First Kisses Can Be Lousy

Kaze

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 07/04/2004
Last Updated: 07/04/2004
Status: completed

Oh, she knew that she was in love with Harry Potter. She didn’t need the heavens to sing or the earth to move. She didn’t need moments of heartbreak and tragedy to tell her. She simply knew that he was the one and the only one for her. She was content with the mere simplicity of this fact. [one-shot]

Chapters

1. First Kisses Can Be Lousy

1. First Kisses Can Be Lousy

Do you remember the first kiss?

Star shooting across the sky

To come to such a place as this

You never left my mind…

P.J Harvey, “One Line” First Kisses Can Be Lousy

Je peux être fou. Ce qui est mon point. N'attendez pas beaucoup quand votre premier baiser vient, Hermione, her grandmother used to say durning the vacations that she ventured with her parents to France. C'est votre deuxième baiser qui compte vraiment.

Or it was about being kissed properly.

Her first kiss happened late winter night in the Gryffindor Common Room. She was sitting on the corner couch, the one with hole in the middle cushion, with her Arithmancy text book in her lap. She wasn’t really paying attention to anything, her focus lying outside the window with the falling snow.

Slowly, she had become aware of Harry’s presence. First through the warm scent of sandalwood invading her cocoon and then when his hands fell to rest on her shoulders. She craned her neck upwards to see what he wanted and was greeted by a soft smile and pair of intense green eyes. It was as if he had been placed in a dream-like trance, as if he had seen her for the very first time. In fact, it was the first time she recalled Harry looking at her like that and the last time he looked at her as a friend.

Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Most people would say that it was the very moment that they waited to exist for. Most people would go in and say the heavens sang and the earth moved and rejoiced for lovers. Most people would say at that moment they knew.

Oh, she knew that she was in love with Harry Potter. She didn’t need the heavens to sing or the earth to move. She didn’t need moments of heartbreak and tragedy to tell her. She simply knew that he was the one and the only one for her. She was content with the mere simplicity of this fact.

And yet, to be honest, it wasn’t much of a kiss anyways.

His hands clamped onto her shoulders like eagle talons on its prey. She had been accidentally forced into an awkward position, her eyes and nose pressed into his neck. She had tried to reframe from giggling as his messy locks brushed against her skin as if she were being tickled. It was a silly kiss, full of mishaps and embarrassing positions. And to begin with, she didn’t even know why she was being kissed.

Then the second kiss came along.

It happened one night when he had managed to con her to sneak out for a broom ride, despite the uncomfortable air that lay between them. He was embarrassed and she at one point wondered why she had been so jealous of Cho Chang for being his first kiss.

But nothing changed for her because she still knew and was now aware that he somewhat knew too.

She remembered how cold it was that night. The snow had melted from the storm from the previous weekend, but some patches still remained. The air was crisp and the night sky was filled with stars and she wondered if this was another karmic joke. She love Harry Potter, but she wanted to be kissed properly first.

They finally had decided to take off on the Quidditch Pitch for the night ride he planned and were flying at such an incredible speed; she was literally clinging to measly handle. She hated heights— cliffs, airplanes, tall buildings, riding broomsticks. She was too terrified to realize that she was so close to him and yet, they hadn’t really declared any proper claim on each other. Yet, she still went with him because she was in love him, he was in love with her, and she still wanted to be kissed properly.

She remembered landing, savoring the feel of her feet on the ground and Harry making terrible fun of her.

“I’ll get you to love flying, you’ll see,” he said with a laugh.

She snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Harry had merely grinned and grabbed her hands, pulling her close. And then she was aware. She was of the mere sight and smell of him, of the brilliance of his eyes and the smile that tug on the edges of his lip. She was aware of the gingerbread and warm of his breathing against her neck. And she was content, but still there was that feeling of incompleteness—

She was still waiting for her kiss.

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

She looked up into his eyes. “What look?”

Harry smirked. “The look that you wear when Ron and I drag you into the Quidditch supply store.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Are we going to give into our childish impulses and start arguing or are you going to tell me why you brought me here?” She huffed.

I want a kiss, was what she had really wanted to say.

He gave her an impish grin. “You’re impatient, Hermione. Don’t you know good things come to those who wait?”

“C'est stupide,” she snapped. “Je veux juste mon baiser.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know French?”

She pulled away. “Somewhat. My mother’s from Chantilly and I have an aunt who lives in Paris. But— what does that have anything to do with why we’re here?”

“But you know French… say something in French,” he spoke, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint.

She threw her hands up. “Je veux juste mon baiser.”

“Which means?”

“Are you doing this on purpose, Harry?! First you kiss me in the common room and frankly, that was a lousy kiss. Then you drag me out on a your bloody broom stick. And then—”

He kissed her.

There were no fumbling hands and awkward positions. There was no uncertainty and worries that she would cough up a hairball of his hair. It was the quintessentially, romantic, and very perfect kiss. And as corny as it sounded, it was full of warmth and life, and all the feelings that could convey between each other. It was everything a kiss should be. He knew she loved him and she knew that he loved her. They both knew that it was enough.

She pulled away to find Harry looking down at her. “What?”

He brushed a windswept strand of hair out of her face. “I love you,” he said quietly. His lips curved into a slow smile. “And I hope that was a much better kiss because I certainly hope so.”

“Je veux juste mon baiser,” she murmured.

“What?”

She smiled. “It means I want my kiss.”

He laughed and she grinned and he proceeded to give her a third kiss and then a fourth. And finally after the twentieth kiss, she made note to thank her grandmother for some decent advice.

The crazy old woman did have a point after all.

Finished Translations

[1]: A rough translation is I know I can be insane. What my point is… Do not expect much when your first kiss comes. It is your second kiss, which really counts.

[2]: The obvious… I want my kiss.

Rambling’s:

It was inspired by *my* first kiss and conversation I was having with my best friend at the Olive Garden one day. *shivers* It was revolting…

But what it was really inspired by was the huge amount of fiction that has first kisses being this completely orgasmic experience (too many dime store smut novels) and powerful and whatnot. So I decided to write about a lousy kiss.

Review. You know you want too.