Charming

Being a methodical sort of girl, Hermione had been quick to assemble of list of rules to deal with living with Harry.

Rule number one was to always get to the shower first. Always. No exceptions. Foul play was allowed in this area, so long as she got there first. If he ever asked, she would claim that she always rushed to the shower because she was worried about the hot water running out. However, she knew the real reason was rule number two.

Rule number two was never, ever look at a wet Harry. Never. Not even if she had to gouge out her eyes to avoid the sight. That wasn’t because he looked that horrible. On the contrary, she didn’t think she could maintain her self control if she looked. A wet Harry was such an irresistible combination of cute and sexy . . . it was best not to think of him that way at all. All she had to do was remember: wet Harry bad.

Of course, that probably was not the best way to put that

Rule number three was to avoid a sleeping Harry. Harry, when asleep, looked so innocent and sad that it was hard for her not to comfort him. Sleeping Harry made her yearn to cuddle him and let him know that everything was going to be all right. It was ironic, but if she ever did that, it would probably scare him half to death. He would probably wind up wondering if she were herself or if he needed to put in a call to St Mungo’s. Needless to say, avoiding a sleeping Harry was an important rule to follow.

Upon reviewing her first three rules, Hermione had then decided it might be best just to boil everything down to one simple rule: don’t look, don’t touch! That did seem to be the end result of all of them anyway. Granted there could be problems with not looking at Harry – he was sure to wonder what was wrong with her and if he had done anything to make her upset. On the other hand, it was almost certain to prevent any embarrassing incidents . . . at least until she accidentally looked at him and wound up embarrassing herself because her Harry tolerance was low. It was then she decided to give up upon adding to her list of rules.

At least until now. There was another candidate for a rule and it looked like it should be at the top of the list. Never, ever, ever get drunk while living with Harry. Because if you do, you just might wind up sleeping in his bed. Hermione quickly glanced around the room after she realized where she was. There was no mistake. She was definitely in his bed.

Though not with him, she thought. Damn. Don’t know if I should be disappointed or relieved. On one hand, nothing else did happen between us last night . . . but that’s the bad news too, isn’t it? She sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her. If he’s not here . . . that must mean that he’s on the couch. Damn his sense of chivalry. Doesn’t he know by now that I can take care of myself, that I don’t want a knight in shining armor? At the very least, I don’t want him sleeping on the couch because I’d feel guilty . . . not to mentioned tempted to jump him every time I passed by. If he’s in his room, I have no such temptation. Lazily, she looked at the clock.

Damn! She pushed the sheets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to get going, or else I’ll screw up rules one and two today as well. Hermione stood up . . . or rather she tried to. Unfortunately, she was rather lacking in the coordination department this morning and no sooner did she stand, then did she fall back down again, landing hard against the floor.

“Ow!” she exclaimed. This is a fine mess I’ve got myself into. How am I going to get to the shower first if I can’t even stand on my own two feet?

The answer to that question soon appeared before her eyes. There was a soft knock on the door, before the door opened, revealing Harry, already showered and dressed.

With wet wair. No, wet hair. Really adorable wet hair. Does that boy want to be jumped? Now that would be a headline. The Boy-Who-Lived scarred for life – again! – from glomp by female best friend. Oh, but I would die happy.

“Um . . . Hermione, are you all right? Do you have a hangover?” Harry asked, concern leaking through his voice.

If I did, you’d have cured it, she thought. But I shouldn’t say that, should I? I wonder if I should act very incapacitated so he’ll have to help me and I can – no! Bad Hermione! Don’t think that way!

“Hermione? Are you okay? Can you answer me please?” He knelt down in front of her, peering into her eyes.

“Huh?” she asked blankly. Oh that’s right. Stop staring at Harry. Get something for hangover before the headache to end all headaches starts. Or worse – you do glomp him in his bedroom. She turned red. Damn! Don’t think like that, Hermione!

“I’m fine,” she said. “Okay, not completely fine but fine as soon as I get a prairie oyster in me.”

“I don’t know how you can stand those things,” he remarked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Damn, he looks good when he does that. Okay, and that is it. I simply must spend the rest of the day away from him. “Could you help me up?” she asked. “I don’t think I can make it into the kitchen on my own.”

“I know you can’t,” Harry said wryly. “Though it’s fine. There’s no stairs to climb up like there were last night.”

“Stairs?” she asked.

“You know, Hermione. The stairs leading up to the flat.”

“Oh.” Hermione stopped talking so she could concentrate on getting up with Harry’s help. And without touching him more than necessary, she warned herself. Once upright, they started walking towards the kitchen. “Thanks for helping me out last night . . . and this morning,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “Though I hope you don’t make a habit of trying to out-drink me when we go out together. You drooled all over my shirt while I was carrying you home last night.”

That’s no surprise, I always drool over you. Hermione snorted at that thought.

“What was that for?” Harry asked.

“Oh . . . you say that as if you’ve never been drooled over by witches before,” Hermione said, covering up her real thoughts.

“Ah . . . well . . . no comment.” Harry flushed red. “Though I must say, I didn’t expect you to snore.”

“I do not snore!”

“Trust me, you do. Sounded like a little pig, you did.”

“Harry!”

“What do you want me to do? Lie?”

“Yes! I mean no! Argh!” Hermione considered getting up to pound on him, but thought the better of it Besides, pound . . . don’t want to think like that, Hermione. But I do have to do something about that remark . . . fortunately, he’s in kicking distance. She settled for kicking viciously at his ankle.

“Ouch!” Harry backed away from her. “What was that for?”

“You know what it was for! I do not snore!”

“If you prefer to believe that . . .”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not? By the way, still need a hand up?” He gallantly offered a hand to her. Glaring, she accepted it, and he hoisted her up. “You’ve been putting on some weight, haven’t you?” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Erm . . . I said that you must have been—”

“Putting on some weight?”

“Gah! No, of course not!”

“Okay, that makes me feel better. If you’d lie about what you just said, you’d lie about me snoring last night.”

“That wasn’t a lie.”

“You know this is the first time I’ve ever seen a bloke insert both his feet into his mouth at the same time.”

Harry looked sternly at her. “The correct term for my earlier comment regarding snoring is that I was teasing you, Granger. Or is that no longer allowed?”

“I don’t recall that ever being allowed.”

“Like tickling?”

“Don’t you dare!”

“You know I would dare.”

“Not right now, you won’t. Not unless you want to see my dinner again. And it would really be on you.”

Harry made a face. “Good point. So, want your usual hangover cure?”

Hermione sighed. “Nothing works better. Though it tastes awful.”

“I don’t know how you stand those things myself.” He carefully led Hermione over to the sofa, making sure not to jar her – or her stomach – in any way. “One prairie oyster, coming right up.” He scurried off to the kitchen, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Most of which were very naughty thoughts.

Okay, stop that. Now! Hermione quickly shook her head, and then regretted it. Ouch. Okay, that was a bad idea when you’ve got a hangover that’s starting to kick in. I hope Harry hurries up with that prairie oyster. She sighed. But he really looks too good for this early in the morning. I’m just surprised that he’s not wearing a sign that says . . . okay, very bad thought there, must not think it . . . too late. I have got to get out of the house today . . . but how? I’d rather be shopping, but I don’t like shopping by myself and Harry knows that and so that won’t work. I could go to the library I suppose . . . no, definitely not, I’d keep thinking of the stacks and what would be fun . . . next idea, Hermione. Oh, I know! I’ll visit my parents! No better way to crush anyone’s libido by a quick visit home to mum and dad. She smiled as she leaned back into the sofa. So that’s settled. Once I get ready, it’s off to visit home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Though it was hard to believe, Hermione had somehow managed to forget one very important rule: never look at Harry when he wants something from her. When that happened, he was certain to do this puppy dog look (which she suspected to be artful) that made it very hard for her to think things through and say no.

To be completely honest, she had never been able to start thinking when she saw that look at all. She had always just nodded and said yes – though half the time, she regretted it. Sort of like how she was regretting saying yes when Harry had asked to tag along with her when she went home. Hermione wasn’t certain why he had wanted to come along. She suspected that it was because he (and most likely Ron) thought that things were tense between her and her parents. Of course, she reflected to herself, it could be because he’s tired of eating out or cooking himself. That means Dad has to cook for one more, which won’t make him happy . . . not that he was happy to see Harry to begin with. Hermione sighed. Oh well. Harry never did have much of a sense of self-preservation. If he makes it out tonight, it’ll be a miracle. Especially after Dad asked for help in the kitchen. Hermione stopped that train of thought and tried to distract herself by paying attention to what her mother was saying.

“Though he does look to be a very nice boy,” her mum said. “But even so, I do worry about you living alone with him.”

“Oh Mum,” Hermione said. “I’m fine. I’ve known Harry for how long now? We’re good friends, we’ve been through a lot together, and there isn’t anyone who I trust more.”

“Really?” Her mum raised her eyebrows. “Friends, you say? That must be a new word for it. In my day, we called it—”

“Mum!” Hermione exclaimed. “We are simply friends – good friends. Is that so hard to believe?”

“But it is a one bedroom flat, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“So where do you sleep?” Mrs Granger asked pointedly.

“In the living room,” Hermione replied succinctly.

“You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“But I’ve seen how you look at him. And how he looks at you. Oh, I’d wish you’d just tell me the truth. Your dad would go easier on him if you two were just out in the open, rather than pretending as if there’s nothing there.”

“But there is nothing between us.” Or rather, I wish, she thought suddenly. Gah! Bad thought, bad thought! And at my parents’ house! How . . . icky!

Her mother directed a stern look at her. “I’m not going to ask what you mean by that, as I probably do not want to know.”

“Mum!”

“If you don’t want to tell your father and I about you two yet . . . well, I can’t say I understand as you know we’d be supporting. And I hope you know I always thought Harry was a better match for you than Ron – at least that boy knows how to cook as I’m afraid you inherited my ability to cook—”

“Or rather lack thereof,” Hermione interjected.

“Yes, yes,” her mother agreed. “I can’t cook, and neither can you. But what I’m trying to say is . . . that what really matters is that you’re happy, and if you’re happy, neither of us would complain – and so I don’t see why you feel like you have to conceal your relationship from us.”

“I’m not concealing anything, Mum. We are just good friends.”

“And you never thought of him as anything more?”

Hermione blushed. “I . . . well, that is to say . . . I mean that . . . erm . . .”

“Say yes, dear, rather than trying to fool yourself like that. Because you’re not fooling me. So if you feel that way about him, why aren’t you together? Because it’s bloody obvious that he’s mad about you.”

“It’s not like that. We’ve been together for so long, that it’s only natural for us to occasionally have such thoughts . . . but they don’t mean anything at all, in the end.”

“Believe that if it gives you comfort.” Mrs Granger sighed and looked away from her daughter. “Though I disagree. In the end, I think, you’ll regret it if you leave it as it is and never take a risk. Because if nothing else happens, it’s better to know than to always wonder.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If there was one thing Robert Granger enjoyed in life, it was strategy games. He loved them all. And he didn’t just like them – he was damned good at them as well. The one time his daughter’s friend, Ron, had tried to challenge him at chess . . . well, Mr Granger had won in a bit over thirty minutes, and that was only because he was feeling generous. So it was no surprise that he was humming while he was working on dinner that night for he had employed one of his favorite tactics earlier: divide and conquer.

The old techniques always were the best.

For some reason or another, Hermione seemed to think that she could fool her parents. She had told them over and over again that even though she had moved into her best friend’s tiny little flat almost immediately after Hogwarts, there was nothing between her and Harry. And all of that with a straight face even. It was incredible. He could hardly believe that his daughter, who he had always thought was so smart, could think for even a second that she could fool her old parents with such a story.

It almost made him wonder if Hermione really had been hurt that one time he had dropped her on her head when she was a baby. She had never shown any signs of being injured before – but it was best not to dwell on such topic. Anna, his wife, had always claimed that the drops had been bad for Hermione, and he didn’t want to point out such proof to Anna if he could help it. Hence, he returned his attention to congratulating himself for such perfect plotting.

Besides, it was rather pleasing to be swinging a big chef’s knife while his future son-in-law was nervously paring potatoes across from him. Once he started questioning Harry, the boy was sure to crumble and tell the complete truth. This was the one time he was rather glad that his daughter didn’t share his affinity for chess and the like. If she had, surely she would have realized the dangers in leaving her boyfriend alone with him if she wanted to conceal the truth. And right now, he saw no reason to delay uncovering the truth for any longer.

“So Harry, how’s living with Hermione been?” he asked, jumping right into the crux of the matter.

“Good,” the boy mumbled in reply.

“Seems to me that your flat is rather small for two people,” Mr Granger forged on.

“Well, yes, it is, but we make do.”

“Oh?”

Harry jumped, realizing how his last sentence sounded. “Well, er . . . I mean, we . . . um, well, it took a bit of getting used to but it’s all right now. We were in closer quarters at Hogwarts.”

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Mr Granger thought. This is sad. Hermione should have never let her boy out of her sight. “I thought they had separate dormitories for boys and girls there,” he remarked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Harry uttered furiously. “But the dorms themselves were rather small, you know, and you get used to living so close with other people . . . ”

“The girls dorm as well?”

“Yes, I—”

“So you’ve been in the girls dorm then?”

“No, no, they have alarms to prevent that,” Harry replied quickly.

“But that means you tried,” Mr Granger pointed out.

“Erm . . . well, both me and Ron tried, you see . . .”

“That’s where you should’ve said nothing. Though that would have been incriminating as well.” Mr Granger put the meat he had been chopping into a bowl, and carefully placed his knife in the sink. “Though ‘incriminating’ sounds bad and I didn’t mean it like that. Let’s see, how to put this?” He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It sounds suspicious, you see, Hermione moving into your tiny flat as soon as she was able. She’s told us many time over that you two are just friends but . . . it makes a parent wonder, you know?”

“But we are just friends. Good friends, but only that,” Harry said.

“Please. You’re only making it worse on yourself by lying.”

“But I’m not lying! And neither is she!”

“Can you look me in the eye and tell me that my daughter has never been in your bed?”

“Well, erm . . . actually . . .” Harry flushed deep red.

“Why don’t you just say yes and get it over with?”

“It was only this morning, sir, and it wasn’t like I was in bed with her or anything like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I spent the night on the sofa.”

“My daughter not attractive enough for you? Not good enough for you?” If his future son-in-law (aka his current victim) wanted to pretend like that, it was time to play hard ball.

“No, no, no,” said Harry, waving his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean it like that of course. She’s my best friend, and she’s a lovely witch and it’ll be a lucky bloke who gets to have her . . . but she’s only my friends and I don’t think of her as anything more and I know she thinks the same way and . . .”

“She has you well trained,” Mr Granger commented. “Very well. I won’t question you further. Though we didn’t act like that in my day. Anna’s parents knew about me almost before our first date.” He sighed, remembering those days. “Just let us know officially before we become grandparents, okay?”

Beside him, Harry hung his head in defeat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been bad night. If Harry thought his conversation with Mr Granger alone in the kitchen was bad, it got even worse when Hermione had excused herself from the dinner table and he had to contend with both her parents. Fortunately, that was now over and Harry vowed not to return there for a very long time. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Hermione’s parents; on the contrary, he thought they were great, but he didn’t want to volunteer himself for another night of non-stop torture any time soon.

Sighing out loud, Hermione looked at Harry from out of the corner of her eye. “So, how bad was it?”

“How bad was what?” Harry asked absently.

“The interrogation.”

“Huh?” Interrogation? he thought. What is she talking about? Did I miss something . . or does she mean—

“Don’t tell me my dad didn’t interrogate you,” Hermione was already saying. “If he didn’t, that would be a first.”

“Oh . . . I didn’t realize you gave it a name.”

“Yeah, it has one. I hear all dads do it.”

“Oh.” They continued on in silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. “I think what made it bad was the fact I wasn’t expecting it.”

Hermione snorted. “You didn’t expect it? I mean, it does look suspicious, don’t you think? To them, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does. I should’ve been suspicious, at the very least, when your dad asked for my help in the kitchen.”

“And you so foolishly agreed to that.”

“Hey! I like making myself useful. Besides, I wasn’t invited and so I thought it would be best if I helped out . . .”

“You probably wound up making it worse for you. Did Dad have his big chef’s knife out?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah . . . I thought he was going to hurt me when I said . . . ”

“When you said what?”

“Um . . . nothing.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“No really, it’s nothing. Or rather, I said nothing. That we’re just friends. He didn’t believe me.”

“Surprise, surprise. Neither did my mum.” Hermione sighed. “And I suppose you now know why I did move out.”

“Um . . . actually, no I don’t. Aside from having certain assumptions about our relationship, your parents seemed rather nice.”

“They are nice people, good people. But . . . they can be awfully nosy, especially when it comes to me,” Hermione said. “Sometimes, I hate being an only child. I think that perhaps they wouldn’t always be so fussy if I had a brother or sister for them to worry about.”

“That could be true,” Harry agreed. He sighed, leaning his head back to look at the sky.

“Thinking about your next tryout?” Hermione asked softly.

“Yeah, that’s been on my mind lately. I suppose that’s because it’s next week,” he replied. “Though after tonight, I feel like that it has to be easier than eating dinner with your parents.”

“Of course. There’ll be no crazy fathers waving big knives in your faces.”

“To be fair, he never waved the knife at me. I wasn’t scared a bit.”

“Not a bit?”

“Not at all.” Harry smirked before continuing. “You see, I had my wand up my sleeve so I knew I was safe.”

“Harry!” Hermione pounded his shoulder in mock anger. “That’s my father you’re talking about.”

“Yes, your beloved dad, who had me cornered in the kitchen while he interrogated me.”

“You set yourself up for that!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. See if I ever make that mistake again.”

“I should hope not,” Hermione said. “And I am sorry about that. I suppose I should’ve warned you. To me, it seems blazingly obvious that there’s nothing between us except friendship, but my parents tend to leap to conclusions.”

“You say that as if you never do the same.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“You’re on—”

“—Dangerous ground, yes I know,” he finished for her. “I’m rather used to it, though. I’ve always been on dangerous ground around you.” As he said that, he realized how true that was. He always had been on dangerous ground with Hermione. It was hard not to fall in love with someone who you’ve known so long and so closely. It didn’t help right now that she looked absolutely beautiful, walking home tonight. He knew it was a cliché, but though Hermione wasn’t traditionally beautiful, there was something about her that took his breath away. Perhaps it was in her eyes. She had big, beautiful brown eyes – it made him think that if a person's eyes were a window to the soul, then she had to be the loveliest person he ever looked at.

It made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her. He could almost imagine her sighing softly, before she leaned into him and his kiss . . . finally giving up on the illusion that they were so close because they were friends – and nothing more. He thought perhaps it would be better to try and see – rather than always and forever wonder.

But the moment was broken by Hermione pulling away from him to look at the stars. “I’m worried too, you know,” she told him. “I know that tryout is hanging over your head . . . especially after last time. I worry about that too. I always seem to . . . well, it’s easy to say that I’ll face that problem when it comes but I seem to have this bad habit about borrowing trouble.”

With the moment over, Harry began to berate himself internally for his earlier thoughts. What were you thinking, Harry? Too much listening to Hermione’s parents . . . no, not that. Look at you! Go for a bit without any female attention and you’re suddenly willing to jump to conclusions and on your best friend. How pathetic is that? Hermione deserves better than that, you prat. Like someone who can comfort her when she needs it, rather than just have to rein in his desires. “You wouldn’t be Hermione if you didn’t worry so much,” Harry finally managed to reply, hoping to comfort her.

“But I suppose I’d be more fun to be with if I didn’t always—”

“Who knows if you would be? Besides, I like you just the way you are.” Hermione turned her head away from him after he said that, making Harry wonder if she was blushing. “Don’t worry about that so much, Hermione. I – and Ron too of course – like you the way you are. You have your faults, everyone does, but that doesn’t matter. If you want to worry about something, worry about something else, like—”

“Whether or not you’ll get a bludger to the head in your next tryout?” Hermione asked wryly.

“Actually, I was going to suggest worrying about your own job interview. I can take care of myself out there,” Harry said.

“You say that as if you’ve never been injured while playing,” Hermione said, a tinge of exasperation in her voice.

“Yes, I have been hurt . . . but that adds a bit of excitement to the whole sport, don’t you think?”

“I could live without that sort of excitement, thank you very much.”

“I’m not surprised that you say so,” Harry replied. “So, what about that position Ron was talking about last night?”

“Oh yeah . . . I’m meeting Ron for lunch tomorrow to talk about that. You can come along if you want,” she told him.

“And interrupt the lovebirds? I think not,” Harry said, smirking.

“Die Potter.” Hermione soundly stomped on his foot. “Will you ever stop with your bad attempts at matchmaking?”

“And here I thought you wanted me to make you a match,” said Harry.

“Only if you dress up as an old lady with a shawl over your head. If I get a photo of that and sell it, I won’t need a job for the next year,” she replied.

“Merlin, I can see the headlines now.” Harry buried his head in his hands. “That would be awful.”

“Yes, it would be.” Hermione suddenly turned to face him and smiled. “And I think we’ve dawdled long enough. I hope you won’t be this slow next week when it counts.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m trying to forget about it,” said Harry.

“Scared?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all.”

“More like terrified?”

“That’s closer to the mark,” admitted Harry. “But enough of this. Race you to the Apparition point,” he challenged her.

“You’re going down, Potter,” she replied. Without bothering to wait for his answer, Hermione dashed off.

“Hey!” he called. “You’re supposed to wait for me!”

“Consider it a handicap!” she answered back. Rolling his eyes, he set off after her. She had more than enough of a head start on him as it was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

About a week later, Hermione was in bed, doing her best to ignore the noises from the kitchen. Living with a morning person is not a good thing, she reflected to herself. Especially if you're not at all a morning person but rather a night owl who likes to burn the midnight oil.

And that description fit Hermione perfectly. At Hogwarts, she had developed a reputation for being early to rise so she could get a head start on studying but it didn’t come naturally to her. There were plenty of times when she would have gone on dozing for an extra half hour if Crookshanks hadn’t been so insistent on being at six o’clock every single morning. The house elfs always leaving a huge pot of coffee by her bed in the morning helped her out a great deal as well. (Though little did she know that Lavender and Parvati had cajoled them to start the early morning caffeine service after seeing a decaffeinated Hermione one too many times.) It was only during the summer holidays that Hermione reverted back to her natural schedule, which entailed sleeping in till ten and not going to bed until after three in the morning.

Harry, on the other hand, was a morning person. Aside from that first morning, Hermione hadn’t ever managed to wake up before him. Hermione supposed it was due to him living with those horrid Dursleys for too many years. He probably wasn’t ever allowed to sleep in. That was another reason for her to hex them the next time she saw them. If it weren’t for his proclivity for waking up so early, he would have made the perfect roommate.

“Hermione?” Harry tentatively called. “Breakfast is ready.”

Hermione repressed a sigh. At least if he can’t help but get up so early, he could leave me well alone until I was ready to get up. It’s not even eight yet! she thought to herself. She rolled over and stuffed a pillow over her head, hoping that Harry would get the hint.

“Come on, Hermione, it’s time to wake up,” Harry went on. “It’s past seven o’clock.” He paused. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to wake up?”

Sighing, Hermione sat up and glared at Harry. “No, not for several hours yet,” she informed him. Yawning, she stretched her arms out in front of her. “No need to get up so damn early if I’ve nothing to do.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “And imagine! I used to think you enjoyed getting up at the crack at dawn at Hogwarts! You always did every day.”

“Only because Crookshanks had to be fed,” Hermione said shortly.

“So getting up early to study didn’t cross your mind at all?” Harry asked, his disbelief leaking through his voice.

“I’d’ve never bothered with that if my roommates didn’t complain about my staying up too late studying.” Hermione yawned. “It’s easier to stay up the entire night than to go to sleep and have to wake up all over again.”

“A true night owl, then?”

“Hey! There are more of us than you think!” Hermione remarked indignantly.

“If that’s so, why do—”

“Morning people rule the world?” Hermione finished the sentence for him. “Just you wait. One day, night owls will take over the world and end this practice of getting up too damn early.” She felt that it would have been better to punctuate this by pumping her fist but unfortunately, she couldn’t stop herself from yawning again.

“Coffee?” Harry asked.

“Please.”

“It’s in the kitchen,” he replied brightly.

Grumbling, Hermione rose from her seat. Why was it that Harry was always so . . . so bouncy in the mornings? It was as if he enjoyed watching her struggle awake each day. She stretched once more, trying to get out the kink in her back and failing miserably.

“Need a massage?”

“You offering?” Hermione shot back without thinking. Oh damn. Must get bad images out of my mind, she thought. Thank goodness Harry doesn’t take showers in the mornings otherwise, I’d be in real trouble . . . Hermione then took a good look at him. Damn! He did! Oh why did I look! Why did he—did he? Damn! I’ve got to get out of this rut, or otherwise he’ll notice! “Why are you up and ready to go so early?” she wound up asking, hoping that he wouldn’t pay attention to her previous comment.

Harry merely sighed. “I have tryouts today with the Magpies, remember?”

“Oh that's right. I remember you talking about that.”

Harry sighed again. “And I suppose someone forgot about her appointment today?”

“My appointment today?” Hermione repeated dumbly. I had one? she wondered.

“The one that Mr Weasley set up for you? With his old classmate?”

“Oh! For the research position!” Hermione blanched. “How could I forget? And it’s already seven! I’m running late!”

“Your interview’s not until ten,” Harry told her.

“I know! That’s hardly any time at all.” Hermione grimaced at his clueless expression. “It’s the hair, you see. Takes me forever to get it presentable.”

“I think it looks fine as it is,” Harry replied.

Hermione flushed. Okay, get your mind back on track. “Thanks,” she said, “but I’d feel better if I get it tamed.” With that she made an about-face and rushed towards the bathroom.

“What about your coffee?” Harry called out after her.

“Later!” was the only reply he received.

A little over an hour later, Hermione reappeared in the kitchen. “Thanks for getting me up, Harry,” she said as she sat down. “I really ought to get an alarm clock since I can’t count on Crookshanks any more.”

Harry handed her a cup of coffee. “Do you want me to stop feeding him in the mornings?” he asked.

“No, no, please don’t,” Hermione said. “Even if I’d prefer that, he wouldn’t and so that would never do.” She took a sip from her cup. “What time is your tryout?” she asked.

“At nine,” Harry said. “And it lasts all day.”

Hermione winced. “Ouch! Do they really expect that many people?”

“No, it’s not that, exactly. It’s that the tryouts are held for each position, one by one, to see how good everyone is and how well they play with the team. Seekers go last, but they want everyone there early so they don’t have to go through all that introductory stuff each time they switch tryouts to a different position.”

“So those who go first only have to stay until—”

“Until their tryout ends while the rest of us get to sit down and wait the entire day,” Harry said.

“So what time do you expect to get out?” she asked.

“Around five or six?”

“Oh, then should we meet you for dinner?” Hermione asked.

“Dinner?”

“Ron’s meeting me after my interview, either to celebrate or commiserate,” she said. Seeing the look Harry was giving her, she added, “And that doesn’t mean what you think it means!”

“That’s what—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll hex you,” she threatened.

“If you have to hex me—”

Hermione pulled out her wand and placed it in front of her, glaring at an unapologetic Harry. “If I may continue,” she said sharply.

“Go on, go on, I’ll behave.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “That’d be a first.”

“I’ve not said anything yet,” Harry reminded her.

“Only because I stopped you . . . but this is getting us nowhere. I was going to say that Ron and I can stop by and pick you up after tryouts, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” he said.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be,” she said, smiling. “So, that’s settled then, right? Where should we meet you?”

“Well, that’s what I mean by inconveniencing you. It’s at their home—”

“If you think Ron doesn’t know where that is and where the nearest Apparition point is, then you’d best forget about going anywhere and get back to bed, as you’re not thinking straight,” Hermione told him flatly. “This is Ron, after all! The Quidditch fanatic?”

“Right, right.” Harry stopped to think. “If he’s the Quidditch fanatic, then what am I?”

“The Quidditch lunatic who doesn’t know when to stop,” she said. “Honestly! At least Ron didn’t purposefully go out and try to get injured on the field!”

“Hey! Neither did I!” Harry protested.

“Harry, you know as well as I do that when you’re on the Quidditch Pitch, all you’re thinking about is getting the Snitch.”

“Again, not true. I think about other things as well,” Harry insisted.

“You have to admit that you got injured in that damn game far more often than Ron,” she pressed him.

“That’s just bad luck, not because I was trying to get injured,” he replied.

“Fine, fine. Though I hope you’re more careful today,” she said.

“Have to be as it wouldn’t do to break a leg on a tryout,” he said a bit too cheerfully for Hermione’s tastes.

Hermione gave up. It was no use trying to convince either of the boys that the game was not worth risking their necks over. “So, see you afterwards then?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “When will you know? I mean, I’ll know today, but I’d imagine it’d take you longer—”

“Yeah, that’s what I think too, but Ron and Mr Weasley both think I’ll get hired on the spot.” Hermione shook her head. “I wish I could have that much confidence.”

“You are Hermione Granger,” Harry said, “and so there is no one better qualified for a research position.”

“Yes, but this isn’t exactly entry level,” she said. “It’s a bit more advance than that because it’s with the Department of Mythological Menaces. But it does help that Mr Weasley knows the departmental director, and rather well at that.”

“You’ll be fine.” Harry reached out to squeeze her hand in reassurance. “I know you will be.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him. “You will be too. But I suppose you’d best get going?”

He turned to look at the clock. “Damn! I’m—”

“Not late yet. Get going! I’ll clean up in here.”

“Thanks,” he said as he went running for the door. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye!” Hermione waved as he ran out. “And good luck!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I told you so,” Ron said yet again as he and Hermione waited for Harry in a café right outside the Magpies’ Quidditch Pitch.

“You’re never going to get tired of saying that, are you?” Hermione asked.

“Of course not. It’s not too often that I get a chance to say that, and it’s even rarer when you’re not threatening to hex me if I keep on saying that,” said Ron.

“I’m only letting it pass because I’m so happy.” Hermione bounced. She couldn’t seem to stop bouncing ever since she was told that she was hired and to report in to work on Monday. “Do you think that Harry will be as lucky?”

“Honestly,” Ron began with a grimace, “I don’t. I didn’t know if I ought to have said something before but their owner’s said to have lost a brother to the Death Eaters before Harry put and end to it all.”

“And you think that he’ll hold that against Harry?”

“Unfortunately, if what I’ve heard is true, he definitely will,” Ron informed her. He sighed. “That’s why I didn’t bother trying out this year. The teams hiring Keepers either have Keepers who are arses who don’t want any serious competition for their position, or have owners and managers who wouldn’t hire me for one reason or the other. You know – either they were on our side and lost someone or knew someone who lost someone. Or worse, they weren’t on our side.”

“Something tells me you wouldn’t want to work for the latter type in any case,” Hermione remarked.

“You got that right.” Ron finished the last of his sandwich. “But at least we’ve got good news for Harry to help cheer him up.”

“We do?” Hermione asked, confused as to what Ron was talking about.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You don’t really follow up on what’s going on in Quidditch, do you?”

“I come to watch you two play,” Hermione said.

“And that’s about it. But to cut to the point, the Arrows have finally announced that their current Seeker is retiring because of injuries and so they’re in the market for a new one.”

“What about their reserve?” Hermione asked. “I thought that was the whole point of having one.”

“No, no,” Ron said. “Those are for if your Seeker gets injured during the course of the season. If it’s the off-season, teams are much more likely to shop around to see if they can hire a more talented player. Often the reserve Seeker winds up trying out for the regular position as well but doesn’t make it.” He eyed the cheesecake in front of Hermione, and sighing, she pushed it towards him. “Thanks,” he said, dipping his fork into it.

“It always amazes me how much food you can eat,” she remarked.

“You’re just jealous of my girlish figure,” Ron replied sarcastically.

“Girlish figure?” Hermione looked at Ron. “Ron, dear, is there something you haven’t told us?” she asked sweetly.

“Bah!” was his only reply as he quickly finished off the last of the cheesecake. “I can’t even make a joke around you.”

“That was an opening too good to resist,” Hermione said with a small smirk on her face. “Should we get going now? I’d imagine that they’d be just about done.”

“Oh, they’re not. Only the first cuts would’ve been made but let’s go in case Harry doesn’t make it that far.” The two of them began slowly meandering along the pavement towards the Quidditch Pitch. They hadn’t walked too far when they caught sight of their other best friend.

“Damn!” Ron muttered. “I hope he’s not taking it too hard!” He quickened his pace to reach Harry faster, and Hermione had to jog to keep up. She could tell that he was taking it badly. It wasn’t by the set of his shoulders or the look on his face, but rather to her eye, he seemed a bit . . . off . . . though he was doing his best not to show it.

When one has known someone as long as she’s known him, one could tell they were depressed without any physical hints at all.

Ron took one look at their despondent friend once they had reached him. “Shall we go back to your flat?” he asked, wisely guessing that Harry didn’t want to talk about it in public.

Harry considered that. “Nothing to drink there,” he noted.

“All the better there, because that’s the last thing you need,” Hermione put in.

“Hermione . . .” Ron started.

“Leave it,” Harry said. “Let’s just go back, okay?”

Ron acquiesced, and within the hour they were back at the flat that Harry and Hermione shared. Once inside, Hermione bustled them towards the kitchen, so they could all sit down.

“Do either of you want anything to drink?” she asked.

“No,” said Harry.

“Maybe some water for me,” Ron said. “Something tells me I’m going to need it later.” He gestured towards his throat, indicating that he was expecting to speak so much that it would become parched. He looked silently across the table. “So, mate, have you heard the good news?”

“There’s good news?” Harry looked as if he could hardly believe his ears. “And here I was thinking that this day was cursed.”

“Of course there’s good news!” Ron said emphatically. “The Arrows are in the market for a Seeker.”

“Great,” Harry said. “I can get rejected by them as well. At least this time around, I can bloody well make sure that there’s something to drink here.”

Hermione plunked down a glass of water in front of Ron and took a seat between the two men. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Harry. I’m sure you were the fastest there, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied forlornly. “But they let me go because they said they didn’t think that I’d be a team player.” He scowled fiercely. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“What it means,” explained Ron, “is that their owner still is holding on to his stupid grudge against you.”

“What grudge against me?” Harry asked.

“Eh . . . don’t worry about it, mate. It’s no big deal really,” Ron responded.

“If it cost me a job, then obviously it’s something I ought to worry about,” Harry said, glaring at Ron.

Hermione sighed. She knew that Ron was just trying to protect Harry as no one could be sure how Harry would react to the news that some people still blamed him for not putting an end to You-Know-Who sooner. However, she also knew that Harry hated things being kept secret from him for his own good. Given that, she thought it was best to tell him. “The owner of the Magpies lost a brother to the Death Eaters,” she told him bluntly.

“And this is my fault how?” Harry asked, his voice rising in volume.

“It’s not,” Hermione replied quickly.

“Not your fault at all,” Ron added.

“And tell me – how long do I have to live with all of that! Why would anyone think that I wanted to prolong that whole . . . that whole damn episode? I certainly didn’t get through that without losing anyone . . . starting with my parents, I might add!”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Hermione said. “It’s not your problem, it’s his, and—”

“Not my problem?” Harry was shouting by now. “It is my problem because it . . . how could it not be my problem? When people who don’t even know me detest me because they’ve lost someone and . . .”

“Not everyone’s like that,” Ron put in. “Some place the blame where it ought to be, on the Death Eaters and Fudge’s poor management. But there are always some bleeding idiots who can’t let go and need someone more personal to blame and—”

“And so I become their fucking scapegoat. Lovely.” Harry crossed his arms across his chest, fuming.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a speaking glance. This was not good.

“I wish I could tell you how to deal with that. With those sorts of people,” Hermione began. “But I can’t. Because I don’t know what that’s like.”

“We know that we’ve got it easier than you because we don’t get blamed like you, Harry. But at the same time, we don’t get the credit that you do for defeating the Dark Lord,” Ron added.

“Take it. It’s doing me no good,” Harry said stubbornly.

Another glance was exchanged, and Hermione tried again to get through to him.

“Fame is something that you certainly don’t need,” she said. “And . . . well, if you think about it, they must hurt, those people who blame you. And it’s sad really, that they can’t let go, that they can’t find some sort of peace, that they keep needing people to hate. And I really wish that they didn’t focus their hatred on you, but wishes . . .”

“Don’t really mean anything, do they?” Harry interrupted.

“I was going to say that they can’t change anything. I like to think that they do mean something. That they mean that I care for you and all those who send you such warm wishes care for you as well. And that maybe . . . maybe that’s enough of a reason to let go and try again.”

“What makes you think that—”

“The same thing won’t happen next time?” Ron said. “Because the owner of the Arrows isn’t like that. He’s a friend of my dad’s, just like Hermione’s boss.”

“Hermione’s boss?” Harry turned to look at her. “You got the job?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “I did. I start Monday.”

Suddenly, Harry felt guilty for not asking how Hermione’s interview went earlier. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should’ve asked about that earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“You should,” he persisted.

“But I don’t and you know how stubborn I can be about things,” Hermione said with a smile. “Besides, don’t you want to know more about that new position with the Arrows?”

“There’s not much else to tell, actually. Dad says that they’ll be holding tryouts just for that position.”

“Oh that’s good.” Hermione clapped her hands together in excitement. “That way you won’t have to be there the entire day.”

This time it was Ron and Harry exchanging speaking glances.

“For a witch who purports to know everything . . .” Ron began.

“She really has no idea how many people want to join a professional Quidditch team,” Harry finished.

“I never said I know everything,” Hermione sniffed.

“I’ll let that one pass,” said Ron.

“Only because you have no evidence,” Hermione said.

“And let you know that Harry will be there the whole day because it’ll take that long to whittle all the applicants down to one.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “If the position is wide open, then it’ll probably take half a day just for them to finish with the first cut.”

“Which is why they’re holding that tryout separately,” Ron said. “It hasn’t been scheduled yet but it’ll probably soon. They want to finish the team roster as early as possible to get in as much practice with the full team in the off-season.”

“So basically, I have to wait . . . again,” noted Harry.

“Sorry mate, but there’s nothing any of us can do about that.” Ron scratched his head, thinking. “Although I can ask Dad to introduce you to their owner, Ben Thomson.”

"Your dad knows him too?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Amazing, isn't it? It's a mind-blowing coincidence that he knows both your potential employers. As for Thomson, at one time, he worked with Dad at the Ministry of Magic. Dad says he's a tremendously tolerant person, so he ought to like Harry well enough. So I don't see anything wrong with getting Dad to set up a meeting. It can't hurt."

Harry looked dubious. “It can if he hates me,” he replied.

“He won’t, he won’t. Trust me,” Ron said, spreading out his hands.

“It worries me when he says that,” Harry remarked.

“Probably because you’ve heard that line one too many times from the twins,” Hermione pointed out.

“We shouldn’t hold that against him, should we?”

“No, we shouldn’t but it’s kind of hard not to, isn’t it?” Hermione remarked.

“Yes, it can be difficult,” agreed Harry.

“If you two are quite finished,” Ron said, “I was about to ask you two if you’d like to go out to dinner to celebrate Hermione finally finding a job. My treat.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They did go out to celebrate that night, which Hermione was soon glad of as she had little free time after she started her new position. She did enjoy her job, despite the long hours. Hermione was known, however, for occasionally grumbling about the fact that she always had to be there bright and early in the morning, no matter how late she had worked the previous night.

The only real problem she had with her job was the wizard who got hired on the same time as she: Draco Malfoy. There wasn’t much she could do about the situation, except wonder how he managed to land any respectable job with his family’s reputation. Her best friends shared in her puzzlement.

“He’s what?” Harry had said when Hermione had complained to him and Ron.

“He’s working with me, and I tell you, he is a right pain in the arse. He acts as if I can’t be trusted with the simplest of assignments.” Hermione had said, rolling her eyes.

“That git. I swear, those Malfoys are like cockroaches. They’d survive through anything!” Ron had sworn.

Fortunately, Hermione only had to deal with working in the same room as him; evidently her boss knew better than to ask a Malfoy to work with a Muggle-born witch. She did her best to grin and bear it. She wasn’t about to let that bastard chase her out of a job that she truly enjoyed.

One thing that Hermione began to worry about was her housing situation. Though she did not relish the idea of living alone (or leaving Harry, though she would never admit that aloud), the flat was rather cramped for the both of them. She ultimately decided to approach the matter in a roundabout fashion. She asked Harry how much she should give him for rent. He had waved the matter off, laughingly noting that with the hours she had been keeping, all she really needed was a place to crash and it wasn’t worth it for her to get her own place. Hermione had agreed and went on to admit that she didn’t have the time to search for an appropriate place anyway.

So the days went on without change, and Hermione was satisfied with her situation. It wasn’t perfect and she sometimes wished she could get out of the stasis she seemed to be in with regards to Harry, but she didn’t know how. She considered very briefly, asking Ron for his advice before abandoning that idea. She thought about owling Ginny as well, but she suspected that Ginny would guess whom she was writing about and that would not do at all. While Hermione trusted Ginny not to air any suspicions, she still lived in the Weasley household, which was not a very safe place for such secrets, especially with Mrs Weasley about.

Sooner than she thought, the day came for Harry to go and attempt to join the Arrows as their new Seeker. He had met with their owner previously, as arranged by Mr Weasley, but wouldn’t comment on how that meeting went. When Hermione had asked Ron, he had smirked and remarked that all Harry had to do was stay on his broom to get through the first round. She proceeded to ask Ron if he could wait for Harry after the tryouts with her, but Ron grimaced and said he couldn’t get out with helping with inventory at the twins’ joke shop that night.

Hermione had expected to get off at a decent time that evening and told Harry that she’d be waiting for him by right outside the stands. However, things did not work out how she had planned them.

Damn, damn, and damn again, she thought as she rushed back home. Why tonight of all nights for an audit of our particular office? And I haven’t even been there that long. Oh well, at least it went well and hopefully, it went well for Harry as well . . . damn. Those boys are too obsessed with that game. Try to tell them that Quidditch isn’t life and they’ll look at you as if you’ve gone nutters. Reaching the Apparition point, she surreptitiously glanced around to make sure that there were no Muggles about. Better safe than sorry, after all. Seeing that she was in the clear, she drew out her wand and transported herself to an Apparition point a short distance away from the flat.

Hermione didn’t why she was bothering to run considering how she was in the first place. It was true that she was worried about Harry’s state of mind, given how defeated he was after the last two times. But still, when it was past midnight and you were supposed to meet a little after six, it seemed rather silly to be worrying about being a few minutes more late. Once at the stairs, she began to go up them, fervently wishing that she was as tall as the boys and thus able to take them two at a time.

Reaching the front door of the flat, Hermione inserted her key, only to find that the door had been left open. That’s odd, she thought to herself. That can mean something very good or something very bad. She entered the flat, unable to repress her feeling of trepidation. Looking around, she saw it was a bit messier than usual but no signs of any despondent drinking binges or furious rampages at being rejected again. Crossing her fingers, she set out to look for Harry.

Hermione peeked into the kitchen to find it empty. That’s not surprising, she thought. He’s probably already in bed, just like any other day. She was about to turn to try Harry’s bedroom, when a scroll lying out on the table caught her eye. Wondering what it was, she picked it up and looked over it. It didn’t take her long to figure out that it was a contract for Harry to play as the Seeker for the Appleby Arrows.

He did it! she thought excitedly. Oh, why did I ever doubt him! And he must’ve left this out on the table so I can see it, which means . . . I really shouldn’t disturb his sleep. He probably has practice early tomorrow morning. She sighed. Not that I don’t have to get up early as well. She walked slowly towards the bathroom when suddenly a loud thump and a high-pitched squeal interrupted her.

One would have to be extraordinarily naïve not to know what that meant. And Hermione wasn’t that stupid.

Her heart broke.

That wasn’t quite true. Her heart didn’t break so much as it shattered, and she felt . . . she felt . . . she didn’t know how to describe what she felt. Probably the only ones who could understand were those who had their hearts broken before, though maybe it was different for everyone. She wanted to cry, to sob at her loss, but was too damn proud to let go. She knew she had to do something, because staying here tonight . . . she didn’t even want to think about it.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, she took out her wand and hurriedly cast a spell to shrink down her belongings, which she threw into a knapsack. She had to leave. What she would do afterwards was anyone’s guess, but she couldn’t stay here anymore.

It was brilliantly clear that she was not needed here at all.