Chasing and Coughing

"Bronchitis. Or pneumonia. He wasn't quite sure which, but he gave me an antibiotic and told me to stay home for the next few days."

"Well, I could've told you that second part, but why in the world are you suffering through a five- or six-day regimen of antibiotics when I'm sure you could just go to a Medi-Wizard and get a potion to take care of you in one day?" On his end of the line, Harry scrunched up his face in confusion. If there were magical alternatives available, why not take them, he wondered.

"I've told you before, Harry. I grew up with Muggle antibiotics and Muggle doctors. It's what I'm used to. They make me feel more comfortable - safer. Anyway, I'm not the only one who prefers the Muggle way of doing things - look who called me on the telephone when I have a perfectly workable fireplace!" Hermione teased.

"Ha, ha. I suppose you think you're quite clever, don't you?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes.

"Why, yes. That was exactly what I was thinking. Amazing, isn't it, that after nine years of friendship, you're only just starting to read my mind!" Hermione chuckled at her witticism, then winced as the laugh turned into a particularly nasty cough. As she struggled to catch her breath, Harry sighed in a resigned manner.

"That's it. I'm coming over. You told me you could take care of yourself, well I'm not so sure about that anymore. Just wait. I'll be there in a moment."

"Harry, wait - no - ." Click. Hermione sighed. Oh well, she should have known she couldn't keep Harry away. Anyway, was the idea of his coming over to take care of her that bad after all? She smiled and shook her head, walking into the kitchen of her flat to heat up water for tea.

As the kettle began to whistle, Hermione heard a faint 'pop' behind her and turned around to see a very flustered-looking Harry standing on the arm of her sofa. He was still dressed in his work robes from his job at the Ministry of Magic - the deepest green one could call green - and consequently Hermione felt quite underdressed in her pink terry-cloth bathrobe. "Damn it, Hermione," he called across the flat, "you need to tell me when you move the furniture around. I have - or I should say I had - an exact map of your flat in my head. I know - knew - where I could and couldn't Apparate to. I try - honestly I do - not to land on furniture. And this is not funny!" At his last comment, Hermione stifled her giggles behind a hand, but couldn't manage to hide her amusement at her friend's predicament. Harry growled deep in his throat as he climbed down off the sofa. "You know, Hermione, if you weren't sick, you would be in very big trouble right now." Hermione laughed outright at that, and Harry smiled along with her, caught up in her big infectious smile, until her laugh turned into another coughing fit.

"Hermione!" Harry cried as he hurried across the room to help her sit down at the kitchen table. "You're sick!"

"No, really, Harry? And you know what else? The Pope's Catholic!" Hermione responded sarcastically. Harry would have been hurt by the tone, but he could see in her eyes a playful smirk.

"Well, what can I do for you? I brought some things," he said, vaguely gesturing at the pile of things he had deposited at the end of the sofa, "but what do you want?"

"Well, for right now, I'd like you to make that stupid teapot shut up. Goodness! All the water's probably boiled away by now!" Hermione looked disappointed.

"No worries. You do still have a sink, 'Mione. If there's no more water left, I can get you more," Harry teased with an evil smirk.

"Oh, just shut up and take the kettle off the stove," Hermione snapped, coughing into her hand. "And say nothing about my use of Muggle technology when magic would have been easier," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't. I don't like boiling water with my wand either," Harry replied over his shoulder as he poured the remaining hot water into a mug and reached for what he knew was Hermione's favorite tea - black licorice. "It kind of upsets me, actually. Creeps me out a bit. Of course, Ron is scared shitless by the sound the kettle makes, so...we have a hard time making tea when he's home. As a matter of fact, I haven't had tea in the longest time. Mmm. It smells delicious. Here you are." He placed the mug in front of Hermione, then took on the attitude and posture of a waiter. "Is zere aneezing else I can do for you, madamoizzelle?" he asked in a hideous French accent.

She smiled up at him with tired-looking eyes. "Yes. Remind me why, at the ripe age of almost-twenty, I'm single." She looked at him with a plaintive look in her eyes, and Harry sighed inwardly. She always got like this - philosophical, wondering where her place in life really was - whenever she got drunk or exceedingly tired. He could now add "sick" to the list of situations that brought this out in her.

"Well," he said, giving her his standard answer for this question, "you're single because the entire male species is either blind, stupid, or not good enough for you. Or some combination of the three."

Hermione smiled. It was routine, the exchange. Occasionally she wished Harry would change the routine, throw in something like, "Because I just haven't had the nerve to tell you how I feel." And when she was drunk enough to wish he said that, she'd go home. But really, it was their favorite game, and it had been a while since she had been sober to enjoy it. "You know, by saying that the 'entire male species' you include yourself, Harry." She knew the entire conversation by heart.

Harry smiled broadly. He loved this part. "That's right, 'Mione," he said, standing up. "I am both blind," he announced, taking off his glasses, "and stupid!" he proclaimed, sticking them on again, but on top of his head and backwards. Hermione grinned. She loved the game. Harry looked adorable with his glasses on his head.

Adorable? Where had that come from? Certainly she had thought that of him before, during this game, but...surely she had been drunk then. Surely any notions she had of Harry being adorable were brought on by either alcohol, or, this time, fever...right? She shook her head and stood up.

Harry hadn't noticed any of Hermione's wild ponderings, though, for he was vainly trying to remove his glasses from his hair, where they had gotten tangled. He winced as he pulled on the frames and his scalp went with him. He squinted up in what he thought could be the direction of the top of his head, and muttered, "Yes, 'Mione. Blind and stupid...and not even close to being good enough for you." He sighed and continued wrestling with his glasses.

With a sigh of relief from Harry, the glasses finally removed themselves from his hair. He set them back on his face, and looked straight ahead at...Hermione's arse! Well, he hadn't expected that one. She was bending to search in the refrigerator for something. He knew he should look away. After all, his best friend didn't know that he was gazing at her arse, but...it was a very nice arse. After a few more moments, he realized he was staring. 'Now what in Merlin's name am I doing staring at Hermione's arse?' he thought. 'Well, it's very nice, Harry. Isn't it? Especially where it - ,' another little voice in his head responded. No. He shook his head. He had to stop the madness. "Er... 'Mione," he tried to get out. For some reason unbeknownst to him, his voice was sticking in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. " 'Mione?"

"Mmm-hmm?" she responded distractedly. 'It better be in here,' she thought. 'If it's not in here - if I ate it last night -.'

"Erm, what are you doing?" 'I will not look at her arse, I will not look at her arse, I will not -.'

"Looking for something." 'Where the devil is it? I swear, if it's not in here, I'll just have to -.'

"Well, thank you, Miss Informative. What precisely are you looking for?" 'Why can't she just stand up? It would make things much easier for me if her arse wasn't just sitting there, staring me right in the face. Ooh...staring...Hermione's arse.... NO! I will not stare at Hermione's arse, I will -.'

She stood. Something that sounded like a cross between a sigh of relief and a sigh of disappointment came out of Harry's mouth. She gave him a puzzled look. "I'm looking for the pumpkin pie I had in here from last week."

"There's any of that left? Good god, 'Mione, the way you were eating that, I would have bet it was gone by the time you got home from the restaurant," Harry joked. He knew pumpkin pie was Hermione's favorite dessert - which was why he had ordered it for the table when they had gone out the other night with friends to celebrate Hermione's acceptance into Auror training. It had been an exceedingly fun evening, despite Ron's absence (he was now playing Chaser for the Chudley Cannons, and was seldom home during the Quidditch season). Amazingly, no-one but Harry and Hermione had partaken of the pie. "No thanks," Neville had said with a hand on his stomach. "I think I've already eaten enough tonight."

"Oh, thanks so much," Ginny had said, pushing away the offered fork. "I would, but I've already eaten enough off of other people's plates tonight. I'm full as Neville, I think."

Draco had wrinkled his nose. "I don't eat anything orange. Except, of course, for my girlfriend here," he added with a devilish smile, placing his hand on Ginny's bright red hair. She had slapped him, of course, as Hermione greedily pulled the plate towards herself and Harry.

"Well, there was some of it left yesterday, I'm sure of it," Hermione said, pulling Harry's attention back to the present. "I just...I think I may have eaten it last night. Oh, damn!" she shouted, slamming the refrigerator door shut. "I must have. And now I have to - oh, well. It's not like they'll ever notice." She reached into into her robe pocket for her wand.

"Who'll never notice?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The bakery across the street," Hermione answered, before leaning her top half out the kitchen window, which faced the street. "Accio pumpkin pie!" she called out, then stepped back from the window, motioning for Harry to do the same. The next instant, what appeared to be a freshly baked pumpkin pie flew through the window and came to a smooth stop in the exact middle if Hermione's kitchen table. She smiled with childish glee. "Mmm. It still smells warm. Oh, I do love them for making the best pumpkin pies ever! Want a slice?" She turned to Harry expectantly.

"Of this contraband? I think not," he joked. "No, seriously, 'Mione. You can have it all." He suddenly wanted to do nothing but sit down and watch Hermione. The night was getting more interesting by the minute.

"You sure?" she asked, her mouth full of pie. Harry laughed.

"Yes, I'm sure. But I do want to do this," he said, dipping his finger into the pie, then dabbing it onto Hermione's nose. She swallowed, then dropped her jaw open in shock.

"I'm going to get you for that, Harold James Potter!" she yelled, standing up to chase him. He was already across the room, hiding behind the sofa. She took off after him, wand out and ready.

A playful yet tiring chase around the sofa ensued, with neither party really getting anywhere, as chases around sofas normally play out. After several minutes of running, Hermione started to lose her breath. 'Damn,' she thought. 'Well, I'm not going down alone!' And with that thought, she executed a magnificent move, grabbing the back of Harry's shirt just as she threw herself onto the sofa, so that he came along with her. Ultimately, they lay on the sofa, Hermione on her back and Harry on his stomach on top of her.

They stared at each other for a few moments, exchanging, through glances, a series of emotions. Harry took a breath and opened his mouth to speak. 'Oh, my,' Hermione thought to herself. 'Here we go. Finally. Hold on tight.'

"You know...I love you," he said, so matter-of-factly it startled him. He'd been dreaming about saying it for years, wanting to say it for months, and thinking about perhaps actually saying it all evening.

"Yeah. I know," she said, just as matter-of-factly, as if he had said, "You know, Ron hates Draco." "And you do know I love you, too, don't you, you silly prat?"

"I - well, I - don't really know that, 'Mione," he stuttered. He hadn't really expected that. He'd more expected being thrown off of Hermione and out of the flat, for good, and he told Hermione as much.

She laughed as hard as she could, well, as hard as she could with another human being on her chest. "You silly, blind, stupid male," she said, shaking her head.

" 'Mione - I'm all three. I'm not good enough for you," he said, pushing up off of Hermione and into a sitting position at the other end of the sofa. She sat up herself and scooted down to sit next to him.

"Oh, shut it. Any guy who's humble enough to say he's not good enough for me is for sure good enough for me. I love you, Harry, and you love me, and you care about me enough to come over here on a Friday night when you could be out partying, and you know - I hope you know - I'd do the same for you. And all that's good enough for me, Harry. I love you, and that's what counts." She smiled at him nervously, then bit her lip. 'What if he decides it won't work?'

"Stop that," he said.

"Stop what?"

"That chewing on your lip thing. It's unbelievably sexy, and all it does is make me want to -." And then she stopped biting her lip. After all, it is very difficult to bite one's lip while one is being kissed by and kissing one's best friend. 'Best friend? Merlin, I hope he's more than just that now,' she thought to herself.

They pulled away slowly, reluctantly. She smiled, then put on a fake schoolmarm expression, and waggled her finger at him. "You'll get sick if you keep doing that," she warned.

He smiled impishly. "Mmm. Does that mean I get to stay in bed with you? And that when you're all better and I'm still sick you'll feed me pumpkin pie? Which, by the way, you taste like. Mmm. Come back here." And he pulled her back in for another kiss.