Breakfast In Bed

Breakfast In Bed

"Maybe I didn't love you

Quite as often as I could have

And maybe I didn't treat you

Quite as good as I should have ..."

"Oh Mum! Enough with it already!" It was 7am on a midsummer's morning, and Hermione had been counting on a lie-in after her cousin Pauline's party last night. The drunken, shameless hooly that it had been.

"It's Elvis, dear," Mrs Granger said cheerfully, picking up a coffee mug which Hermione had conveniently forgotten to return to the kitchen before going to bed. "Elvis Presley. You do know all about it, your father and I helped you with that project about him in Year 6."

Hermione yawned, and didn't answer.

"I know you found it awkward last night..." her mother continued.

The sensation which the pillow gave her was unbelievable. It created a cocoon between her and the rest of the world; between her and her mother, between her and the Muggle world, between her and You-Know-Who... between her and Harry.

Oh no. She wasn't supposed to think about that.

"They were asking about school," she said, in a self-explanatory tone. "They wondered why they've never heard me talking about it, like I used to when I was younger." Continuing this conversation would keep her mind off Harry and... whatever else was on her mind, whether it was to do with him... or not.

"I realise it's difficult, deary."

Elvis continued warbling in the background. "Little things I should have said and done..."

"Forget it, Mum. It's not your fault."

"I just never took the time..."

Bloody cursed Elvis. "Mum, can you not turn that thing off? Why the hell did you have to play that CD in my room at seven in the morning, at all times?"

Her mother retreated. "I'm sorry, 'Mione, I just..."

"Oh for goodness' sake!" Hermione exploded. "I need sleep!" And her mother duly slammed the door behind her. Which left Hermione without anything... except perhaps her thoughts.

She shouldn't have yelled at Mum. But it was difficult to do very much but yell. The previous week, she had said goodbye to Ron and Harry for the summer. Ron had half-heartedly asked her to visit him at The Burrow in August, but they both knew she wouldn't. Ever since she had told him that she wasn't interested in him that way, there had been an awkwardness between them. When Harry was there, Ron was as lively as ever. But when alone with Hermione, he retreated into himself. Hermione missed the old Ron.

And then there was Harry. Since fifth year, Hermione had been acutely aware of different feelings for her friend - or had it been fourth? It had always been there, but she'd tried to ignore it.

The Quidditch World Cup - Harry's expression as the Veelas entered the stadium. Her own reaction to this. And he had nearly leaped out of the Top Box! Honestly!

Talking to Harry at the Yule Ball. Red-faced. Perhaps it was due to the dancing as well. But part of it had definitely been because she was nervous talking to Harry wearing such fine robes and her hair done up. He hadn't acted any differently. Ron had... but that hadn't mattered to her. Harry's reaction was the only one relevant. After her row with Ron in the common room, she had cried herself to sleep. She hated the fact that Ron was being so pig-headed toward her... and that Harry seemingly hadn't noticed her at all. She had even had to endure Ginny's bewailing the very same complaint at breakfast the following morning without letting any of her own sentiments be known - but it seemed Harry Potter had been oblivious to both of them.

They were due to start seventh year the following September. Sixth year had been full of drama, the threat of Voldemort always hanging over their heads, Ginny moaning about her O.W.L.s (although she ended up with rather good results in the end), the uneasiness between Ron and Hermione, the united horror of the Gryffindors when Lavender Brown was seen consorting with Draco Malfoy in Hogsmeade. Seamus Finnigan ignored her for months following the reported incident.

Harry hadn't always been chirpy or upbeat, but for a good deal of the time he had been. There had been no Fred and George around to lighten the tone for them. But Harry had tried his best to make things easier, and he certainly had. Only Hermione had seen him kiss Cho on the cheek as they waited to board the Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade Station, and heard his words.

"You're very special. You'll go far. Good luck."

It had been her last year at Hogwarts, but even so, had he really needed to kiss her?

At that moment, Hermione broke away from her thoughts hurriedly. Muffled voices could be heard from the corridor. "It woke her up... I was talking to her earlier, she wasn't too happy..."

"I need to see her," a male voice hissed anxiously. "Did she not hear it?"

"It didn't mean much..."

"It will mean something... I need to..."

"Shhh..."

And then a very familiar head popped around the door. "Hello, Hermione."

"Harry!" cried Hermione, trying her best to appear nonchalant, and unembarrassed at the fact that he was seeing her with sleepy eyes and wearing an old nightdress that she always wore when at home.

"I need to talk to you." His tone sounded urgent.

"Fire ahead," Hermione answered, with a slight laugh. Best to appear easygoing. Best not to enquire the obvious questions, such as Why the hell are you here? At this time? Do you know I'm nearly naked? Do you care? Or maybe that last one was an obvious question, as such.

"I'm not sure how to put this, but..." His green eyes suddenly locked with hers. "Did you hear the song?"

"Elvis," groaned Hermione. "My mother loves him."

"It wasn't her CD though," he said nervously. Hermione looked up at Harry. What had that do with anything? He looked deathly serious.

"Hermione, I don't know if this will affect our friendship, but I want to you to swear to me that you won't think any worse of me."

"Go ahead." Her voice was shaky. What was it? He was engaged to Cho? Don't be silly, Hermione, he's not seventeen yet. And he wouldn't propose to her anyway. At least - she thought he wouldn't.

"I... Iluvooanahavdunsince... I love you, Hermione." The sudden light in her eyes spurred him on. "I know Ron has liked you for ages, and it's true that I haven't paid you half the attention he has, and I don't know why I'm saying this, it'll probably kill him, but I love you. I've only realised it recently - Cho helped me realise, we were at a Prefects meeting and I suppose she saw me looking at you, she called me away and said it straight out, she could see how I... liked you... it all came together after that, I didn't know how to act around you, so I pretended nothing had changed...I know it's an awful time to be here, but I've been up all night every night since term ended, wanting to see you again, and then I just came this morning. I couldn't put you out of my mind. I brought the song with me, because...", he threw his hands up at this, "it reminded me of you... of us."

"Cho knew?" interrupted Hermione increduously, still not believing that what she had wished for so long had come true. "But you like her, not me! You kissed her in Hogsmeade Station! And I heard what you said, that she was very special...and you wished her luck too."

"I did." He grinned broadly, a grin that made Hermione feel faint. "It turns out that... ehmmm... I know this isn't expected or anything, but she's, ehmm, engaged to Oliver Wood."

"WHAT?!"

"Shhhh. No one's supposed to know. But well, she knew about you when no one else did, so I asked her if she had a secret, and she told me." He laughed suddenly. "Imagine? I never thought Wood would ever have time for a girl with all his attention to Quidditch... but, ehmm, does this mean that we're an, ehmm, item?"

Hermione smiled the first real smile she'd had in weeks. "Harry."

"Yes?" He sat on the bed beside her, looking her straight in the eye.

"How could we tell everyone that we're... ehmm... together? That is, I mean, if we are. They're going to notice."

"Well," began Harry, "we can start by putting an advertisement in The Daily Prophet, so there won't be so many questions."

"Don't joke. They'd probably put us on the front page."

"All the better!" he cried earnestly. "So everyone can know I love you. Because I do, Hermione."

The kiss she received was the most spine-tingling one she had ever experienced. (Not that she'd experienced many, mind.) He was so gentle, yet so insistent. As he continued to kiss her along her neck, she suddenly pulled away.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head violently. "You said... Ron. How are we going to tell Ron?"

He grinned and pointed to the table. It was a wonder how she had never seen it before.

"Pumpkin pie?! Harry? How is that supposed to help him?"

"It isn't," he replied. "But," and a devilish look appeared in his eyes, "it might cushion the blow. Do you want a slice? Before we break it to him gently?

And suddenly, unexplainedly, Hermione found herself laughing controllably.