Harry Potter Imagines

[Lingerie]

Hogsmeade weekends were always chaos—snow-dusted cobblestones, Butterbeer foam clinging to upper lips, and the muffled laughter of students trying to make the most of a rare, unsupervised afternoon. You'd spent the day exactly how anyone would expect: drifting between shops with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Seamus; ducking from one doorway to the next whenever the wind howled down the street; and laughing until your sides ached as Ron and Seamus nearly got banned from Zonko's for setting off fireworks indoors.

By the time you'd browsed Honeydukes (where you'd almost bought an entire jar of chocolate cauldrons) and watched Ron argue with Madam Rosmerta about butterbeer foam prices, Hermione tugged you firmly away toward a little clothing shop tucked just past Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

"I need some new underwear," she announced, completely serious, as if she'd just declared an international emergency.

You snorted. "Well. That's... romantic."

The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the shop wrapped around you like a blanket, carrying the faint scent of lavender and something sugary. The front was lined with jumpers, scarves, and neatly folded cloaks—but Hermione, being Hermione, strode straight to the back with military focus. The undergarment section.

She began inspecting a rack of plain white cotton bras that looked like they might've belonged to Professor McGonagall. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered further down the row. That's when you saw it.

A red lace bodysuit.

You froze. It was gorgeous and ridiculous all at once—deep plunging neckline, barely-there straps, lace so delicate it looked like it might vanish if you breathed too hard. Heat rose instantly to your cheeks.

"Oh, Merlin," you muttered, both horrified and fascinated.

"Y/N?" Hermione's voice cut through your thoughts. "What are you—oh." She stopped short, eyebrows climbing. "You're not seriously considering that, are you?"

You grabbed it reflexively, heart hammering. "What? No! Of course not. I'm just—looking."

Hermione crossed her arms, smirking knowingly. "Mm-hm. Just looking."

"Shut up. It's not like I'd actually wear it."

"Oh, please." She plucked the hanger from your hand, holding the lace against your front with a wicked grin. "Harry would faint."

"Hermione!" You snatched it back, eyes darting around the shop in panic. Your face burned so hot you could've rivaled a Howler.

She shrugged, laughter dancing in her eyes. "I'm just saying. Might be fun. And besides—" her tone softened, "—it's not really about him, is it? It's about you feeling good."

You blinked, caught off guard by her quiet wisdom. Only Hermione could turn lingerie shopping into a feminist life lesson.

Still, your fingers lingered on the lace. It was bold. Daring. Completely unlike you.
And yet... you couldn't stop imagining Harry's face if he saw you in it.

"Ugh, fine," you muttered, tossing it into your basket before you could talk yourself out of it.

Hermione beamed triumphantly. "Honestly, boys are so lucky."

By the time the sun sank below the mountains, most students had already gone home for the holidays. Trunks lined the common room, the fire flickered low, and the storm outside whispered softly against the windows.

Only the four of you—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and yourself—remained in Gryffindor Tower. It was peaceful in a way Hogwarts rarely was.

You and Harry had slipped upstairs to the girls' dormitory under the excuse of "one last game of Exploding Snap," though that had quickly devolved into you sitting cross-legged at the foot of your bed with your diary open while he lounged lazily against your pillows, flipping through Quidditch Through the Ages.