Free Falling

Tic-Tac

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/04/2004
Last Updated: 05/04/2004
Status: completed

For all of those people craving a sweet tooth (you know who you are!) ... A one-shot in which Harry decides Hermione has been studying too hard. Have fun!

Chapters

1. Free Falling

1. Free Falling

Disclaimer: No own, no own, no own …

I wrote this a long time ago, in December, and I recently came across it. Imagine how surprised I was. I did correct a few things, and added a few little things (*rubs hands evilly and does a Montgomery Burns impersonation*), but basically, this is my 13-year-old self coming through (well, at least before January, when I turned 14). *laughs loudly* Whatever. I think it’s sweet, and I remember smiling to myself writing it.

Enjoy! ^_^

Any Tom Petty fans out there? Just asking!

* * *

- Free Falling -

“I hate Snape.”

Harry massaged his hands onto his pounding head and sighed heavily. He looked out the window, peering past his reflection, and watched the rain splatter against the window. The sky was stormy and foreboding, and Harry could see the trees swaying precariously in the distance. As he absentmindedly tried to keep himself occupied, his eyes caught the reflection of Hermione’s sleeping form. He smiled to himself.

“D’you think we should wake her?”

Ron looked up from his own grueling potion’s essay, dropped his quill unceremoniously, and stared at Harry blankly. “Wha -?” His eyes shifted to Hermione’s limp form. “Oh. I dunno, mate. The last time you did that she practically threw her armchair at you, remember?”

Harry rolled his eyes, turning away from the window. “She was aiming for you. You were the one prodding her with your wand.”

Ron smiled wistfully. “I almost transfigured her into a parrot – I thought she would be proud, you know, ‘cause McGonagall said it was tough magic …”

Harry stole a glance at her. She was sprawled across the table, her arms folded underneath her head, her bushy auburn hair covering her latest Arithmancy book (“Equilaterals and Equations: What’s the Difference?”). He could hear the deep rasp of her breathing. Even with her eyes closed, he could see the dark shadows underlying them.

Ron sighed, picked up his quill, and twirled it in his fingers. “I still don’t understand why we can’t use colorful ink. Black is so boring.”

“Well,” said Harry, considering this, “I suppose it’s Peeves’s fault. If he dumps black ink over you, you can’t see it, because we have black robes … if not …”

Ron laughed. “Yeah, fancy walking around school with rainbow robes. Hermione would go completely mad – she already complains about people being too distracting.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, they are.”

“Hmm.” Ron scratched his ear with the point of his quill, then sighed. “Snape is truly evil.”

Harry, though thinking along the same lines, was quite tired of useless banter about the sins of Snape, and said, “Tell you what. Go to sleep and I’ll let you copy the rest off my essay.”

Ron looked all too happy to comply. “I could say that I’m not tired,” he started with a dramatic yawn, “but then I’d be lying to your face. Thanks. Are you done?”

Harry shrugged. “No, but I’m not tired. I’ll get it done.”

Ron grinned. “I owe you one.”

“Naturally.”

Ron gathered up his materials and shoved them into his bag with such force that Hermione would have reprimanded him.

“’Night then.”

“’Night.”

Harry looked back at the littered table and propped his chin up with his hands. He readjusted his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. The essay lying so innocently in front of him looked even harder than before. His small scrawl barely covered five centimeters. Again, his eyes wandered from his homework and out the window. Lightning was flashing across the gloomy sky now, and Harry, for a moment, could see the Quidditch pitch. He sighed longingly.

From her place at the table, Hermione coughed and shifted to make herself comfortable. Harry gave her an exasperated look, and attempted to soothe her books from under her arm. However, instead on sleeping on, she sat bolt upright in her seat, blinked, and clapped a hand to her forehead. She looked wildly around – at the remaining embers of the fire, at the dark sky, and then at Harry, who, taken aback, still had his hand on her book. He removed it quickly.

“What time is it?” she asked him frantically, breathing hard. “How long did I sleep? Why didn’t you wake me?”

Harry noticed her oddly flushed face. “Hermione, do you feel alright?”

“Does it matter?” Her shrill voice echoed throughout the empty common room. “I have an Arithmancy test tomorrow!”

He began, “You were studying all last night, and tonight … besides, it’s just one test -”

Hermione moaned. “One test?” She gave a wheezing cough (“sorry Harry,”). “This is the single most important test of the year! It determines whether you continue on to Advanced Arithmancy, or you have to retake the whole year! Oh, Professor Vector’s going to have a fit, she -”

Harry, at this point, tried to look genuinely concerned, but he had to hold back rolling his eyes. He seriously doubted that anyone in their right mind would fail Hermione, even if she did fail a major test. Her marks were so high that according to Professor McGonagall, she would be able to be a full professor by the time she turned eighteen.

“ – told me that I should study hard. How could I procrastinate to this extent? I just knew it would be the death of me, having lunch today -”

“Hermione,” Harry started gently, trying to get her attention without causing grief.

She turned around with a little shriek of impatience. Her eye twitched.

“What?!” she trilled.

“What’s two plus two?”

“Four,” she answered automatically, “But Harry -,”

He just grinned. “There you go.” His expression softened. “Hermione, you need a break. You’re wearing yourself down.” He stood up, outstretching his arm and offering his hand. “C’mon.”

Hermione sighed. “Harry, I do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I really need this time to study …”

“And you also need something to warm yourself up,” he added, noticing her slight shiver. “It won’t hurt.”

“Harry …”

He watched her. “Just you and me. Ron already went up to bed.”

Hermione closed and opened her eyes in a reluctant sort of way. “Fine. But if I fail, I’ll hold it forever against you.” She placed her hand inside of his and allowed him to pull her up. He grinned down at her, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile fleetingly.

He broke their gaze by looking up the staircase. “Be right back,” he told her, and rushed up to his dormitory. The floor was littered with spell books and various essays (Neville was leaning against the wall, fast asleep, drool dribbling down his chin), and Harry had to pick his way across the floor to his four-poster bed. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, tucking it under his arm and sprinting down to the common room. Hermione was there waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest. Harry walked up to her, and held up the cloak grinningly.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Always.”

Harry tossed the cloak over the two of them, and together, they walked towards the portrait hole. It swung open and carefully, they stepped out into the bare, silent corridor.

It was colder than they thought, and the cloak, which had easily fit three people years ago, was now barely enough to cover the two of them. Hermione was pressed against Harry, her hands grasped onto his shoulders tightly, her lips millimeters from his neck. The warm, moist breath caused Harry to shiver as they moved fluently down the deserted corridor. Hermione breathed, “Cold?” and Harry nodded. She moved even closer to him, and rather than helping the problem, worsened it. He pondered this for a moment, before becoming distracted by her hair, which was now cascading down his own shoulders in endearing ringlets. He shook his head and looked forward.

The halls were lit sparingly, with dim torches dotting their pathway. Harry led Hermione easily around the handsomely clad knights in armor and the statues of various witches and wizards. The only sound was the soft rustling as their Invisibility Cloak as they strode along, and curious portraits turned their heads at the sound, but no source was to be found.

It came as a surprise to Harry to find them standing in front of a portrait of a bowl of fruit a few minutes later. From his shoulder, Harry felt rather than heard Hermione’s recognition.

Harry glanced down the hall, and, seeing no one in sight, reached up a hand and tickled the pear in the picture. It squirmed and giggled, and the portrait swung open. Harry and Hermione immediately walked through, pulling off the cloak. Harry tucked it inside his robes.

They had both been into the kitchens several times, but none of the times were quite like this. Everything was quiet and calm – partially due to the fact that the hundreds of house-elves usually hustling and bustling about were instead fast asleep, snuggled deep inside maroon-colored sleeping bags. Little staccato breaths sounded from each.

“Let’s not wake them,” said Hermione in his ear.

He nodded, and Hermione took his arm and pulled him off to a corner of the room. When they were far enough away so that their voices would not be heard by the sleeping elves, she said compassionately, “At least Dumbledore gives them a place to sleep.”

Harry grinned. “As if he wouldn’t.”

“I’m just saying,” said Hermione, “that it’s nice to be a bit of human in everyone, especially when the issue is about house-elf rights.”

Harry looked around the room. “It seems so large now, now that there’s nobody awake and I’m not being distracted by Ron’s odd eating behaviors.”

“It does seem larger, doesn’t it?” responded Hermione happily. “I wonder what’s through that doorway over there.”

Harry followed her gaze to a flourished arch, complete with what looked like multicolored floss, strung from the arch’s topmost ceiling. At the end of each string, a different flower was hung, tied by its stem. From Harry’s side, Hermione chuckled, and they moved forward, intrigued.

“Dobby’s doing,” said Harry to Hermione, laughing quietly. “Sort of catchy, though, isn’t it?”

Hermione stopped and sniffed at one of the soft red roses. She smiled. “Fresh, too.” She pushed past a crop of yellow ones and stopped at a dried Poinsettia leaf, turning her head to one side. “Unique taste.”

“Well, what do you expect?” Harry said, pushing past the yellow roses also to stand by her side. “He’s a house-elf with issues.”

Hermione sent him a reproving look and ventured past the dangling flowers into the shadowy corridor beyond, Harry at her heels. Harry stared at the walls and saw what looked like a toddler’s painting job, with handprints and lazy brushstrokes with randomly applied colors. Ahead, Hermione slipped and Harry caught her by her arms, realizing at once that the floor was covered in white, dried rice. Hermione thanked Harry and set herself back up on her feet, saying bemusedly, “What is this place?”

“I dunno,” said Harry, staring at the ceiling, which, astonishingly, was covered in miniature footprints. “It’s kind of like a carnival funhouse, though.”

“But I thought –” Hermione started unthinkingly.

“My aunt and uncle brought me to one once. My cousin had fun beating me up in the different mirrors.”

“Oh,” said Hermione quietly. She sounded embarrassed for him. “I’m sorry.”

Harry turned away, shrugging. “We’ll keep going, shall we?”

He walked through the next doorway and Hermione gasped in surprise. The entire room was covered from floor to ceiling in what looked like badly applied wallpaper, which flashed the colors of the rainbow every few seconds. Large, exquisite candles hovered around the room over several scattered tables and squashy armchairs and couches. A large brick fireplace – the largest Harry had ever seen – was pushed against the back wall, already crackling with bright blue and white flames. Apart from the wallpaper, the room was rather soothing, and Harry found himself eagerly following Hermione over to the fireplace. She sat down next to the hearth, staring avidly into the flames. She pulled Harry down next to her and brought her face close to his. She whispered excitedly, “Do you know what this is, Harry?” She didn’t give him time to answer, but he didn’t know what it was anyway. “Gubraithian Fire! I’ve only read about it in books …” Her eyes lit up and she suddenly flung her arms around Harry’s neck in joyous abruptness. “Oh, Harry, thank you! Thank you for everything!”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said, his cheeks flaming modestly, “really. You’ve just been so busy, and I thought you might need a break …”

Hermione pulled back from him, her face shining and her eyes tearful. “You were right, of course,” she began, wiping her cheeks clear of any wayward tears, “ But I thought you and Ron didn’t notice … I wasn’t really talking to either of you … I feel terrible about it now …”

“Of course we noticed,” said Harry in bemusement, “we’re your friends.”

“No.” Shaking her head, Hermione said, “No, only you noticed, Harry. Ron … well … he’s - you know. I know he means well, but you’ve probably noticed we don’t get along sometimes.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, don’t you know, Harry?” said Hermione sadly. “He fancies me.”

Harry felt a strange gut-wrenching feeling erupt inside him, and for a moment, it felt as if the world stood still. Hermione was watching him. She looked away for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t know what to say, do you?” Hermione said, plucking the thought easily from his mind, “If I were you, I wouldn’t know what to say either.” Her face fell. “I don’t know what to do, really. I’ve never … well …” She trailed off uncertainly.

Harry watched her closely.

Her face was crimson. “I’m not like them.” She spat out the word viciously. “See, I don’t understand why Ron had to choose me, of all people. I’m not like the other attractive girls he’s had eyes for. I’m plain. I don’t have gorgeous shining hair, or sparkling blue eyes, or anything that’s appealing, really. It hurts. I feel like a would-be, easily targeted substitute for the model girl Ron never had. He doesn’t mean to hurt me, I shouldn’t think … but he does anyway.” Her weakening voice rose defiantly. “I may be his friend, but I am not in any way a substitute! It’s downright insulting! I may be … I may be plain, and boring, and dull, but I have feelings!”

She suddenly threw down her hands and stared at Harry, her face tinted a vibrant pink. “And then here I am, consulting you with my problems, when you are the one who needs strong friends to watch your back, not me. Because I’m the strong-willed one, the indestructible one, the one without any normal feelings that stands in her way!” Frustrated tears dripped down her rosy cheeks. “And then, I’m blaming my problems on your well-being, which is a sin in itself, and I feel rotten every day even thinking the thought! Don’t you see? I care about you too much to let my feelings corrupt my better judgment …”

“Hermione -” Harry began.

“Don’t apologize,” Hermione said firmly, “please. I don’t deserve your apology. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Harry’s heart panged with guilt. “I’ve put you in jeopardy.”

“No, you haven’t,” said Hermione firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away stubbornly, “I’m the same Hermione I ever was, being a good friend, comforting and helpful, I hope …”

“You’re not the same,” Harry said, as their gazes met. His eyes softened. “You’re better. You put others above you. You’re loving, compassionate - ceaselessly clever.” For some reason, he felt right saying this, as though all of his own problems were solved, as well as hers. “And I don’t think you’re plain at all.”

Hermione looked down at her hands. “But you’re my friend, Harry. It’s not the same. You’re supposed to say that.”

“If I had to do it, I wouldn’t mean it.”

There was an awkward silence, where only the crackling flames were heard.

Hermione scrambled to her feet. “Harry, I don’t think you should be saying this.”

“Why not?” he asked, getting up as well. “I’m only telling the truth.”

She mouthed wordlessly, then turned her face to the cheery fire.

“I don’t know.”

“Listen, Hermione,” said Harry, reaching out a warm hand to rest on her quaking shoulder. “You’re wonderful, brilliant, and kind. I’ve never had someone like you in my life … you … you’re the only one who understands me, and it scares me sometimes how much I need you.” His mouth was growing steadily drier, and he stuttered a bit before saying, “I … I really do think you’re beautiful, too.”

Her eyes filled with shimmering tears and she dropped to the floor, burying her face in her arms. “What’s happening to us?”

Harry sat down next to her, and pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t know.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione held up her head and looked into his face. Harry only realized then how cold he felt, how sweaty his hands had become. Her eyes were drilling, pondering. He knew he must be like an open book to her. He wanted to turn away, but he found that he couldn’t …

Her face was so close to his he could see the lone freckle above her left eyebrow; the tendrils of hair across her forehead … the gilded flecks of gold in her warm brown eyes, which also presented feelings: hopefulness, anxiety, confusion, affection … raw, desperate longing …

She closed her eyes, and it was all gone.

“Harry, I don’t want it to end …”

“It won’t.”

“Our friendship … it’s so wonderful …”

“I know.”

She opened her eyes, and it all came rushing back. For a split second, they just gazed at each other, transfixed, mesmerized. Before they knew what happened, their lips brushed chastely. They rested like that for a moment, relishing in its bliss, until Hermione pulled back, shaking uncontrollably. Harry opened his eyes slowly, tiredly, and met hers. They stayed like that, in pure shock, until it seeped into their senses. Hermione, nervously, uncertainly, smiled a small smile. Harry’s smile matched hers.

It was enough.

* * *

My gut hurts. I had forgotten how sweet this was. Aww.

I have a bit of symbolism in this, so if you were reading carefully, you’ll catch it. ^.^

I’m considering a sequel, so stay on the prowl. *laughs at the mental image*

Thanks for reading, as always!

-Lauren