This is in collaboration with the always amazing Summerless!
“Hello, folks…”
Harry Potter turned at the sound of his best friend’s voice. One eyebrow rose at the sight of the flame-haired Weasley swaying on the stage, the microphone held loosely in his hand.
“I have a treat for y’all…” Ron slurred. “Two of my…hic…best mates are going to serenade us with some…hic…mix of Sexy Back and With Love. Anybody know ‘em?”
He was rewarded with excited murmurs. “It’ll be on in just a mo’…”
He stumbled off the stage and in a couple of moments was beside Harry, “Harry…mate, you don’ mind—hic—pa’ring up w ‘Ermione? She’s waiting…”
“What?” Harry frowned, racking his brain. No mention of a song popped up in his memory box.
“M-mate, ya said you do anything for my birthday.”
Harry smiled sheepishly as that memory floated up on cue, “Well…I didn’t mean a song.”
“Too late!” Ron smiled back at him. “Go on now. You’ll talk with her about the lyric stuff. Music’s all taken care of…”
Reluctantly, Harry left his spot by the buffet table, weaving his way towards backstage. He knew the song Sexy Back, but he wasn’t very fond of singing the song.
Especially in public.
Hermione was waiting for him backstage, her hair tucked up in a black wide-brimmed hat and the folds of a purple trench coat shrouding her figure. Her face had an expression that far surpassed livid.
“Ron’s going to pay for this,” she hissed at Harry. “God…anyways, I think you should do the chorus first and I can throw in a couple of ‘With Love’s, then I can do the second chorus. I’ll do the second verse and the third and you do the first. Then we do the chorus for the last couple of minutes?”
Harry mused, “First verse, first chorus…got it.”
Hermione nodded, “And you can throw in a couple of ‘be gone with it’ in the second verse.”
She had barely finished a second when a voice slurred out over the speakers, “And now, my best mates performing a remix of Sexy Back and With Love combined!”
Harry and Hermione emerged to cheering and the beginnings of a pounding club beat. There was nothing but a silver steel chair on the stage, flanked by two similar microphone stands.
Harry began to sing as soon as he reached the microphone. He just wanted it over with, “I’m bringing sexy back…”
He was doing all right until Hermione sang, “Just do it with love, love, love,” for the first time during the chorus. Harry was so amazed at Hermione’s vocals that he almost forgot the lines.
Then came Hermione’s turn. Harry watched her take off the hat and was again shocked. She was wearing a short black wig! She threw the hat down next to the chair, dancing a little as she sang. Harry stumbled through the “Be gone with it” and then took the microphone off his stand, sliding over to stand next to Hermione.
The frightening part of all this was that he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
Hermione did, though. She was dancing a dance Harry had never seen her do. It was…sensual. On another impulse, he grasped one hand as she sang “Slow me down” and started twirling her under his arm.
“Take off my wig,” she murmured between lines. Harry obliged, pulling off the black bowl haircut. Light brown waves cascaded to her shoulders.
Ooh, she’s nearing the end of the third verse…
“I’m bringing sexy back,” Harry could barely sing. His mouth was dry.
“Just do it with love, love, love,”
“I’m bringing sexy back,”
“Just do it with love, love, love,”
“I’m bringing sexy back,”
“Just do it with love…”
Then was the combination of both choruses. Then cheering echoed in Harry’s ears. He was hot and sweaty. And he wasn’t sure if it was just by the performance.
Hermione had unbuttoned her trench coat, revealing a form-fitting black minidress that—shockingly—didn’t reach her knees. Harry had never seen her in something that…un-Hermione-like.
Harry walked off the stage, his eyes on Hermione—had she ever been that pretty, that curvaceous?
“I swear I am never going to do that again.” Hermione muttered, now pulling off the coat.
Oh, for the love of…
Harry kept his eyes on Hermione’s nostrils—it was one part of her that suddenly didn’t seem more attractive—as he dabbed at his sweaty forehead and neck with a washcloth, like Hermione was doing. Her chest heaved and Harry swallowed hard.
Wait, wait…slow down boy. This is Hermione!
“You mean you didn’t like it?” Harry asked when her words made sense. She wasn’t going to do that again…
“Well, it was enjoyable,” Hermione admitted. “But it’s not me. I could never be a sex kitten.”
“You looked like you knew what you were doing out there,” Harry noted.
Hermione smiled. The black dress vanished from sight. The white knee-length dress was over it, seemingly erasing every piece of the Hermione out there two minutes ago…
“My cousin made me take a pole-dancing class one summer,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I quit after the first class. Honestly, a bookstore owner can’t have a sex kitten. Only pin-up girls have that.”
“I don’t know…” Harry smiled mischievously. “You looked pretty hot out there,”
Damn, Potter. Wrong thing to say. WRONG THING!
Hermione leveled a glare at him, pursing her lips, fluffing her hair like some foxy thing, “Well now, don’t ya think?” She grinned at him, her hand falling to her side. “Honestly, Harry. The only person that could convince me of that is—” Suddenly, she stopped. Red stained her cheeks. She turned away from Harry and walked out.
Harry frowned after her. What was that all about?
