Hermione Jane Danger

I haven’t been involved in anything Harry Potter for almost a year now … but I think I love Harry and Hermione too much to completely forget about them. I’m writing this, not to be taken seriously as a story, but to enjoy myself.

And I’m keeping the Jane. To me, it would be like changing the James in Harry James Potter to Jeeves. How horrible would that be? Harry would then have to be a butler.

Part I

Harry sighed. It had been a long day.

He had been working tirelessly on a burglary case, and even through the many hours he was no closer to making sense of any of it than he’d been at the very beginning.

Glancing at the clock hanging directly across from his cluttered desk, Harry knew he’d have to call it a night or else he would fall facedown into his scrolls of parchments, passed out from exhaustion.

He stood from his desk and gathered his paperwork, stuffing it into his suitcase. He grabbed his cloak on his way out of the dim, empty office. He entered the hall and waited for the Lift. The doors opened and he found himself alone inside. He stood patiently as it ascended floor numbers, the age of the Lift itself showing in the tired clanking noise it produced with each new level. The Lift stopped at last and the doors opened.

Harry exited from the Lift into the vast main hall of the Ministry of Magic. The shiny and elaborate hall was a stark difference in the early night than it was in the early morning. The only noise to be heard was the crackling flames in the dozens of fireplaces combined with the sounds of the grand fountain in the very middle. Harry threw the sound of his footsteps into the mix as he walked straight over to the nearest fireplace to Floo himself home.

He didn’t really have to think about it. Soon he was swirling in the green flames, enjoying the light touch of heat, spinning away, and in a bit more than an instant he was in the lobby of his flat building. He coughed and dusted the fragments of soot clinging to his shoulders, stepping out of the fireplace and heading for the building’s lift.

After a somewhat awkward ride up to the third floor with a woman he was faintly aware of being his neighbor a few doors down, Harry walked to number 7, his very own. He did what he always did when opening the door. He stuck his key into the keyhole and then paused, stopping to look significantly over his shoulder.

He was looking at number 8, the flat right across from him. It belonged to his best friend Hermione Jane Granger.

Everyday, every time he was in the hall about to open his door, he would stop and look across at her place, as if she were watching, as if she were just behind him. It was a habit he didn’t wish to break.

He carried on with opening his door, giving a quick wave of his wand to light the place as he liked, which wasn’t too bright, only light enough to just about see, dark enough to still allow shadows.

Harry took a shower. He returned to his kitchen and grabbed a snack to eat, stationing himself eventually on the sofa. It was one of the only pieces of furniture in the flat.

He bit into his crisps and rummaged through his suitcase, pulling out some of the paperwork from the burglary case he was working on.

Soon he was as immersed in the paperwork as he’d been all day long in the office, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense with concentration. His flat was dead quiet, the sounds of the street distantly present.

He was concentrating so devoutly there came a point where his exhaustion took over. Harry fell asleep without even realizing it …

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Muffled voices from out in the hall gave him a start. The bag of crisps was spilled to the floor and his paperwork slipped from his chest and stomach to the cushions. Harry scratched his head and then rose, curious.

He definitely could hear voices. It was coming from right before his front door, right between his and Hermione’s flat. It was four in the morning; Harry wondered why people would be standing in a hall chatting so late into the night.

He inched closer, stealthy as if the two people talking in the hall would see through the wooden door and into the flat, to discover he was spying. He pulled his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and jinxed the wood to be transparent from only his end.

There stood Hermione and a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired bloke right beside her door.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He was jealous, he couldn’t deny the emotion.

He suspected the git was the Nigel Marshall, the wizard Hermione had mentioned to be currently seeing.

“Tonight was … perfectly exhilarating,” Hermione said breathlessly, a smile lighting her face. She looked a little breathless, her bushy hair up in a loose ponytail, her ears red.

Harry couldn’t make out ’s face very well.

“It went smoothly,” he agreed and then he chuckled gruffly.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione looked shyly to the floor, biting lightly on her bottom lip. “I feel so silly about it all now, about the nerves.”

“Why?” He sounded interested.

Wringing her hands, Hermione met his eyes and took half a step closer. “I’m not experienced like you, Nigel. I don’t think I have ever met anyone like you.”

“I’ll take you under my wing, Hermione,” he said mysteriously.

Hermione gave a short laugh. “I told you about my last relationship. It lasted two years. By the time it was over, I … decided I wouldn’t bother. Why did you stop to talk to me that day in Flourish and Blots?”

“I couldn’t give you a reason,” he replied slickly, “I saw you from between the book shelves and I wanted to know you.”

Harry rolled his eyes once more, this time shaking his head as he did. He was so involved in spying his face was pressed up against the surface of the door.

Still breathless, Hermione moved even closer. “You have a way with words. You’re probably the cleverest bloke I’ve—“

He kissed her in a swift movement, pulling her close, into him, dipping her slightly after a small moment. The kiss looked intense and intense was Harry’s envy. He was quite tempted to wrench open his door and stop them. He felt so … helpless. He knew Hermione would hate him, even if only momentarily, if he were to interfere in such a way.

When they pulled apart, Hermione looked as if she’d faint from lack of oxygen. She also looked pleased.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said, looking into her eyes, his fingers lightly gripping her chin.

“Good … night … “

He was gone in a matter of seconds. Hermione remained there, leaning against her door for balance once he had turned the corner. She took in such a breath her chest rose and fell dramatically, and she seemed so sickeningly, sincerely content.

She came to stand straight, fixing the front of her sweater, and she paused then, her hand behind her ear as she brushed some strands of hair away, and she looked directly at him.

Harry ducked. He panicked. Then he slowly realized she couldn’t see him, she was looking at his door, much like he did to hers whenever he was out in the hall. He gradually came to a stand, watching as she unlocked her door and disappeared into the darkness of her flat.

He breathed in relief. She hadn’t seen him, he didn’t know why he had been worried about such a possibility in the first place. He waved his wand, undoing the jinx he’d placed on the door, and collapsed onto his sofa. His paperwork lay on the cushion nearby, utterly forgotten, rightfully so.

Harry was bothered by what he had just witnessed. He couldn’t sort into words or coherent thoughts to explain why; he couldn’t make sense of the mess in his heart, but he felt rather deflated. He didn’t want the answer, though. Harry Potter sometimes possessed all of the bravery to be held in the world, only he still wasn’t daring enough to come to terms with his heart.

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