Title: The Shift
Rated: R
Pairing: H/Hr
Summary: Given the right set of circumstances, what could happen?
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't be using a crackhead computer nor would Visa and Mastercard own my soul. Its not mine….sadly.
Author's Note: This story is titled It Happened One Night at www.fanfiction.net. I ran across a story with the same name here (totally unintentional) and thought it would be best if I changed the title.
Hermione was seated in a great big overstuffed chair and stole a look over her book, Hogwarts, A History 82nd Edition, and spied upon the scene unfolding right before her eyes. Harry and Ron were engaged in a game of wizard's chess in front of the Gryffindor common room's enormous fireplace, and unless her eyes were deceiving her, Harry was actually going to win.
"Checkmate!" Harry called triumphantly, his emerald eyes shining as he flashed a grin that Hermione had always found adorable.
"No bloody way!" exclaimed Ron in disbelief, his eyes quickly surveying the board as if he would be able to change the outcome of the game, despite having had his king smashed to bits by Harry's queen. "I can't believe it…"
"Believe it, Ron," said Harry full of mock arrogance, "I usually just let you win." Harry was unsuccessfully trying to hold in his laughter at such an obvious lie. It was a well-known fact that a game against Ron in chess would almost absolutely result in a loss for the challenger.
Hermione was chuckling as she approached her two best friends, knowing she would not be able to resist needling Ron and further. "Has our reigning chess master finally been overthrown?" she asked cheekily.
"No! I mean… I …I wasn't paying attention!" Ron sputtered, "How 'bout it, Harry? Fancy another go?" Ron moved to reach for his wand to reset the board.
"I don't think so, Ron," replied Harry, unable to conceal the mirth in his voice, "I'm already tired and I still have half a scroll to fill for my Potion's essay."
Ron gasped and Hermione's expression had become rather smug. "You mean Harry Potter, adventurer extraordinaire, would rather do homework, which isn't even due tomorrow by the way, than be pummeled by his best mate in chess?" inquired Ron sarcastically.
"Very funny, Ron, but as evident by that last game I would hardly have been pummeled. Besides, if I want to qualify for Auror Training I have to do well in Snape's class this year."
"Harry's right, Ron," began Hermione, "Our final year is hardly the time to start slacking off." Ron rolled his eyes, which didn't go unnoticed by Hermione who stuck her tongue out at him in response.
"How grown up, Granger," Ron retorted, "Now that you've gotten Hermione started up, Harry, I'm off to bed. You deal with it now." With that Ron simply stood and literally ran up the common room stairs.
"Gee, don't I feel special," said as she watched Ron's retreating figure go up the stairs.
"Goodnight," Harry called up to him, chuckling slightly at the behavior of his two friends.
Hermione turned to face Harry, "Will that boy ever grow up?" she asked. She walked over to the desk on which Harry was now organizing his school books and scrolls.
"Hmm…" Harry pretended to think it over for a moment, "I don't suppose so, not if Fred and George are any indication anyway." Fred and George Weasley owned and worked at the most thriving joke shop in Hogsmeade, and in Harry's opinion just like the Peter Pan of muggle fairy tales, they were the boys that would never ever grow up.
Hermione laughed at Harry's feigned seriousness and playfully slapped him in the shoulder. He immediately grabbed his arm and allowed his eyes to water.
"OW!" he yelped. Hermione's mirth immediately sobered and she was about to apologize when she saw Harry's shoulders shaking. Was he crying? She wondered. No, he was laughing!
"Harry Potter, how dare you make me think I hurt you?" she asked seriously. She pouted and let her face take on a wounded expression.
"Hermione," he started, "I…" Then he noticed that her frown didn't quite reach her eyes for they were still sparkling in amusement. "You great big faker!"
They shared a laugh and Harry then proceeded to sit with his books once more. "Do you need a hand with the assignment, Harry?" she asked, not able to squelch the curiosity she had about the work that seemed so important to Harry.
"Have you finished yours then? I'd wager you've been done for a week at least."
"Two," she replied with a smirk, "Would you like some help then?"
"It'd be great if you could read it over. I'm having a bit of difficulty ending it properly."
"Sure, Harry, I don't mind at all. In fact I'd be happy to. I have to say that I'm pleased with this newfound interest in your studies."
"Well the Head Boy should set a good example should he not?" he responded, absently shining his Head Boy badge with the end of his cloak. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the pride he was subconsciously demonstrating.
She leaned over his shoulder and began to read what he had written. Harry secretly enjoyed these moments very much and recently found himself wanting to spend more and more time with Hermione, never stopping to wonder why exactly this was. Perhaps he was afraid to ask himself the real reason; he was not quite ready to know the answer.
He inhaled deeply and took in her scent, a mixture of vanilla and strawberry's, a peculiar combination but nonetheless entirely intoxicating. He realized he was staring up at her, but somehow he couldn't tear his eyes away. Besides, she was so engrossed in his essay that she wouldn't notice anyhow.
Somehow, over the years, when Harry wasn't looking Hermione had turned into quite a beautiful woman. She was no longer the skinny, buck-toothed, bushy-haired little girl that he had known. Her hair hung in thick ringlets down her back; she was tall and graceful, and her smile, as far as Harry was concerned, was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. As he watched her he felt that all too familiar feeling of late, a heat across his cheeks; he knew he was blushing again.
"Harry, this essay is excellent…" Hermione was unable to continue for the moment that she looked at his face she was paralyzed by the intensity of his expression. Their eyes met in a locked gaze and it was as if time had simply stopped; the whole world had vanished, save for the two people standing enthralled in the common room of Gryffindor Tower. Of its own accord his hand reached up and brushed a stray lock from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear.
"Hermione," he began, speaking in a whisper, afraid of breaking the tranquility of the moment, "I…"
Without saying a word, Hermione put a finger to his lips to quiet him, for she was still basking in their heated gaze, afraid to ruin it with words that would only dampen the moment.
Harry took both her hand in his and leaned up to kiss her, as she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. Their lips met in a moment of sheer gentility and tenderness, which said nothing of the electricity that was consuming the both of them.