Pine Fresh

Pine Fresh

A nice, long, relaxing bath will do just the trick, Ron thought to himself as he walked to the prefects' bathroom. Borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak so he could wander the castle after hours, Ron trekked towards the hidden room. Harry's stories of the various bubbles danced in Ron's mind. Which would he choose first, the football-sized bubbles or the ones dense enough for him to float on? Ah, what did it matter, he needed to pamper his weary muscles after a tough week of Quidditch practices, inches upon inches of essays, and the ongoing annoyances of prefect duty. Sure, being a prefect had its advantages (telling firsties what to do, wearing a shiny badge, having a private bathroom), and a pool-sized bathtub was one perk he wasn't about to waste.

Nearing the corridor, he thought he heard something. Music? No, not exactly, it sounded more like simple singing. Definitely not a great singer, but the melodious rhythm made his heart skip. Where was it coming from? As he neared the prefects' bathroom, the answer became clear. Someone, a girl from the sound of it, was already in there. Her voice sounded sweet, her song captivating. He leaned closer hoping to figure out who the sultry songbird was. She sang no words, just a soft tune of smooth oohs and ahhs, but still he felt riveted. He needed to see her, to watch this beauty sing out.

Extremely glad he had borrowed the cloak, he whispered, "Pine fresh." The door creaked open. Sliding his tall, lanky body through the crack, he quickly and quietly closed the door. A flood of fragrance and music enveloped him, calming his racing heart. He felt peaceful, cool, contented. Scanning the enormous room, his eyes found the object of their search.

There she rested, the beauty he had heard so clearly from the hall. She appeared small in the gigantic pool, bubbles covering all but her hair. She was facing away from him, so he could see only her back. Her long hair hung wet and limp, but still, he felt entranced. Never had he seen such a sight. He wanted to hold her, caress her, make her his own. Who was she? Must be a seventh year, he thought as he tried to recall the female prefects from the other houses. But who? He thought he knew them all. Granted, it was dark, and he could only see the back of her head, but the voice seemed so unfamiliar to him. Was the echo of the room confusing him, or, more likely, were the smells and sounds making him delirious?

He needed to see her face. Quickly glancing around the enormous marble room, he spotted a bench on the far end of the pool. Smirking slightly, he carefully began his trek to face her. Her singing continued, enchanting the young Gryffindor. She sang with such confidence. True, she wasn't the most talented songstress he had ever heard, but the passion in her voice drew him in.

I must be dreaming, he thought. She is a siren; it is certain. Women like her don't exist. The bubbles are making me hallucinate. He couldn't take his eyes off her as he slowly crept towards the bench. He tried to take her all in, no matter how little he could see.

Suddenly, the singing stopped. "NO!" he almost uttered aloud before catching himself. Why had she stopped? He watched as she grabbed the shampoo bottle next to her and began to wash her dark hair. Her slender arms reached out of the water and lathered the soap on her head. It was a dazzling sight, this beauty carefully washing herself. He wanted it to never end. He needed a better view, and the bench was not far off. Quickly, he crept towards it.

Settling himself into a comfortable position, he gazed at the sudsy siren. Bubbles covered her entire body and most of her head, concealing her identity to the anxious onlooker. It didn't matter, she was gorgeous, and he would watch her forever if he could. She slid herself down into the water to rinse the suds from her hair. As she came back up, she turned her face away from Ron's view to grab a second bottle. Slowly, she squeezed a small amount of liquid onto her hands. Turning back, she rubbed the liquid into her hair. Her movements were hypnotic, her body perfection. How could he have never seen this stunning subject before? Captivated by her movements, he forgot to focus on her face. Just as he remembered, she again slid herself into the pool to rinse. He could not forget to look again. Fixated on the spot where her body once lay, he chided himself for being so careless. What if she never resurfaced? Silly, he knew, but his need to know her overwhelmed him. His curiosity was taking over, and he silently willed her to resurface.

The top of her head peaked out of the water. Slowly, she broke the surface and flipped her head back while smoothing the hair out of her face. No, it couldn't be. He nearly fell off the bench. He rubbed his eyes, making sure he was seeing whom he thought he was seeing. Could it be?

His friend, Hermione, was the vixen?! He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't. This woman was too mature, too confident, too stunning. That couldn't be the same girl who slapped Malfoy, who constantly bossed him around. Nevertheless, as he contemplated his predicament, he realized he still felt captivated by her. She was just so beautiful. Her wet hair covered her shoulders, while the rest of her body remained hidden by the water and bubbles. What was this need he felt? Why couldn't he stop watching her? This was his friend, after all, nothing more. He'd spent more time with her than anyone else at Hogwarts, except maybe for Harry. So, why was he so riveted? He couldn't explain his feelings, and he really didn't want to. He wanted nothing more than to watch Hermione bathe.

Gradually, she began to exit the pool. He became suddenly aware of how wrong this all was. He couldn't watch his friend leave the pool. What would she think if she ever found out? Still, the temptation to see more of her compelled him.

She'll never know, he told himself. I'll take this to the grave. Turning away from him, she lifted herself from the pool. Suds speckled her glistening body. Her smooth back gleamed in the faint light of the room. She raised her body out of the water and stopped at the edge of the pool. There she stood, in all her beautiful nakedness, wringing the water from her hair. She...was... perfection.

As she bent down to grab her towel, Ron realized his jaw was hanging open in awe. Laughing at himself, he closed his mouth and tried to collect his thoughts while continuing to stare. Slowly picking up her towel, Hermione began to dry her naked body. She started with her hair, which exposed her entire bare backside to him. Her dance-like movements hypnotized him as she rubbed the towel around her head and face. Moving downward, she smoothed the cloth along her left arm followed by her right. He felt entranced by the movements and glimmer of her tiny body.

She collected the fluffy, white towel in both hands and brought it up to her chest. As her arms began moving in small, circular patterns, he realized she was drying her breasts. Feeling a strange tingle in his stomach at this thought, he wondered what her breasts looked like. Should he chance a peak? He felt nervous, excited, scared, and guilty all at the same time. This was his friend, after all. The tingle increased as he debated whether to walk across the room to see her from the front.

The towel moved from her chest to her abdomen, making him realize she was drying herself quite fast. Too hypnotized to move, Ron watched as she brought the towel around to her back and began to run it over her buttocks. She moved with such rhythm, her body swaying to an unsung beat. He knew he must be dreaming. This couldn't be real.

Bent over, elbows to his knees, he sensed his breathing increasing, his heart pounding. Hot in here, he thought as he watched her bend forward to dry her short, slender legs. He felt sure he had never seen anything quite so striking in his life, and terrified that he may never see it again. Running a hand over his sweaty brow, he took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. I've gone mental, he thought, noticing that his tingling stomach hadn't subsided. There stood Hermione, a friend, not more than ten meters away in nothing but a towel, and he wanted nothing more than to BE her towel. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, smother her with his body, and tell her how beautiful she was to him. But, he knew he couldn't. It wasn't the right time.

She collected her things and headed for her pile of clothes. She dressed quickly, humming quietly to herself. Remembering her singing from earlier, he felt stunned again to realize she had such a nice voice. He had never known this about her. How many other things about Hermione did he not know? His desire to know everything about her overwhelmed him. He wanted to talk with her, learn from her, experience life with her. His perception of her had changed. She wasn't just Hermione, his friend, anymore. She was now Hermione, a woman, and he wanted to be with her. He had never experienced this desire before, and it felt great.

She walked to the door, but turned before leaving. She scanned the sparkling white room one last time, smiling as she did so, and breathed a sigh of content. Turning away from him, she opened the door and disappeared.

~~~~

Climbing the stairs to the boys dormitory, he relived the events of the night in his head. Did that just happen? Was it all just a dream? He removed the invisibility cloak and slowly opened the door. The rest of the boys had their bed curtains shut and were likely asleep. He gently placed the cloak on top of Harry's trunk before changing into his pajamas.

As he lay in bed, he thought how much he was looking forward to seeing Hermione tomorrow. Maybe he'd ask her to go for a walk around the lake, maybe he'd talk to her about S.P.E.W., or maybe, just maybe, he'd ask her if she would sing for him.