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T.G.I.F.	By : babygrrl Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7938 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-T.G.I.F.
- 1
T.G.I.F.

A/N: This story is a gift for Max Lonewolf, Alphawolf of the Fanboy Harem, owner of the Couch of Corruption, and all-around w00bie.

**** Clarabella and Max both make small appearances as original characters. ****

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

"Harry's got a daaaaaaaaate," Hermione sing-songed.

"Would you shut up?" Harry was acutely aware of the amused glances of the other patrons.

"Oh, come on, Potter. I'm entitled to have a little fun. You've just told me you are ditching me for another woman, and on ridiculously short notice, too."

They were enjoying their usual Friday night dinner, a post-Hogwarts tradition the three friends had adopted over the last five years. Harry and Hermione were on their own tonight as Ron was away on road-trip with the Wimbourne Wasps. Dinner was usually followed by a popcorn and DVD-fest at one or another of their flats, but apparently, this was not to be the case tonight.

"Are you quite finished?" Harry asked. "Because I don't think the two paparazzi over in the corner pretending to be interested in the veal heard you. Perhaps if you were to yodel a bit louder." The press loved covering the exploits of the glamorous trio. Ron, the star professional Quidditch player, Hermione, the formidable editor-in-chief who had transformed Witch Weekly into a cutting edge publication, and Harry, who was, well, Harry.

Hermione grinned. "Not quite finished. Harry and Chrissy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G ...mmmph!" She was abruptly cut off as Harry reached across the table and unceremoniously shoved a roll into her mouth. "Oh, that was very mature."

"Eat. Your. Dinner. I have to meet her in an hour," said Harry, through gritted teeth.

Unperturbed, Hermione sipped her wine and regarded him with twinkling eyes. "Don't fuss, you've got plenty of time. Now, let's see . . . who is this Chrissy my Harry is going to meet? Another actress/model? No. Too high-strung. Someone from the Auror Bureau? No. Too complicated. Ooh, I know!" Her eyes lit up. "It's that girl from last week " the party at Ron's place. The one with the really big . . ."

"Hermione," said Harry, warningly.

". . . eyes," Hermione finished. "I'm right, aren't I? She couldn't take her eyes off you. Or anything else."

Harry said nothing. He became very interested in his grilled swordfish.

"She's gorgeous. Bit young, though. Don't you think?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It is a school night, you know."

"She's in her second year at university, okay? Not that you are entitled to be critical, Miss Dating Disaster."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, loftily.

"Viktor Krum, Robert Hornsbottle, that git from your office, what was his name, Corn?"

"Mackenroy Cobb."

"Precisely. And all the rest. Face it, my friend. You are a prat magnet."

"What do you mean? I dated Ron, didn't I? He's not a prat!"

"No, but tell me that little romantic experiment wasn't an unmitigated disaster. And getting back to Cobb " that guy couldn't be more of a clown if he had a red nose and big, beeping shoes."

"Yes. Well. You know what they say about love being blind and all that," Hermione muttered.

"Yes, but is it also deaf, dumb, and insane?"

"Remind me again why I am still friends with you? And why I ever saw fit to confess the details of my love life to you?" Hermione's eyes were narrowed, but her chin was quivering suspiciously.

Harry kept a straight face with difficulty. "For the same reason as me. We are dear, true friends. A bastion of honesty in the swirling maelstrom of madness that is the world around us."

That did it. Hermione put her head down on the table and howled. Harry joined in, and the other diners gave up all pretense of politeness, staring openly. The paparazzi, ignoring the veal, took out their cameras and began snapping away.

"Oh, Lord," said Hermione, wiping her eyes. "We'd better get out of here. I can just see the headlines tomorrow. Chrissy will think I am your new Scarlet Woman." She mimicked the prissy tone Ron always used when employing that particular figure of speech, eliciting more guffaws from Harry.

Still snickering, Harry signaled the waiter. "Check, please."

Outside the restaurant, the air was crisp.

"Here," said Harry, helping Hermione into her coat.

"You know," said Hermione, still grinning, "considering the fact that I am a prat magnet, isn't it odd that we never dated?"

"Nope," said Harry. "This way we get to enjoy that whole unresolved sexual tension bit. Unfulfilled longings. That sort of thing."

"Very true." Hermione stuck out her tongue at him by way of farewell.

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

The nightclub was crowded, noisy and smoky. One hour, 58 minutes and 32 seconds into his date, and Harry was looking for a way out. He seriously considered chewing off a limb in order to escape.

Said limb was currently being clutched in Chrissy's left hand, her scarlet-tipped nails digging into his biceps as she pealed with laughter. Evidently, she thought Harry was the most hilarious wizard she had ever met. Harry could only conclude from this that (a) she didn't get out much, (b) her butterbeer was spiked with an illegal substance, or (c) she had what Hermione would call Nefarious Designs upon him.

It seemed that (c) was the most likely scenario given that Chrissy showed an inordinate amount of interest in his defeat of Voldemort and the high profile Death Eater arrests he had made as head of the Auror Bureau and almost none in his vintage broomstick collection. Also, the way she kept twisting about so that her face was angled toward the photographers " two hiding rather clumsily behind potted plants and one who kept getting up to go to the bathroom so he could walk past their table " was rather telling.

Harry sighed. He was going to owe Hermione lunch. Not that that was a bad thing " he really did enjoy her company " but the incessant smirking and the "I told you so's were going to be hard to take. A drawback of being friends with one of the smartest witches in the Wizarding world was that she was frequently and annoyingly right.

The waiter was clearing away their empty glasses. "Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, I wish you could," said Harry fervently, without thinking.

Chrissy let out another high-pitched giggle. That was it. Harry stood up from the table. "Er, sorry to have to drink and run, but I'm afraid I've a rather pressing appointment."

"At this time of night?"

"Yes, well. Ministry business. You know how it is." Harry hated lying but these were dire circumstances.

"Ooh." Chrissy was round-eyed. "I'd better let you go then." Another giggle. "Owl me, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," said Harry, fighting the urge to get up and run.

A few moments later, he had seen the still-tittering Chrissy off in a cab and was wondering what to do next. The night was still relatively young (although, not, as Hermione would have gleefully pointed out, as young as his date had been).

***********************

"This place is a festering pit of testosterone," Hermione hissed into her roommate's ear as they made their way to the ladies' room. "How is it that I let you talk me into coming here?"

Clara patted her arm. "I believe I threatened to read aloud to you all night long from "Shagwarts, A History' by Dildoroy Cockhart. Found it under my brother's bed. Fascinating stuff."

"I hate you."

Clara, who was Witch Weekly's fashion editor, smoothed back her sleek, auburn hair. "Nonsense. You love me. And if you didn't want people to stare at you, you shouldn't have worn the "Look at me, look at me' dress."

"It's your dress." The supple leather had been charmed to fit like a second skin. It was fire engine red, with a plunging neckline and a skirt that barely grazed the tops of her thighs. Hermione privately thought that in it she looked like sex on legs, but she wasn't about to give Clara the satisfaction.

"I know, dear." Clara adjusted the tiny black miniskirt she wore and straightened the seams on her stockings. "You're welcome. Now, come on. You're about to have a very empowering experience." Grabbing Hermione's hand, she began towing her in the direction of the dance floor.

"Oh, what the hell." Hermione laughed. "Anything for female empowerment."

*******************

Harry fought his way through the crowd to the table where he and Chrissy had been sitting. To his relief, his jacket was still slung over the back of a chair. It was black dragonhide " a gift from Sirius when he'd gotten his promotion. Retrieving it, he turned to go and was arrested in mid-step. As was every other male in the place.

On a small, raised stage in the center of the club, two women were dancing. The music was loud and frenetic, but the women were moving slowly and sensually, their undulations deliberate and unhurried. In the corner of his mind, Harry heard Hermione's voice lecturing him about the objectification of women. He told it to go to hell. It would be criminal not to watch this.

Her eyes glinting with mischief, Clara slowly ran her hands down the sides of Hermione's body before pulling her close. "You see? What did I tell you?"

"Unbelievable," Hermione said. "I can't believe how much fun I'm having." She said this last reluctantly. "I have to admit I thought you were talking rubbish." She rubbed against Clara in a bump and grind sort of movement.

"Here, like this." Clara put her hands on Hermione's hips. "See how they're watching us?"

"I hate to say this, but you were right. They're all staring, but it's . . ."

"Powerful, isn't it?" Clara was triumphant. "There isn't a man in this place who wouldn't die to be up here between us." She giggled. "And that's the fun part. It's quite obvious that we don't need any of them. We've broken all the rules. Instead of sitting there like lumps of meat behind the butcher's counter, waiting pathetically to be chosen, we're up here having a fantastic time and it makes them crazy."

"You're not about to start singing "I Love Being a Girl' again, are you?"

"Not right now, no." Clara turned Hermione so they were both facing the same way and wrapped her arms around her wai "So "Sort of swing your hips back and forth . . . here, this way . . ."

"I think that old fellow in the corner is about to have a coronary," Hermione noted in amusement.

"That's nothing," said Clara. "Look at that one over near the door, in the hat. He's hyperventilating."

Hermione turned her head, but instead of the man with the hat, her eyes found a pair of familiar green ones. Eyes that widened in recognition.

"Harry's here," she exclaimed delightedly.

"Great." Clara rolled her eyes. "And here I was afraid you'd missed your chance for another perfectly platonic evening. The "Look at me, look at me' dress is wasted on you. Give it back."

"Right now? Because I think they have rules about that sort of thing here."

The song ended and Hermione immediately hopped down from the stage and began making her way toward her friend. "Back in a second."

"Hey," said Clara. The DJ had put on something slow and jazzy. Sighing, Clara started to get down off the stage. Out of nowhere, a hand appeared to assist her.

"Can I help you?"

"I doubt it," she snapped, still peeved at her friend.

"I'm Max," said the owner of the hand. "I'm not trying to hit on you. This is my nightclub, so I'm liable if you hurt yourself."

Clara looked at him. Tall. Dark. Vaguely dangerous. She accepted his hand. "Max, is it?"

He nodded.

"Well, Max, since my roommate has just deserted me," she indicated Hermione, weaving through the dancers, "I'm going to let you buy me a drink." Her voice was a purr.

"My pleasure," he said, solemnly.

"We'll see."

Harry watched Hermione. As she approached, the crowd parted before her and as she passed, heads turned. She wasn't beautiful, not in the conventional sense, but there was something about her that demanded attention. She, naturally, was oblivious. There was an impish grin on her face as she raised one hand to wave at him. He felt his stomach give an odd little lurch.

He realized that he had been missing her all evening. Strange, he had never noticed that before. That it was her voice he most often heard in his head, that it was her reaction he imagined when something funny or annoying or interesting happened, and that it was her advice he depended on whether he was figuring out how to approach his latest investigation or deciding on what tie to wear to dinner.

He had the uneasy feeling that the fact that he had now noticed these things meant his comfortable world was about to change and become less so. He didn't want to think about it. Which was just as well, because when Hermione finally reached him and he got a close look at her, his capacity for thought was greatly diminished.

"Well." Hermione smiled and did a half turn. "What do you think?"

Harry said the only thing he could, under the circumstances. "Would you like to dance?"

**********************

Most of the crowd had drifted off when the DJ began his slow set. As a result, the bar was doing a brisk business and Harry and Hermione had the floor nearly to themselves.

"Don't even start," said Harry, before she could ask him how his date had gone.

"I won't, then," said Hermione smugly. "You've just told me everything I needed to know."

"All right." Harry was resigned. "Say it. You know you won't be happy until you do."

"Now, Harry, you know I take no satisfaction in saying "I told you so'." Hermione laughed at the expression on his face. "Well, not that much satisfaction." She reached up to pat his cheek reassuringly and saw something " just for a second " flash in his eyes as she touched his face.

She dropped her hand in confusion. She had touched him like that on countless occasions " theirs was an affectionate friendship, but tonight . . . something was different. Firmly, she halted that train of thought. Teasing banter about unresolved sexual tension was all well and good, but that was as far as she would ever allow it to go. What they had was too important to be risked.

"Hermione." Harry's voice broke into her thoughts. She could feel his breath, warm on her ear as they glided across the floor. "I missed you tonight."

"Did you?" She tried to keep her tone light. "I missed you, too."

Harry pulled back from her slightly to peer down at her dress. "Yes. I can see that."

What was the matter with her? This was Harry, for heaven's sake! Surely her knees shouldn't turn to pudding simply because he was looking at her. At the dress. Not at her. He was looking at the dress.

She laughed. "Oh, that, well . . ." She broke off. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry. "But I can't seem to stop." It was a lie. He knew exactly why he was looking at her like that, and he could only be thankful that she didn't know why he was looking at her like that. She didn't, did she?

It wasn't like he hadn't ever noticed Hermione as a woman. He had. Many times, over the years. But it was a path he refused to let his mind go down. What was it he'd said earlier when Hermione had said love was blind? Yes, but is it also deaf, dumb, and insane? Well, he was none of those things. He knew his best friend was " in addition to being terrifyingly smart and fiercely loyal " decidedly and deliciously female. Not that he was in love with her. What a recipe for disaster that would be. Damn, she smelled good.

"Harry?" Hermione was tentative. "Would you like to come back to my place?"

"What, do you still want to catch a movie?"

"No."

"Oh."

Oh. The blood was pounding in his ears. Did that just happen? Had he just heard her correctly? Say something, idiot! Anything. Quick, before she "

"Harry?" Hermione was bright red, now. "Um, say something, would you?"

"Get your coat. We can Apparate from behind the club; it'll be faster."

************************

A short time later, they stood in the living room of the stylish flat Hermione shared with Clara. It was dark and quiet, and the lights of the city shone through the large picture windows that ran along one entire wall.

They were facing each other, but not touching. They hadn't touched since leaving the dance floor and Harry knew that he had to speak.

"Hermione," he began, "you know how important you are to me, right? You and Ron " you're my family."

Uh-oh, thought Hermione, here it comes. What could I possibly have been thinking, anyway? Damn Clara and her female empowerment. Momentary, hormonally-induced madness, more like.

"Harry, it's all right. Really, I . . ."

"Let me finish, please. Okay? I have to say this." Harry was appalled to hear his voice actually shaking. "The thing is . . ." He was going to have to just go ahead and say it. She could hex him into a hamster or something later. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "Hermione, I very much want to kiss you right now. And if I do, I don't think it'll stop there. I won't pretend that I haven't ever thought of doing this before because I have. But the point is, if I do it now, I won't be able to stop. That's not what I want. And the thing is, what I want . . ."

"What do you want, Harry?" Hermione marveled at how steady her voice was.

"I want to make love to you. I've never wanted anything so badly in my life." There. He'd said it.

"Harry, what . . ."

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. Look, let's just forget about it, okay? If you want, I can memory charm you so you won't have to be embarrassed about this later . . ."

"Potter, will you shut up?"

Harry fell silent.

"What I started to say was, what about what I want? Hush, I'm not done yet. You've told me what you want. Aren't you curious about what I want?"

"What " what do you want, Hermione?"

"I'm not even sure where to begin. Why don't we start with this?"

Throughout this exchange, they had remained apart. Now Hermione took a small step, crossing the last few inches " a distance that had seemed as vast as a canyon " between them. Despite the heels she wore, she found she still needed to tiptoe in order to press her mouth to his.

His lips were warm and dry and firm. As she kissed him, she knew that she had imagined this moment for years, and that the taste and the feel of him were beyond anything she could have imagined. She brought her hands up to his face. He shaved every morning, but by evening his face was shadowed with stubble. She found the roughness unbelievably arousing.

Why wasn't he touching her? Why wasn't he kissing her back? Hermione could feel how much he wanted her, leaning against him the way she was, and she could feel the trembling in the muscles of his arms as her hands moved over them. It was as if he were " just barely " holding himself in check.

Softly, coaxingly, she ran her tongue over his lips until he parted them for her. Pulling his head down further, she kissed him again and again, licking and sucking and nibbling, until with a groan, he plunged his hands into her hair, dragging her head back as he savaged her mouth.

Hermione felt a thrill of triumph. This was not polite, considerate Harry. This wasn't teasing, joking Harry. There was something elemental, almost desperate, in the way he came to her. She realized with a shock that she wanted " oh, how she wanted " to be taken by him. And to take him, in return.

Unwilling to part from her, even for a second, Harry lifted Hermione into his arms and stumbled towards the nearest doorway.

"Harry," said Hermione, managing to free her mouth for a second, "this is the kitchen."

"It'll have to do, then," said Harry. "I'm not going to make it any further."

Unable to help herself, Hermione giggled.

That brought him to his senses, at least for the moment. He set Hermione on the kitchen counter, facing him, and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. They stayed like that for a while, breathing together.

"Hermione," said Harry at last, with great effort, "what we do next is going to change everything. I'll understand completely if you don't want to do this." He was harder than he had ever been in his life. If she told him to stop now, it might very well kill him.

Hermione ran her hands over his arms and chest, reveling in the way his breath hitched as she did so. "If you stop now, Harry, I will be forced to kill you."

His arms tightened around her, but still, he didn't move. His breathing was ragged. "Hermione, I want . . . I need to be inside of you . . . so badly . . . I don't know if I can attend to any of the . . . niceties . . ."

"We can worry about those next time," said Hermione. She felt the lovely, liquid pulse between her legs and, arching against him, proceeded to tell him, in explicit detail, what she wanted him to do.

"Oh, God." Without further preamble, Harry pushed her dress up over her hips and discovered she was wearing nothing beneath it. "Oh, Jesus . . . you're killing me . . ."

"Clara said the "Look at me, look at me' dress required a certain level of commitment. Ohhh, yesss . . ." Hermione moaned as Harry's clever fingers began playing with her.

"I've always admired your integrity . . ." Harry was fumbling now with the zipper of his pants.

"Shut up and put it in me, right now," Hermione ordered breathlessly.

"Yes, ma'am." Positioning her at the edge of the counter, Harry held onto her tightly and thrust. "Oh, holy fuck." She was warm and wet and soft as velvet. Harry thought his knees were about to buckle.

Hermione wrapped her legs around him, digging her nails into his shoulders as he sank into her, over and over. It was a hard, fast, wild ride, and he seemed to know that this, this was what she had wanted. All that barely leashed violence, the passion that simmered just below the surface " the side Harry never showed to his friends but that served him so well in his work " Hermione now knew that she had craved it for longer than she had been willing to admit.

Harry was drowning in her. She was hot and slick, and as he drove into her as far as he could go, he was frustrated because it wasn't enough. It wasn't fucking nearly enough. He'd never have enough of her. So wet. So tight. So goddamned perfect. And then he felt her go. He was looking right into her beautiful brown eyes when she went over the edge, and suddenly, he was there, too.

"Oh, God . . . Hermione . . ." Closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair, Harry shattered.

They remained that way for a few moments, locked in each other. And then, gently, reluctantly, they began to disentangle themselves.

Hermione reached up to push a lock of hair out of his eyes. "You're all sweaty."

Harry, who had yet to regain his breath, said, "I wonder why?"

"I think perhaps a shower would be in order."

"Have I told you what an amazingly smart witch you are?"

"You can tell me while you wash my back."

***********************

It was a very thorough shower. Harry had to perform three heating spells on the water before they were finished.

When at last they emerged from the steam-filled room, Hermione turned to Harry and said, "Well, that's the first time I've felt dirtier after a shower than before one."

"I know," Harry smirked. "And now, according to ancient Wizarding custom, I must sleep for a thousand years." He flopped down onto the bed.

"Sleep? What makes you think you can sleep? I'm not done with you yet, my lad. Not by a long shot," said Hermione, crawling in next to him.

"Have mercy, woman. You nearly killed me in there." Harry's eyes were closed but he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"Don't worry, baby. Leave everything to me," said Hermione, nipping at an earlobe.

Harry did not open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Is that so?"

"I'm in the mood for some more empowerment."

"Far be it from me to stand in the way of a liberated woman," said Harry, gasping as her tongue found his nipple.

"Hmmm," said Hermione, working her way to his abdomen and enjoying the way his muscles clenched as she slid her tongue over them, "I am feeling more and more empowered already."

"I would certainly obey you . . . ohhhh, Christ . . . do that again . . ."

"This?" asked Hermione, moving lower still. "Or this?"

But Harry was now beyond speech. His breath came in harsh rasps and his hands were knotted in the sheets. He felt warmth and suction and . . . oh, shit, that was her tongue . . .

He reached down to touch her, but found his hand swatted away. "Don't bother me. I'm having fun here."

"Are you really?" Quidditch. Aunt Petunia. Snape in a thong.

"Really. I can't tell you how often I've thought about making you come, just like this. Mmmm . . . you taste good . . ."

Hearing that, Harry nearly did come. Not yet, he thought. Not yet. To distract himself, he asked, "What about all that unresolved sexual tension stuff?"

Hermione did something with her hand that made his eyes cross. "Shhhhh. It's resolving itself."

Finally, when he was begging and incoherent, she rose up over him like a goddess. To his surprise, though, she moved higher until she was straddling his face.

"Please," he breathed. "Please, let me . . ."

And slowly, slowly she lowered herself to him. He reached out with his tongue to taste her, and almost came again. "So good . . . so good . . ." he murmured, losing himself in her folds. Once, twice, he brought her to the peak.

When at last he rolled over, yanking her beneath him and sheathing himself in her in one smooth stroke, she was boneless and willing. "Well," he said, "at least now I know what it takes to render you properly speechless."

Hermione dug her nails into his back and made a short, graphic request. Harry complied.

Panting and whimpering, she raised her hips to meet his thrusts. Harder. Faster. His heart was going to explode. He felt her convulse, the spasms rippling along his cock, and then he was following her into the abyss.

*******************

"Where," said Harry, when he could speak again, "did you learn to do that? Never mind. I don't want to know." She was lying in the crook of his arm, her head pillowed on his chest.

"You get to enjoy the benefits of my knowledge. Don't ask. Just accept," Hermione said. "But since I'm feeling generous . . ." She accio "d a book that had been lying on the coffee table. "Here. Mind you, most of it was my own genius, but I did pick up a hint or two from this."

"'Shagwarts, A History, by Dildoroy Cockhart'?" Harry threw back his head and laughed. "God, I love you, Hermione." Whoops. Did he just say that? Did she notice that? Way to go, Potter. Let's scare her off as quickly as possible.

Hermione propped herself up on one elbow so she could look into his eyes. Her expression was serious. "Harry," she said. "You know I love you, right? That you are my best friend in the whole world. You and Ron both are."

Uh-oh. Here it comes . . .

"The thing is . . . I'm in love with you. Probably have been for years. I don't know why I didn't see it before " I suppose I didn't want to risk another disaster like the one with Ron, and you just mean so much to me, and probably I shouldn't be telling you this now but I feel like I have to because I don't think I'm cut out for casual shagging and I just hope that you won't hate me or regret this or run away screaming now that I " mmmmmmph!"

Harry silenced her with a long, skillful kiss.

"Hermione," he said, coming up for air, "shut up, will you?"

"But "

He kissed her again.

"Shut. Up. Okay? I have something to say."

Hermione nodded.

"I love you. I am in love with you. Our shagging is in no way casual. I don't think I've ever loved anyone as much as I love you and the only thing I regret is not figuring this out sooner." He grinned at her. "Okay. Now you can talk."

Hermione was grinning as well. "Looks like being a prat magnet has finally paid off."

"Ooh, you are so going to pay for that remark, Miss Granger!"

"You don't scare me, Potter."

The battle for empowerment was waged until the morning, when victory was declared by both parties.
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T.G.I.F.