The Wand of Ravenclaw

The Common Room Fire

Harry Potter never considered himself as 'lucky'. Cursed, definitely. Plagued and jinxed, also accurate. But never lucky. As he stared at the scene before him, however, he had to conclude that this unfamiliar, unaccustomed state actually applied to him for once. They knew where one of the Horcruxes was, despite having still only a vague idea of how to retrieve it, and now they had not one, but two, methods of disposing of it. Two more, in fact, than they had had that very morning. Yes, Harry thought, I am very lucky. Though, he happily admitted, the best stroke of his luck had absolutely nothing to do with Horcruxes.

Harry was lounging on the couch of the Gryffindor Common Room. Actually lounging, reflecting his relaxed state. He could have laughed at himself for it, all things considered. Ron was sat on the comfy chair next to the fire, looking in awe at the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands, twirling it and admiring the way the firelight glinted off its smooth, sharp blade. Ron had already called shotgun on slicing off Nagini's head with the sword when the time came, and Harry was happy to concede to him.

But Harry had no eyes for Ron. He was staring at Hermione, not watching, staring. He knew that he was, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. She was stretched out in front of the fire, angled away from him, her legs crooked up behind her from the knees and her ankles dancing with each other in mid-air. She was closely examining the Wand of Ravenclaw in her hands, its little velvet cushion propped under one elbow, while the other held open a large book and she was flickering her eyes between its pages and the wand. Her eyes darted back and fore, her brows knitted in concentration as Hermione studied.

Harry found that he loved watching her in her element. A book, a problem, a task. So quintessentially Hermione. He absently chided himself that he'd missed six years of just enjoying this adorable, meaningless little display. Her besocked feet played idly with each other, occasionally kicking back and knocking against his knees. He reached out and grabbed them, slowly massaging one then the other. Hermione smiled without looking up.

"That's nice," she purred.

"What's that you're reading?" Harry asked as he continued to knead Hermione's toes.

She turned her head and said, sultrily, "Why don't you slide down here and join me?"

Harry didn't need asking twice.

He, as instructed, slid off the couch and stretched out at Hermione's side. She looked so lovely in the firelight that he found it completely impossible not to slip his left arm over her back and come to rest under her arm. It would have been all kinds of wrong if he hadn't. She placed her hand over his as it slipped under her, her fingertips tracing little circles over his skin, sending gooesbumps all over him. He looked at her adoringly, a little giddy and lost in her secret, knowing smile. She knew how much he liked that, and what it was doing to him.

"Urgh, cant you two get a room?" asked Ron from the chair nearby. He looked decidedly peaky at the sight of them.

"This is a room," said Hermione simply. She hadn't taken her eyes from Harry's, which he was glad for. She was becoming increasingly more comfortable at their public displays of affection, especially in front of Ron. Harry, for his part, wanted to display his affection for Hermione as often as possible and in front of as many people as he could. He wanted to show her off, but he knew she wasn't wholly comfortable with that yet, so he was happy to let her take the lead. They had their moments in private, anyway. Harry pushed those thoughts away, it was hardly the time. But his ignoble mind was drifting to the dorm of the Head Students, vacant this year in view of the circumstances of the world. Hermione had first suggested the place for some personal liaisons; when that side of her had reared its head Harry's stomach had done little flips, which quickly slid south.