There wasn't going to be enough candy. Hermione tugged at the ends of her hair anxiously, looking over the brightly colored bags of orange and black.

Having grown up as the daughter of a dentist, her house had always been known as the one where they gave out apples, or toys, or Merlin forbid that one year where they even handed out toothbrush and toothpaste sets. Granted, that had been the unfortunate result of a dental supplies rep dropping off too many samples, and her parents deciding to foist them off on unsuspecting children in an effort to deplete the excess, but it was a decision that had haunted Hermione until she'd entered Hogwarts. Every October 31st Hermione would go to sleep with trepidation in her heart, and every November 1st found the Grangers removing TP from their trees, and on bad years egg from their front porch.

So, as an adult, Hermione was determined not to follow that same path. In fact, she reveled in being the house that gave out handfuls of candy to each trick-or-treater that came to their door. She chose to believe it was her rebelling against her youth, rather than an attempt to bribe the neighborhood kids NOT to destroy the little house she'd bought and worked so hard to make a home. Every year she'd outdone herself with decorations and purchasing enough candy to take out a herd of hippogriffs, but this year she'd been distracted.

She wanted to blame it on work, but the truth was she'd been busy with her new beau, and friends getting engaged, and friends getting pregnant and between wedding showers and baby showers and late evenings at work and toasting good fortune and new business ventures, before she'd known it it was over half way through October and NOTHING WAS DONE.

Hermione tugged the end of her hair again, counting the bags. Only 10 bags. It wouldn't be enough. She turned to the small stairwell, calling, "Darling, I was counting my candy when all of a sudden I realized I don't think we have enough"

She paused, waiting for a response. Silence. He was either pretending not to hear her, which was likely because it would mean another trip to the store for him, or he wasn't actually there. After a long pause, there was the crack of apparition and she dropped her jaw. The berk ditched her!

Hermione huffed, dropping her hands onto her black clad hips. She was dressed as a slightly scandalous, stereotypical witch – pointed hat and all – and had been planning on teasing her latest squeeze all night until he was begging for relief. NOT ANYMORE! She ground her teeth, turning sharply on her heel to grab for the front door.

As her fingers closed around the knob, the familiar chimes of the doorbell rang through the house. She whimpered – not yet! She wasn't ready for kids yet! She paused, fingers closed around the knob, long enough for the chimes to ring again. Taking a deep breath in, she yanked the door open, wide eyed at her first visitor of the night.

Leaning with one arm braced on the top frame, wicked smile curled about his lips, and a viking costume that was barely more than a horned helmet, boots, and tight leather pants, he held out an empty plastic pumpkin bucket. His chest flexed as she ogled him, eyes traveling down his exquisitely well muscled body, taking in the whole effect. Hermione whimpered again, then, for a completely different reason as all her concerns fled to somewhere around her knickers and were washed away in a flood.

"Trick or Treat, sweetheart"

Hermione grabbed her boyfriend by a belt loop, yanking him into the house, muttering "You're MY treat tonight, Thorfinn" just before fusing her mouth to his and dragging him up the stairs.

That year began Hermione's new tradition of leaving a bowl of candy on the front porch with a "Just Take One" sign.