The Leather Trousers

The Leather Trousers

All Harry Potter wanted to do was lie on the sofa and listen to the Quidditch game – any Quidditch game – on the Wizarding wireless. Hermione Granger, however, had other ideas.

"Come on, Harry," she said as she dragged at his arm. He fell off the couch with a thud.

"Dammit, Hermione, leave me alone," he said grumpily, sitting up and rubbing his arm.

"No! We're going out," she said, waving her wand at the wireless to turn it off.

"I don't want to go out," he groused, frowning up at her. "Some friend you are. You injured me."

"You're fine," she replied. She was looking quite annoyed now, with one hand on her hip and one foot tapping.

Once she began tapping her foot, Harry knew he was done for. He would have to submit – but not necessarily enjoy it – or she would make his life even more miserable.

"What do you want, Hermione?" he asked, resigned.

"Shopping."

He couldn't have heard her correctly. "Shopping?" She nodded shortly. He sighed and said, "All right."

She sat on the table, a smile on her face. Of course she's happy, I agreed.

"Yes, shopping." She looked at him earnestly. "I have an idea."

Fear filtered through him. Hermione with an idea was a mixed blessing. His mind always reverted to the Polyjuice incident in second year, despite all the good ideas she'd had since.

"You're still trying to work up the courage to get together with Ginny, aren't you?" she asked.

Blushing furiously, he said, "Hermione!"

"Well, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "We talk."

"But you want more," she said.

Harry stared at her for a long minute. She was serious, so he answered sarcastically, "Yes, I want more."

"Okay, then. Let's go shopping."

He grabbed her arm as she stood to go. "Wait. What does shopping have to do with Ginny?"

A smile spread across her face. "Quite a bit. I haven't told you what we're shopping for."

Harry stood now as well. "What will we be shopping for?"

She didn't answer, merely smiled wider. "Apparate or Floo?"

Since she knew he hated Floo powder and avoided it whenever possible, it was a moot question. He just glared at her. "Where are we going?" he bit off, impatient.

"Diagon Alley first," she replied, then Apparated.

He'd wanted to spend the day doing nothing. Now Hermione had roped him into shopping. Shopping, of all things.

He Apparated to Diagon Alley to find Hermione waiting for him a few feet away.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the street from the Apparition point until Harry dug his feet in and stopped.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, where are you taking me?" he demanded.

She drew him further down the street until they reached a small passageway he'd never seen before, next to Quality Quidditch Supplies. When Harry cast a longing glance at the Quidditch shop, Hermione said sharply, "We're not going in there."

"Not even for a minute?"

"No, because the minute will turn into an hour." His hand still firmly in hers, she led him down the narrow passageway.

They emerged onto a street Harry knew nothing about. If Knockturn Alley was, in Hagrid's words, "a dodgy place" and an assault to the Light Arts, this place was an assault on virtue.

Shops advertising impotence-curing potions, love potions and wand-enhancing potions were side-by-side with shops displaying scanty undergarments and devices offering physical enhancements rather than potion-induced aids.

Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him and knew she was amused by his blush. He wasn't totally innocent – some of the magazines he'd found in Dudley's room the previous summer and some Astronomy Tower groping with Luna Lovegood had taken care of his ignorance about sex – but in many ways he was still virginal.

From Hermione's nonchalance about their location, Harry figured that even if she and Ron hadn't gone to bed together yet – and if they hadn't, he knew it would be soon – Hermione had read all about it and knew the mechanics and all about the kinks displayed in the shop windows.

"Where are we, Hermione?" Harry asked, awed by the skimpy lace nightgown on display in the window closest to them.

"Margin Alley, the practical side of love," Hermione said, matter-of-fact. Harry shot her a sidelong glance. She seemed to believe this stuff was practical, so he wasn't going to argue the point.

"Margin Alley? And why are we here?"

Rather than answer, she began walking toward a shop three doors down and across the street from where they had entered the Alley.

"Hermione?" Harry called nervously, rushing to catch up. Two witches, obviously sisters by the similarity of their features, had noticed him and were leering.

He'd gotten more leering glances than awed stares from witches since his growth spurt – finally – in sixth year. It had broadened his shoulders and driven his height to 5'10". He was nowhere near as tall as Ron, who had topped out at 6'3", but it was more respectable than the scrawny 5'4" he'd been in fourth year. He knew what the leers meant – he'd verified it with Hermione and Ginny – but they still made him uncomfortable.

When Harry caught her up, Hermione was smiling. "Do I need to protect you from your admirers, Harry?"

He glared at her, trying to be annoyed by her teasing. She merely continued smiling. After a moment, he couldn't pretend anymore and broke out laughing.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry began, grinning. "You need to protect me from the legions of witches who want nothing more than to kidnap me and have their wicked way with my body."

Hermione looked assessingly at him. "And if it were one witch named Virginia Weasley who wanted to have her wicked way with you?"

Almost instantaneously, the amusement in Harry's expression was replaced with a combination of lust and terror. He'd confessed his two-year crush on Ron's sister to Hermione just before their N.E.W.T.s, when he got tired of her pestering him about how distracted he was.

But the thought of being at Ginny's mercy so she could have her way with him drove the blood from his head straight to his groin.

Nodding smugly, Hermione said, "I thought so."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his best friend. "So why are we here?"

She gestured expansively at the shop beside them. He looked above the door and read the sign: Leather For All Occasions.

"Leather?" he asked.

Hermione ignored him and entered the shop, the bell above the door tinkling as she did. Harry dutifully followed.

The shop was crammed full of all sorts of leather garments: chaps to protect a person from their broom, jackets, wand holsters, vests, trousers, and a door leading to an area marked "women only." Harry figured he wouldn't mind seeing what was in there – if Hermione let him.

"Did I ever tell you that Weasleys like leather?" Hermione said.

"Er...no," Harry said cautiously. He wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but he had the sneaking suspicion he was just along for the ride on this trip.

Hermione trailed a hand over a rack of jackets, sniffing deeply. "I think the only one of them that doesn't is Percy, but he's the exception to every Weasley rule."

Harry said nothing. She seemed to be leading him over to the men's section.

"You need leather trousers, Harry," Hermione announced, pointing to the selection.

"I do?" he said, confused.

She turned and smiled. "You do."

"Why do I need leather trousers?" he whined.

Hermione glanced at him – then tipped her head to the side and stared.

That seemed to make the connection for him. "Weasleys like leather"...Ginny is a Weasley.

"No one ever said I was quick on the uptake, Hermione," Harry said, disgusted with himself.

Hermione laughed and began rifling through the trousers.

"If I'm getting trousers, what are you getting?"

She paused in her search, turning back toward him again.

"Something Ron will like," she answered with a secret smile.

Harry tried not to ask the next question, but his mouth formed the words before his brain could stop them. "Something intimate?"

Hermione's cheeks colored in a faint blush but she said nothing.

"Never mind," Harry said, holding a hand up. "I don't really want to know." And he didn't. It was one thing to know intellectually that his two best friends were sleeping together, but another to have evidence. He didn't want evidence.

Hermione held a pair of trousers to Harry's waist, examined them, then returned them to the rack.

"Why are you helping me, Hermione?" Harry asked as she held yet another pair of trousers against his waist.

"Because," she began, motioning for him to turn around, "when Ginny's unhappy, Ron is unhappy. I want Ron happy, so I'm getting Ginny some eye candy."

Harry spun, not sure if he should be offended or flattered. "Some what?"

Hermione grabbed his shoulders and forcibly turned him around again. "Eye candy. She finds you attractive – as do half the witches in Britain – and you want her. What's the problem?"

Harry was silent for several minutes, allowing Hermione to check three more pairs of trousers.

Finally, he spoke. "It just doesn't seem right to pretend to be some sort of sex object." He flushed dark red at his words.

Hermione made a huffing sound and Harry thought he heard an "honestly" somewhere in it.

She thrust three pairs of trousers into his arms. "Go try these on." To his eternal mortification, she added loudly, "And take your shirt off," as he walked away.

Reminding himself that Hermione was just trying to help him, he limited his cursing to a few choice words under his breath.

He entered the dressing room warily. One wizarding mirror wrapped the other three walls of the room.

It whistled at him.

That's it! He spun on his heel, intending to storm out but instead ran right into Hermione.

"Dammit, Hermione, the mirror whistled at me. There's only so much I can take."

Placing one hand on his cheek, she rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his other cheek.

"Please?"

He looked down at her, trying to ignore the plea in her eyes.

"I'm not a sex object."

"In those trousers, you will be, honey," the mirror chimed in.

"Please, Harry."

He knew he was done for, but still tried to fight it.

"I get looked at enough when I wear my robes."

"Please, Harry."

He sighed his surrender and re-entered the dressing room. Hermione said nothing else, but waited outside.

Harry pulled off his robes, hanging them on the hook on the door.

He stared at himself in the mirror. I need a haircut, he thought as he ran a hand through the black mess he called his hair.

With another sigh, this one of resignation, he pulled off his shoes, jeans and t-shirt.

The mirror whistled again.

"Hermione!"

"Ignore the mirror, Harry," she called back.

Harry glared malevolently at the mirror's female figurehead.

"Dearie," she replied. "With a body like yours, you deserve a whistle."

His blush encompassed all of his face and neck. It was one thing to be leered at from a distance. But, to be leered at up close, so to speak, was almost too much for him.

He grabbed a pair of trousers and began to put them on, only to be stopped by the mirror.

"Dearie, you can't wear your boxers with those trousers." She said this as if it were something he should already know.

"Then what do I wear underneath?" he asked in a hushed tone. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

"Why, nothing, of course."

That's what he'd been afraid of.

He squinted at the figurehead, not quite glaring at it. "If I take my boxers off, you say nothing."

"Whatever you say, dearie."

Mortified beyond belief, Harry bent and removed his boxers.

The mirror wolf-whistled.

"You okay in there, Harry?" Hermione asked.

At that moment, if Voldemort were standing before him, ready to kill him, he would stand stock-still, and say Avada Kedavra himself.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he called back. To the mirror, he hissed, "I thought you agreed not to say anything."

"But I didn't say anything, dearie," she replied. "I whistled."

You're now playing games of semantics with a mirror – while starkers.

Deciding he was beyond embarrassed, he tried the trousers on in silence.

Five minutes later, he redressed, exited the dressing room, and thrust two pairs of trousers at Hermione.

"I'm taking these," he said shortly, shaking the pair in his hands and heading toward the front of the shop.

Hermione smiled wickedly, leaning into the dressing room.

"Well?" she asked the mirror.

If the mirror could have smiled, she would have. "Whomever he's buying those for is one very lucky lady."

Hermione thanked the mirror, then hurried to catch up with Harry, saying to herself, I knew he filled out that Quidditch uniform without assistance.