Ruining Things
by Angie Crawford

Rating: PG
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 846 words in 1 chapter
Published: 9 Jun 2008
Last updated: 9 Jun 2008

A young Harry worries about resurfacing rumors...and the potential for love they could ruin.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/8093/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. untitled

Disclaimer: Not mine. Obviously.

A/N: This story, formally posted on fanfiction.net, was written sometime around 2004 and is one of the first fanfictions
I ever wrote. I remember just wanting to write something simple—something that allowed for character flaws but was
ultimately fluffy. I hope you all like it!

---

The day was dreary, the sky a revolting shade of gray highlighted only by bursts of lightning every few minutes. Most of
the students at Hogwarts had given up on any thought of venturing outdoors (except for the luckless souls who had either
Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures), and had opted instead to stay inside the warm confines of his or her own common
room.

Sixteen-year-old Harry Potter was no exception. He had just completed a thoroughly banal day of classes, and at the
moment was seated in his favorite armchair across from the roaring fire in the Gryffindor common room, staring blankly
into the flames. Harry was thinking rather hard, not about Voldemort or Cedric or Sirius, but about a certain person he
would just as rather not have to picture in his mind.

His stomach churned restlessly, as though it had just started attempting to digest Hagrid's infamous cooking. He sighed,
burying his face in his hands. As hard as he tried, he couldn't fully explain what had happened only moments before in
the corridor.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been heading for the library—they had essays that desperately needed to be finished—when
Ron mentioned something rather odd. “Harry, has that Skeeter woman been round?” he had asked, in a would-be offhand sort
of way had his nervous glance not shifted to the floor as the words left his mouth. “It's just...I've been
noticing...things,” he had finished lamely.

Harry had turned to look questioningly at Hermione, who seemed for a moment to have lost use of her tongue. “Rumors,”
she had finally managed to mumble while shaking her head. “About...you and me. Again.”

Harry had felt an odd sensation in his stomach at her words, but ignored it, stopping dead in his tracks. “That's it,”
he had stated, his voice dead calm. “That's bloody well it. I've had it.” And then he had turned and walked briskly
away, stalking up several flights of stairs and shouting the password out to the Fat Lady before she could ask.

Sitting now by the fire, Harry couldn't comprehend what he had been thinking. He knew he had been rash in his actions,
but he found he did not care. What did the papers say now? How would he deflect the rumors? Why would Rita Skeeter
endanger her career, knowing that her Animagus secret could easily be revealed? Or was it even Skeeter at all? Was it
some busybody Gryffindor like Lavender or Parvati, who just found they couldn't keep their overly large mouths shut
about such things?

Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder, but didn't look up. He couldn't bring himself to face anyone. He couldn't lie,
not about this. “Harry...” It was Hermione.

He managed to sit up somewhat straighter, but refused to meet her eyes. “Where's Ron?” he asked, feeling numb. Hermione
sighed, seating herself on the arm of Harry's chair, her hand still on his shoulder. “He said he'd be waiting for us.
He's in the library, actually,” she said, traces of a smile evident in her voice.

Harry snorted slightly. “How'd you manage that? Used to be the only way to get him in the library by himself was to
threaten him with no dessert.”

Hermione didn't answer him. Instead, she whispered, “It couldn't be a secret forever, Harry.” For the first time since
she had entered the common room, Harry turned his eyes up at her, taking in her solemn, sad expression. His stomach
fluttered. He was suddenly very acutely aware of the hand resting on his shoulder, and he squirmed a bit in his chair.
He swallowed, finding it very hard to speak the right words. “I just...didn't want them to ruin it,” he finally
whispered.

The look on Hermione's face made him question himself, made his cheeks attempt to blend with the shades of red around
the room. Then, surprisingly, Hermione grinned and pulled him into a hug. He found his nose buried in her shoulder,
inhaling a beautiful scent unique to Hermione that reminded him vaguely of Quidditch, of the sudden lightheadedness that
overcame a person once they were soaring through the air. It was from this position that he heard her voice, confident
despite her whisper: “They haven't ruined a thing, Harry.”

Outside, the dreary day continued. The clouds wept and thunder shook the earth below. Somewhere, Voldemort was planning
the death of a certain 16-year-old boy. But inside Hogwarts, with the warmth of the common room fire placating them for
the moment, the same 16-year-old boy and his best female friend sat close together, sharing a very uncertain (but by no
means wet) first kiss.
