At least he had a good plan to relax later, he mused. He would be dining with Ginny and Hermione. It was the red-head's idea to invite him to come by. Considering Harry was a single young man living on his own, he had few possibilities to have a decent meal, so he had been more than glad to accept the invitation. Ginny would be preparing pasta at Hermione's, and as the girl was quite the cook, he was sure she would prepare something delicious. He could almost sense the spicy smell of the tomato sauce, the warm and soft fragance of the baked bread, the sweet scent of orangines emanating from a mane of flaming red hair. He sniffed deeply and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The only thing he could detect under his nose was the smelly liver he was carrying right now, which was dripping blood from a little hole in the plastic bag, staining his cloak.

He arrived at the Muggle house and opened the front door, heading for the kitchen. Malfoy was sitting in a chair reading a book, his feet resting on the sink. "Where's Mrs. Johnson?"

"That hysterical Muggle, she was getting on my nerves," Malfoy grunted, without lifting his eyes from the book.

Harry left the bag in the sink, knocking his partner's feet out of the way. Then he turned to the blonde man. "What have you done, Malfoy?"

Malfoy put a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. "Moi? I just made her stop shouting."

There was a mumbled sound, as if someone was knocking at a door. Harry turned to the origin of the noise, the larder, and opened the door. There he found a terrified Mrs. Johnson, tied to a chair, her mouth magically sealed with a zipper.

"Malfoy, you're such a bastard," he simply said.

"You're becoming too repetitive, Potter," Malfoy's voice came from the other end of the room.

Harry turned to the old woman and drew his wand out.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson. But don't worry, you won't remember anything afterwards," he apologized before stunning her. Then he closed the door and turned to the kitchen. "C'mon, we've got work to do." He started unpacking the raw liver, suppressing his sudden urge to throw up the coffee and scones he had had for breakfast. Malfoy looked at the thick, maroon, glossy pieces with disgust over Harry's shoulder.

"I'm not touching that," he said. "It's just a silly plant, and we are experienced Aurors."

"Okay, you go then. I'll wait for you here," Harry said, pushing his slipping glasses up his nose, leaving a blood mark all along his face. He had an amused look, which Malfoy took as a dare.

The blonde Auror opened the door leading to the garden and stalked toward the greenhouse. Harry continued chopping the meat, a huge grin spread across his face. Some seconds later there were some thrashing sounds and the distinctive breaking of some pots. There followed some yells and more thrashing noises.

"AAAAAAARGHHHHH! GEROFF ME!!" Malfoy's yells came from the greenhouse. Harry snorted loudly and began to think that it was worth it to have his hands all covered in liver.

The door of the greenhouse opened, and a very dishevelled Malfoy came out. His hair was all stained with mud and his robes torn at the arm, from which spilled a trail of blood. Though limping, he held his head arrogantly high. The proud git, Harry thought.

It took them three hours to control the plant, which happened to be six feet tall and had two rows of sharp teeth. They also discovered that there was one thing the plant liked more than liver, and that was, much to our heroes' dismay, young wizards' flesh.

"Let's owl the obliviators. We've finished here," Harry said. The greenhouse was almost destroyed, pieces of raw meat and broken pots scattered everywhere. He checked his watch nervously. "It took more time than expected."

"Afraid your date won't wait for the Wonderboy?" Malfoy sneered.

"No, in fact I have plans for dinner," he looked carefully for the blond man's reaction. "With Hermione." Half a true is not a lie, and he doesn't need to know, Harry thought. Malfoy didn't even blink. Good. Harry decided to take a step further.

"She's a wonderful cook, you know," he lied. Hermione was at cooking what Ron was at being sensitive. She had almost poisoned him once with an attempt at Spanish omelette. But Malfoy didn't need to know that, either.

"No. In fact, I don't know. What is more," he paused, "I don't care." He turned on the tap and started washing the dirt from his hands.

"I see. Then why did you kiss her?" Harry smiled devilishly. Just as he expected, Malfoy froze at the spot. Ever since Hermione had told her story, Harry had been waiting patiently for the opportunity to throw him that very question. She would probably kill Harry, but it was worth it just to see Malfoy so pissed off.

Draco's mind froze the moment Harry spoke his question. It was a memory he had long ago forced to the depths of his brain. Since he had first touched the warm lips of Hermione in the Hogwarts library, he knew the feeling that erupted then had to be hidden and forgotten. And Potter had to be the one to bring all those memories back. Damn Potter, he pissed him off so much.

"Tell me Potter, why does it bother you so much if I kissed your little girfriend a trillion years ago?" He suppressed the urge to punch the bespectacled git in the nose, but he could not conceal the spite filling each of his words.

"It is not the fact that you kissed her that annoys me. It's the fact that she still remembers." Harry walked out of the kitchen and the house, slightly stunned. Had it been his imagination, or had Malfoy had acted as if a bit... jealous? Over him and Hermione? But that was ridiculous. He shook his head disbelievingly. No way, it must have been the overexposure to liver vapours.

*****

"It needs more pepper." Ginny turned to Hermione with the wooden spoon full of a steamy red sauce. "Try and tell me what you think."

"Uhm, well, I think...." Hermione licked the tomato stains off her lips. The doorbell rang, and she hurried to open it. Saved by the bell, she thought. If she ever tried to help with the sauce, it would probably end up as a thick, grubby substance. Potions were easy, just mixing the exact quantity of elements at the right time. But cooking defied all the rules of logic for Hermione. She was the cooking version of poor Neville in Potions with Snape.

She opened the door to a clean and showered Harry, carrying a baguette wrapped in brown paper.

"I thought you would be bringing some wine." Hermione frowned and took the French bread.

"I don't want you to be drunk before nine. Remember we're to meet Ron at the Leaky Cauldron."

"The dream team's exclusive monthly meetings, uhm?" Ginny asked.

"They're not exclusive, you can come if you want to, Gin." Harry smiled at the youngest Weasley. People usually referred to her as "the fourth element" or the "baby Weasley", but she had surely grown to become a beautiful woman, with that mane of red hair framing her peach skin. Harry had grown accustomed to talking to her of things that his other friends couldn't understand, usually concerning his nightmares of dark veils and red eyes. Sometimes he wondered how she could remain so vital and happy, with all the dark thoughts he knew still haunted her dreams.

"Sure, spend the evening with my brother talking endlessly about Quidditch and how orange is in fashion again. I guess I can figure out more interesting things to do," she said, looking Harry directly in the eye.

He didn't know why he had to blush that very same moment. He turned to the cupboard and took out some plates to set the table. His stomach growled audibly. He hadn't felt like eating after all the liver chopping, and that had been some eight hours ago.

"Hermione," Harry called, " there's an owl by the window. I think it's Foxy."

She went to the window and opened it, allowing the bird to come in. Then she unfolded the letter, and a crease apeared in her brow. "I've got to go; Stephen needs me to talk about a fund raising event that has been presented to the WMCA."

"Fund raising? That's wonderful, Hermione. Who's organizing?" Ginny asked happily.

"Well," she looked at Harry, "I don't know yet."

"How could you not know?" Harry eyed her curiously.

"Uhm, it's difficult to explain. I better get going." She looked at her friends apologetically. "I hope you don't mind, but it's important. I'll see you at nine, Harry. Ginny, stay as long as you like, and don't forget to put on the warding spells when you leave."

"Yes mum," Ginny chanted. "I'll leave some of the sauce for you in the fred," she called after Hermione and closed the apartment door.

"It's fridge Gin, fridge," Harry laughed.

"Uhm, whatever."

*****

"The pasta was amazing." Harry left the napkin on the table, feeling completely full.

Ginny collected the plates and left them on the sink. "You'll say it was a four forks pasta?" she smiled.

"I don't know what you women have with rating everything. Is it really necessary?"

"What do you mean?" Ginny eyed him curiously.

"It's everywhere, you know. There's this rating of restaurants, with forks and stars and so on. And novels or films, they also have a rating."

"Yeah, General, Parent Guidance and so on. But it's not only a girl thing, you know." Ginny turned to Harry, hands resting on her hips.

"Sure, though I've never seen a man rating kisses."

"Kisses? How can you rate a kiss?" She was really curious now.

Harry could not remember the different scales that Lavender and Parvati had proposed to Hermione. "I guess just as you can rate everything else."

"Uhm, I see." Ginny slowly walked to where he was standing. She was wearing a playful smile on her lips that made Harry's stomach twist into a knot.

"So I guess this could be rated as a General public kiss." She tiptoed and kissed Harry on the cheek. He felt a sudden heat rise to his face, and for a moment wondered if he could go hide his head under the sand like ostriches. Instead, he looked into her blue eyes.

"I guess so," he muttered. A voice from the back of his head told him what was the most appropriate step to follow in an occasion like this. But did he want to take it? His heart was hammering hard in his chest, and his eyes had found their way to her lips. To do it or not to do it, that had always been the question, hadn't it?

"And," he licked his lips instinctively, "how would you rate this?" He leaned in and brushed his lips softly with those of Ginny, which were warm and inviting. He made a mental note to thank Malfoy for coming up with the best line ever.

Ginny opened her eyes, which she had unconsciously closed. "I guess that can be a Parent Guidance kiss, as it was on the mouth." She looked up at Harry, who hadn't decided between feeling extremely scared or extremely happy.

"Next rate is PG-13," she said, never moving her eyes from him. She didn't have to wait long for the man to take her up on her invitation and draw her into a much more passionate kiss. Her legs seemed to have turn to jelly, so she grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling.

They broke apart some minutes later, completely breathless. Harry knew he had crossed the line between Ginny and him, and that they would never be friends like before. But even as it dawned on him, he felt it didn't bother him so much. He scanned her eyes for a sign of fear or regret, finding none.

"What did you say was the next category?" he said seductively.

"I'll show you," she smiled wickedly while grabbing him by the collar, leading him to know the deepest meaning of the word 'restricted'.

*****

Hermione tapped her fingers on the wooden table impatiently. She looked at the bar, where Ron was having an animated chat with Tom, the bartender, the greatest fan of the Cannons after Ron himself.

Her stomach growled audibly and she reached for some peanuts. She had missed a splendid dinner because of Stephen's owl. Of course, he had been delighted to know of the rich ladies in quest of a cause and wanted to discuss their whole proceeding. He said it was the perfect opportunity to work together for the future of the poorly treated elves and misunderstood werewolves' cause. A great opportunity for the further bond of the different classes. Stephen was such a pedant. By no means was he going to meet the fund-raisers; he'd bore their pants off.

Loretta suggested threatening them with a domestic elves strike, or even better, to made the old spinsters drunk and force them to loosen their purses a bit. But Loretta wasn't especially known for her subtlety, it was a widely known fact.

In the end, they decided Hermione would be in charge of the meeting with the would-be fund-raisers. Two hours and a spoiled dinner for a decision that could have been made in ten minutes. Hermione reached again for the peanuts and stuffed a handful into her mouth.

She looked at the door and back at her watch, beginning to get worried. Harry was fifteen minutes late, and Harry was never late for no reason. He might have had an accident, or suffered an attack. He might be beaten, helpless, in the middle of a deserted street, with no-one to attend his desperate cries for help. Or he might be standing at the Leaky Cauldron's door with a dishevelled look and his hair messier than normal. Hermione gasped at her friend's state, confirming her worst thoughts. He had been attacked. So why did he have that stupid smile plastered on his face?

"What happened, Harry?" she asked while Harry took a seat in front of her. "You were attacked? Who did it? Are you hurt?"

"What? Who was attacked?" Ron came from the bar, taking a seat next to Hermione.

"No one," Harry said nervously.

"Then why were you late? And why are you looking as if a hippogriff glomped you?" Hermione looked at Harry questioningly. She was sure he was trying not to worry them.

Harry blushed beet red and kept silent, his mind racing for an appropriate answer to satisfy both Ron and Hermione. "I fell asleep," he said. "I fell asleep and woke up late, so I came here... running. That's why I look flustered. Yep, that's it." Ron seemed to buy his excuse, as he never was the questioning friend. That was Hermione's work, and she was peering at him through narrowed eyes.

"See Hermione, you are a paranoid," Ron patted her back. She had her eyes still on Harry, who was trying an unconvincing smile.

"Ron, why don't you get Harry a pint? He must be thirsty with all the running," she asked sweetly. Immediately, the red-head got up and headed to the bar to happily resume his conversation with Tom. Then she turned and asked Harry in her most third-degree tone, "Spit it out. Now, what has happened?"

"I have already told you!" he said innocently.

"You are a horrible liar, Harry Potter. You come here all flustered, your clothes dishevelled, your hair all messed up -more than usual, I mean-, and now you have that stupid grin on your face as if you had just..." she stopped abruptly and looked at the black-haired boy in shock.

"No. Harry, tell me you didn't."

He forced an apologetic grimace, sensing the upcoming storm. "I can't."

"FOR GOD'S SAKE!" she shouted. Ron looked at them questioningly from the bar, but seeing no problem, began chatting again. "For God's sake, Harry," Hermione said in barely a whisper. "What did you do to Ginny?"

Harry snorted loudly, but seeing that Hermione was not joking, he turned serious. "I guess it's more what she did to me," Harry blushed. "And I don't regret it, if you want to know." He again had that stupid groofy grin, the one that Hermione began to find really annoying.

"I don't understand it, Harry. Some weeks ago you were all depressed for Cho, and now..."

"You know I was over Cho before this happened; I'm happy for her. I try to go on with my life."

"But what about Ginny? You know she has always liked you; it's not fair to take advantage just because you're feeling down."

"I'm not taking advantage of her! And I like Ginny genuinely," he protested.

"So you discover you like Ginny, just like that, after all these years?"

"Yes," he simply said. "Sometimes you just don't realize that what you were looking for is exactly in front of you." He said those words with sincerity, as a light smile spread across his face. She could tell he was convinced of it, so there was no point in fussing further.

"Maybe you're right," she sighed. "I just would have liked for you to discover your love in your own bed," she laughed.

"What makes you think we reached the bed?" he smiled mischievously, obtaining a shocked look from his friend.

"If you hurt her, I will kill you," she threatened. "And you don't want to know what Ron will do if you hurt her. Never mind, Ron will kill you anyway when he finds out."

"When I find out what?" Ron left the three pints at the table, looking at his friend amusedly. He didn't seem to notice how Harry's face had drained all colour.

"There was this woman, going on how the Cannons sucked..." Hermione started. It was not the first time her natural, though often misused, ability for lying had saved one of her friends' asses.