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Chapter 8: In Which Hermione Doesn't Sleep

"Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable."
Randy K. Milholland

Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that the guest room with which the Grangers were providing him was just to his taste. It was painted a similar shade as Hermione's, which suited Harry quite well. On the wall opposite the door there was a huge picture window, from which Harry could see the streets of London. Whether it was due to how high up they were or perhaps sound insulated windows, Harry couldn't hear the bustle from outside, much to his relief. On the wall adjacent to this were two twin beds, both covered with a dark blue duvet, with a nightstand standing in between them. On the wall across from this bed there was, to Harry's great amusement, a row of bookcases, filled to the brim. He glanced at the bookcases and then looked pointedly at Hermione, who gave a guilty smile.
"There wasn't enough room on mine," she admitted. Harry could only shake his head. Typical Hermione.

"About the beds..." Hermione said, walking over to the said furniture. "It's a bedroom suite, and mum didn't think anything but twins would be acceptable...but we can move around the table and push them together if you like," Hermione added eagerly.

"No, it's fine," Harry told her, awarding her with a grin. "It's perfect."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione sighed. "I was worried you'd hate it."

"It's not like I had high expectations or anything," Harry pointed out.

"No, but I still want you to be comfortable." Hermione had a look on her face that Harry recognized as pure stubbornness, and so he decided to let the subject go. His thoughts trailed to his trunk, which still lay four floors below.

"Where should I put my clothes?" Harry inquired.

"Oh! Right! Over there," Hermione answered, pointing to a bureau a few feet away from the door.

"I'll just go get my trunk then," Harry said, making to leave the room, but a questioning look from Hermione stopped him. "What? I have to get it, you know!"

"We're not outside any longer, Harry. It's perfectly safe to do magic now. I actually asked Professor McGonagall about performing magic at home once I was of age." Hermione took out her wand and muttered, "Accio Harry's Trunk!" A few seconds later Harry's trunk landed neatly at her feet. "See?" she beamed, pocketing her wand. "No harm done. Though try not to do it too much. Mum and Dad are perfectly accepting of the fact that I'm a witch, but sometimes I think they feel that I use magic to take the easy way out of things."

"Right," said Harry, making a note to himself to never do magic in Hermione's house, no matter what she said – he didn't need another reason for Mr. Granger to bury him alive. "I'll keep that in mind."

"What do you think Harry and Hermione are doing now?" Ron said, lounging languidly on the Gryffindor couch.
"Snogging," Ginny answered. She checked her watch. "No, that was an hour ago. They should be shagging by now. With all that sexual tension, being kept in the same house, bedrooms right next to one another..."

"How do you know their rooms are next to each other?" Ron said as he did his best to ignore the thought of his two best friends doing such...intimate things together.

"Oh, when I found out that Hermione was inviting Harry over for the holidays, I owled Mrs. Granger and asked her to make sure that the two were as near to one another as possible. I would talk to her when Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes at the end of the year, and apparently she feels the same way as we do. She's almost as helpful as mum."

"What has mum done?" Ron asked, furrowing his brows. "We never told her about our strategy..."

"Not technically true," Ginny said, leaning her chin on one of her palms and tilting her head so that her red hair touched the floor. "I owled her for ideas for getting those two together, and she gave me our plan."