Gratitude

Here's an odd fact about me: I am always nervous to make smut on a square canvas. Squares are just somehow less sexy. But this one kinda really works as a square...so maybe I should rethink my shape-based sexiness prejudice.

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“I never said thank you.” Harry stands sheepishly folding laundry. 

“For what?” Hermione doesn’t look up from her latest legislative proposals. She’ll have words with Nott in the morning. Prat lives to block her proposals and she’s —

“For saving my life, keeping me alive, helping me get my life together and making sure I didn’t peak at seventeen. I’m sorry, I never say it enough.” 

“I saw you at seventeen, you were far from peak,” she says, remembering the traumatized, haggard string bean of a boy, and remembering the last time she saw him shirtless on the pitch. Far from peak indeed. 

“But really…You — I — You do so much, and I never say thank you.”

“You say thank you all the time. Perhaps too much, honestly. When you’re not being a prat, you’re impressively polite.” 

“Thanks, it’s the trauma.” He shoots her his crooked cocky grin, dimples on full display. 

“What brought all this about?” she asks, trying for subtly. 

Harry pauses. It’s not a proper blush, his skin is a shade too dark to give him away, but it’s clear in his somewhat bewildered expression. 

“...is this about that red dress?” she asks.

He doesn’t move, but also doesn’t look away. 

“Oh my god! It is!” 

“It’s a really good dress!” 

“Oh,” Ron’s head pops around the doorframe. For a man so large, he’s concerningly good at eavesdropping. “Are we discussing The Dress?”

“I think Harry’s having a whole trauma about it,” Hermione laughs. “He just apologized for not thanking me enough.” 

“Hmm,” Ron hums and comes to wrap his arms around Hermione’s waist, pulling her close, “Perhaps he’s just not thanking you in the right way.” 

“That!” Harry nearly skips over to them. “Yes, that. I do believe you and I have some apologises to make.”

“Mhmm,” Ron kisses down her neck, leaving the lightest little bites, “And some gratitude to…be grateful about.”

“Eloquent as always.” 

“My mouth has better uses.”

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Sorry for writing SFW. that's just what the muse wanted. Imagine them tying her up and making her listen to them compliment her. They'd spank her every time she tries to argue and deflect, then just fuck her until her brain turns off. I like to think they're the only ones that can get The Brightest Witch of Her Age to just Stop Thinking.