Nothing got interesting that night. Nor was it interesting the night after or the following nights to come. Harry did concede that going to the Quidditch World Cup, knowing someone summoned the Dark Mark, meeting Mad-Eye Moody, learning about the Three Unforgivable Curses, and expecting the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort might be interesting to a normal wizard, but to Harry, these things are expected at this point. What was interesting to Harry, at least ever since that one epiphany at the Burrow, was Hermione, and better yet, her feet.
Harry's anxiousness to even see Hermione's feet have even started manifesting in his actions, with Harry attempting, as best he could, to spend every waking available moment with Hermione, devising ill-conceived opportunities for her to take her shoes and socks off and reveal her gorgeous feet one more time to him. Suffice to say, the opportunity had yet to present itself to Harry. All of this changed, however, with Hermione's discovery of the houseelves.
Hermione had taken kindly to these subservient creatures, and despite that the same could not be said for the houseelves unto her, a mutual bond was forming. So much so, that the houseelves had now begun bequeathing Hermione with socks, and like the courteous witch she was, Hermione was glad to oblige the elves by wearing the hand-woven leggings. Harry, due his resilience in sticking with Hermione, seized the opportunity.
"These are ridiculous!" Hermione gasped as she held the multi-patterned sock from its opening to the eyes of a derisive Harry. The sock bore at least eight different colors in a pattern of varying consistency; it started just as repeating stripes at the top, but gradually coalesced into an obtrusive checkerboard-like arrangement, and then back to pinstripes at the very bottom toe section. As if a satire upon real socks, these elf-made socks were woven with different materials, some rough, some soft--others weren't even for clothes, like plastic. According to Harry, dubbing these garments as socks would pose an insult to all the other socks in existence. Hermione couldn't help but laugh in agreement.
"Well, c'mon," Harry urged, clear with his intent in mind to see Hermione's feet, "You have to put them on."
Taking the urging with genuineness, Hermione agreed with a heavy sigh.
The two were in the Gryffindor Commons, Hermione sitting on the couch facing the fireplace, while Harry lay on the floor, leaning against the sofa, his arm resting upon the cushion, head turned to face Hermione's overly terrified look. Hermione's shoes were already kicked, placed neatly on the Commons' floor, next to the sofa where Harry and Hermione were on. With the shoes already off, Harry knew what had to come next, and he was egging the opportunity at every chance.
"Here," Harry began to offer, laughing at Hermione's hesitance, "You seem scared. Let me at least help?"
Harry slowly placed his hands on Hermione's socked ankles, fingers pointed towards the cusp of the customary long, ivory stockings of the Hogwarts Witches, which was made all the easier because Hermione, while laying back on the couch, stretched her legs, and by extension, her feet upright in front of her, giving Harry plenty of vantage from his ground position to place his hands lovingly on Hermione's beautiful, stockinged feet. Then, as if seeking the continued approval, Harry looked upwards to see Hermione's expression, of which was still buried in her hands, the elf sock dangled from the fingers. Hermione withdrew her exasperated face from her palms and looked downwards to Harry's helpful demeanor, giving off a smile and a smile that Hermione gestured as "Thank you," but Harry took as, "Yes, you can touch my feet."
By the given permission, Harry inched his hands upwards to the cusp of Hermione's long black stockings, digging his fingers into the inside, with his fingertips feeling the silky, soft, and slightly cold legs of Hermione Granger. Aching with anticipation but not wanting to come off as overly anxious, Harry began removing, slowly, the socks from Hermione's legs, with his gaze focused sharply on the precarious task at hand, he felt Hermione's stare upon his neck. At long last, Harry had grappled the first sock from Hermione's foot and had let it drop upon his lap, as Harry, not since the Burrow, was able to fixate upon Hermione's foot.
It was glorious. This was the first time Harry had a proper peer upon the front of Hermione's foot, and it was heavenly; it was snowy and soft, smelled like a rose-flavored fragrance, felt creamy to the touch, as if Harry's fingers were thrust upon a pillow; the toenails were painted the same luster black as that from the Burrow, and Hermione's delicate toes, perfect in their complexion, stretched outright towards Harry's mouth, or so it at least seemed to Harry. Harry instinctively started rubbing the Hermione's sexy sole with his right thumb in circles as the fingers of his left were tracing the top of Hermione's foot, edging in no particular direction, just savoring the sensual touch of Hermione's amazing feet. Harry breathed in by impulse. He was, for this very moment, in heaven.
However, he was not in heaven. He was not alone. He was in the Gryffindor's Common Room, hands groping the intensely sexy foot of Hermione Granger, who was the subject of Harry's sexual infatuation. A fact, that Hermione might well have noticed.
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