Got Milk?

She couldn't believe she was doing this. Hermione was in the backseat of a car having the living daylights snogged out of her.

"Harry..." she murmured as a soft pair of lips pressed against her collarbone. She really did want to push him off, but her arms and legs had turned mutinous on her and now stubbornly refused to help. Her hands hadn't just mutinied but had actually turned traitor and were tracing circles on Harry's back.

"Yes?" he murmured back after a long moment.

"Nothing."

Harry laughed softly as he brought his lips back up to her own. For a moment they sat almost perfectly still, but then suddenly Hermione's lips turned traitor too and came crashing down onto his. Damn, damn, damn. Hermione was barely capable of coherent thought anymore. Then his tongue entered her mouth and her brain pulled out its little white flag and surrendered completely.

She could feel his hands under her shirt, sending little electric shocks through every bit of her skin they touched. So, he wanted to play it that way? Fine. Two could play this game. She ran one hand through his black hair, while the other hand stroked the back of his neck, making him moan slightly through the kiss.

The kiss only broke when both were in desperate need of air. For a long moment they sat crushed together in the little Ford Fiesta Hermione's mother gave her for passing her driving test, both breathing heavily.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I should hope so after that. I'd hate to think you'd snog just any girl."

"Nope. Just you," he said with a charming grin.

"Well, in that case, I love you too. Although I never thought I'd see the day that I ended up snogging in the backseat of a car."

"Especially not in the Sainsbury's car park," he said with a laugh. She thwapped him on the arm.

"You're so romantic, Harry."

"I try. At least we had the sense to park at the end of the car park. Otherwise we might've been in trouble."

"I know. Shall we go back now?"

"Might as well. My mum and dad sent us out for milk half an hour ago."

"So?"

"It's only a ten-minute drive."

"You think they might suspect?"

"They might."

"Well then, let's go. I don't really fancy being beaten up by your dad."

"He wouldn't beat you up."

"No?"

"There are other ways of causing you pain. He is a dentist, after all. Ever seen Marathon Man?"

Harry hadn't seen the film she mentioned, but he got the idea and shuddered. He clambered back into the passenger seat, while she buckled herself into the driver's seat. She started the car and pulled out of the space.

"Does my hair look bad?" she asked him as she drove out of the car park.

"Nope."

"Harry..."

"It's fine, really. It's still in that plait thing, don't worry. Although it's probably best that you don't wear make-up."

"Very true. Your hair is an absolute mess, but I don't think anyone will notice."

"Ha ha. You're a funny girl."

"I try," she said, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she pulled onto a particularly busy roundabout. "I still can't believe we just did that."

"What? It was only a snog."

"Yes. In a public place. What are we, insatiable, hormone-ridden and unable to keep our hands off each other for a ten minute jaunt to the shops?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he asked, running his hand along her leg as he did so.

"Don't do that!" she squealed. "Not when I'm driving. Do you want me to crash the bloody car?"

"Fine, fine!" he said, removing the offending hand. Hermione manoeuvred the car through the streets to her house before finally pulling up outside the house. She leapt out of the car with Harry in hot pursuit.

***

"You took a long time, dear," said Mrs Granger as Hermione handed her the four-pint carton of skimmed milk.

"Oh, there was only one till open," lied Hermione with almost breathtaking ease. Mrs Granger nodded.

"Your Dad's in the living room watching The Bill," she advised. Hermione nodded. It was well known in the Granger household that Mr Granger was not to be disturbed during The Bill and so therefore Hermione turned to Harry.

"Want to go outside?" she asked. He smiled slightly, avoiding Mrs Granger's eye.

"All right."

Hermione pulled him outside into the Grangers' garden. It was well-kept by Mrs Granger, who watched Ground Force with as much devotion as Mr Granger watched The Bill. At the back of the garden was Hermione's favourite feature: a wrought iron bench which was actually hidden from the house by a large tropical shrub Mrs Granger had planted quite recently. It was quite cold out on this particular evening, and she shivered as she sat down on the cold iron bench.

"Cold, love?" he whispered to her. She shook her head. "Damn. I'd hoped to do my manly warming you up thing."

"How did you propose to do that?"

"Well, normally I'd offer you my coat, but I'm not wearing one," he said, scooting closer to her and putting his arm around her. "So I'll just have to kiss you again."

"Oh," she said in a tone too mournful to be serious.

He stroked her cheek softly before kissing it softly.

"You're so beautiful."

"So are you."

"I'm not manly and rugged and handsome?"

"Nope. Beautiful," she giggled.

"Oh well," he said, accepting it with the good grace that comes from being so close to one's object of affection. "I can handle that."

"Harry?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Shut up." He went to respond but suddenly found that he had a Hermione on his face. Not being the sort to object, he returned the kiss fully, his hands going to her back, pulling her as close as he could. The kiss deepened and Harry was suddenly aware that Hermione wasn't so much next to him as she was sitting in his lap. He was dimly aware of what might happen if Mrs Granger came out into the garden, but as Hermione's lips moved to his earlobe, all such thoughts flew out of his head.

"You're all mine," he whispered in a voice bordering on worship. She could never really work out what he found to be so amazing about her, but then, she thought he was about as perfect as a person could get without being deified.

"Yes, I am," she replied, pressing a kiss against his hand as he went to brush her hair out of her eyes. Then she pulled out of his arms. "We should probably go back inside. I mean, the TV programme should be over soon and..."

She was cut off by Potter lips against hers.

"You're insatiable, Potter," she giggled.

"It's all your fault."

***

"Hermione! Harry! Tea's ready," Mrs Granger called out into the garden, perhaps wisely not straying further into the garden than the back door. They sprang apart guiltily at that point and began hurriedly straightening clothes. Hermione opened her mouth but Harry cut her off.

"Your hair is fine." He took her hand and led her through the garden and back into the house. Mr and Mrs Granger were sitting in the living room enduring an advertisement about debt consolidation on the television. Two cups of tea were waiting for the younger pair.

"You took a long time at the shops, Hermione," said Mr Granger.

"Only one till was open, Daddy. Not my fault that Sainsbury's are cost-cutting," she lied effortlessly again and Harry marvelled at her ease. She must've had a lot of practice...

"Can't they get some Sixth formers from the school to work for peanuts?" asked Mr Granger.

"Apparently Sixth formers are getting increasingly demanding and will no longer work for peanuts," she replied with a smile.

"Oh it's all beer money nowadays," said Mr Granger. "When I was at school we worked hard. We didn't go off on a Friday night-"

"And get so drunk that you took on five Teds on motorbikes single-handed?" asked Mrs Granger with a laugh. Mr Granger went a deep red colour. He'd been a mod in his day and was renowned for getting into scrapes with the local rockers.

"My father, ladies and gentlemen. I'm so proud."

"Well, maybe we shouldn't introduce him to Sirius," said Harry, joining in the fun. "He's got a motorbike, long hair and a leather jacket. I'm guessing he's a rocker."

"Sounds about right," said Mr Granger with a mock-dark look. He drained his teacup.

"Are we going off to Diagon Alley tomorrow?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," nodded Hermione. "We probably need to leave early to avoid traffic into London. And I thought that afterwards we could show Harry some of the sights."

"I've not really seen much of London," he admitted. Mr Granger, who had grown up in London, looked horrified.

"Well, we'll have to remedy that." He stood up. "I'm off to bed. You two might want to get some sleep too. Long day ahead and all. Night all."

Mr Granger headed up the stairs. Harry and Hermione made some idle chitchat with Mrs Granger before, yawning, they headed up the stairs to Hermione's room.

***

"Are you sure they don't mind me sleeping in here?" he asked anxiously, looking around as if expecting to see Mr Granger standing there demanding to know what Harry was doing in his precious daughter's bedroom.

"I'm sure they're fine with it, Harry. Otherwise they wouldn't let you," she joked wickedly. She slipped into her pyjamas quickly, finding that it was a cold night. He did the same and then slid into bed next to her. Arms wrapped around waists as if they'd always belonged there, and Harry felt at that moment that if he ever had to sleep alone again, he'd suffer terrible insomnia.

"Night Mr Potter," she whispered, planting a feathery kiss on his lips. He returned it.

"Night Mrs Potter."

***

Mrs Granger, after shoving the tea cups into the dishwasher and getting ready for bed, went into her room to find her husband still awake and reading a book. He looked up at her and smirked wickedly.

"They're worse than teenagers, those two," she told him.

"It took them over half an hour to get milk?" he asked nonchalantly. His wife slid under the covers beside him.

"I recall once being sent out with you to do much the same thing and taking much longer."

"Ahh," Mr Granger smiled fondly at the memory. "I always said we should've called Hermione Safeway, you know."

"Oh shut up," she said with a girlish giggle. "I also remember you being terribly worried about my father's reaction."

"He was a scary, scary man."

"Yes, but we'd been married a year by then. I think he probably guessed that we'd had sex."

"I don't like to think about that."

"Well, it would've been worse if he thought we hadn't. He'd have asked questions as to why."

"Good point." Mr Granger remained silent before turning to his wife. "Does that mean that Harry and Hermione have... had sex?"

Mrs Granger hooted with laughter.

"Sweetheart, they've been married six months now. I think it's likely. They're sharing her room right now, remember?"

"Well, we'll just have to sort this out, won't we," he said, making to get out of bed. His eyes, however, twinkled.

"Don't even think about it, Granger," she said sternly. "But if our first grandchild is called Sainsbury, I'm never letting Hermione offer to get the milk again."

The End