I need your permission
Harry
Theirs was a new romance, something fresh off the cauldron and still simmering with unrealized fantasies and hopes for all the future held. The relationship was public and had been for a number of weeks, but was only truly a surprise to those outside of their circles. To everyone else, their fascination with one another was obvious.
So it came as a surprise when Hermione admitted Draco still hadn’t visited her flat, a modest, two-room apartment in a trendy neighborhood near Diagon Alley. They spent all their time at his place, or the manor’s library, or Theo’s.
“It’s been what, two months now?” Harry’s look of skepticism had her feeling oddly guilty.
“Something like that, but it’s not like I made a conscious decision to avoid my place. Everywhere else just seems more…suitable.”
Harry’s eyes carded around her living room, taking in the wall of bookshelves, mismatched furniture, the army of potted plants taking up every surface and window. Her place was small, but lived in like a home should be.
“Ah yes, this hovel must be beneath Malfoy.”
She smacked him over the head with a cushion. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
“Then what do you mean?”
Hermione chewed on her lip, clearly uncertain about whether or not she should tell him. Harry was her best friend who supposedly knew her better than anyone else. There probably wasn’t a better person to ask.
“When you look at my home, what do you see?”
“Books. Also…books.”
“Harry, I’m serious!”
“Furniture meant to sleep on. They’re comfy. A jungle of plants I suspect you sourced from Neville. Too many cat toys. A scary amount of wall space dedicated to platforms for Crookshanks—”
“And what do cats shed?”
“…is this a trick question?”
In triumph, Hermione gestured wildly at her surroundings and Harry realized the sofa and chairs were indeed covered in signature orange hairs.
“I can’t have Draco coming over here getting covered in Crookshanks! Have you seen the clothes that man wears?”
“Here’s a thought: how about you just clean? You know, a common chore we all do to keep our homes livable?”
She snorted. “ Obviously . I clean as frequently as I can, but you know me, Harry. I’m busy. I’m out more often than in. I don’t clean up as much as I should and I just don’t want to bother with worrying about it when there are tons of other places we can go instead.”
Harry stared at her for a moment. His look reminded her of his expression when she fell off her broomstick only a few meters off the ground.
“What?”
“Are you, or are you not, a witch?”
“I know where you’re going with this, and I’ll give you the same reason I give for cooking and gardening without magic: I prefer doing them by hand.”
“But why ?”
Now it was her turn to stare at him in disgust. She disappeared into the kitchen for a couple of minutes before returning with a plate.
“Here.”
She shoved a muffin at him and he grudgingly took a bite. As predicted, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he moaned.
“My god, this is bloody delicious.”
“Okay, now try this one.”
“Blah!” He spat out the second muffin into his hands before guiltily looking up at her.
“Need I state the obvious?”
“I fail to see how cleaning is similar to cooking.”
“I’m not going into a practical lesson right now, but trust me when I say that cleaning by hand is 10x more thorough than cleaning by magic. Didn’t you ever wonder why Snape’s detentions always involved scrubbing the cauldrons rather than just vanishing the mess?”
“I don’t know, maybe because the man was an arse? ”
She sighed in disappointment. “Harry…”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I still don’t see why you can’t just plan ahead and make sure to clean before Malfoy visits.”
Her shrug summed up her lack of interest in hurrying the milestone.
“I need your permission to make a Floo call.”
Thrown off by the sudden change of topic, Hermione pointed out the Floo powder before returning to the kitchen to clean up the muffin disaster. Casting a quick evanesco on the cat hair, Harry popped his head into the fireplace to place his call.
“Draco Malfoy’s flat.”
“Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call?”
“You’ve got about five seconds to get your arse over to Hermione’s flat before she catches me and shuts the connection.”
“And why do I need you to tell me to go see my girlfriend?”
“Take it or leave it. Chances are the opportunity won’t present itself again for a long time.”
The blonde pursed his lips as he considered Harry’s statement. “Back up, Potter. I’m coming through.”
And not a moment too soon.
The second Draco Malfoy shook off the remnants of powder and muttered a vanishing spell, Hermione rounded the corner.
“Draco!”
“Hey, love, why— achoo !”
The immaculate scion in his tailored suit doubled over violently in a fit of sneezes and inelegant coughs. Hermione fussed over him, her hands fluttering in uncertainty.
“Draco, what do I do? How can I help?”
“Ahhh, ahhhh, achoo !” He backed up towards the fireplace, fumbling around for Floo powder. “I need to leave. I’m so sorry, I—”
Another violent cough and he was gone.
Silence reigned and Harry tried to blend into the bookshelf behind him. What he would give to have his invisibility cloak on hand.
Hermione’s eyes moved slowly from Draco’s last spot over to her friend, narrowing in realization.
“Perhaps I should have been more clear, though I didn’t realize you’d be so moronic as to go around me and invite him into my home. Draco is allergic to cats.”
“I…uh, figured that one out. Why didn’t you just say that at the start?”
He should’ve fled the moment her expression transformed into a sickly sweet smile. He should’ve remembered the bluebells and little birds viciously attacking Ron. He should’ve remembered Hermione’s vengeful streak.
“I’m going to cook, and while I do, you will clean this house by hand . You will also call Draco this instant and apologize for almost killing him, again, before inviting him over for supper.”
“I don’t see how it’s my fault the ferret almost died when you didn’t even tell me…” Harry’s mumble ended in a yelp when her thrown slipper hit him on the head.
“Call. Apologize. Clean.”
Crookshanks
He strolled in and sat down, lifting up his leg to give his balls a thorough wash. The half kneazle knew there was no arguing with his human in her current state. He waited until the messy-haired one stuck his head into the flames before flexing claws directly into his calves. A symphony of swearing followed in his wake to the kitchen where a treat awaited him. He’d re-cover his home in his scent again later.