This isn't your everyday, run-of-the-mill, get-married-and-have-kids kind of love that most relationships and marriages are made of. It isn't even Romeo-and-Juliet, if-I-can't-have-you-I-don't-want-to-live kind of love. No, this love that I feel for her is so far beyond all that. I can't describe, I'd never do it justice. The words to describe how I feel about her just don't exist, not in any language on earth, and I know, I speak several. What I feel for her is the I-see-her-across-the-room-and-my-heart-stops-for-several-terrifying-seconds (honestly, Madame Pomfrey just can't figure it out), At-last-my-love-has-come-along, she-smiles-and-I-just-want-to-weep, I'm-in-heaven-when-we're-out-together-dancing-cheek-to-cheek (not that we've ever danced cheek to cheek) kind of love. I crave her every second of the day. Not the I-crave-her-sexually, I-want-her-in-my-bed-and-in-my-arms type of craving. Although that's certainly there as well, it never stops. But I just crave her touch, her smile, her scent, her taste. The kind of craving that's almost enough to drive me blissfully mad. And there's no better madness.
I've loved Hermione for a long time now. And I don't mean months like most teenagers do when they say "a long time." I mean years, actual years. We're in seventh year now (I'm still alive, Voldemort is not. She was so happy she hugged me. A lot. Even held my hand for a few moments. It was bloody fantastic), I've loved her since fifth year. She was just so… there. She was there for me, through everything. She never once asked me what happened or if I wanted to talk or what the prophecy said or how what I was going to do next. And I know it must have killed her not to ask. I know my Hermione, she needs to know everything, not to gossip or be in the loop, but just because she never gets tired of learning and to her everything is learning experience (getting up five minutes early is a learning experience for Hermione. I love that about her, she's simply amazing). But she never bothered me. She just waited for me, waited until I was ready to talk about it. She never pushed because she knew that I would talk to her when I was ready. She's always been there for me, ever since I met her. She's never pushed me, she's just there when I need her and she always seems to know when that is no matter how small my problem.
I hate that I had to lose Sirius to finally realize that I was in love with her (personally, I think I've loved her on some level since I met her. I was born to love her). But, if I've learned anything in my life, it's that sometimes something bad has to happen for something good to happen. And loving Hermione is definitely good, a little frustrating sometimes (like those times when I just want to snog her senseless in the Great Hall when she nibbles at her food, or in the library when she's concentrating so hard her brow creases and I'm so bloody tempted to kiss the crease away. But I never do, because I know she'd hex me for it), but definitely a good thing. I don't think I could give up my love for Hermione for anything, even if it meant having Sirius back. I loved him and I miss him, but Hermione is… well, she's Hermione, my Hermione and without her I wouldn't be able to survive (just ask Madame Pomfrey).
Ron has known about my love for Hermione and all things Hermione almost as long as I have. He wasn't too happy with it to start with since he fancied her a bit himself. But when he realized that I didn't just fancy her, but actually felt this soul-deep, earth-shattering, mountain-moving, heart-stopping love for her, he wished me luck ("Trust me, mate, you'll need it. She's a nutter, that one."), gave me his blessing ("You hurt her and I'll be on you so fast and hard you'll run to Vol… you-know-who with open arms. Got it, Harry?"), and backed off like a complete gentleman ("Just remember, you wouldn't stand a chance if I really fancied her.") to let me court the love of my life. And court her I did. If being extra quiet when she is studying and staring at her like a lovesick puppy when she isn't looking is your definition of courting. That's what my dictionary says.
While Hermione is the smartest witch I have ever and probably will ever meet, she can be a little slow on the uptake when it comes to personal matters. For instance, take my feelings for her. While everyone at Hogwarts knows and ribs me about my undying love for Hermione, she hasn't the slightest clue. And I haven't exactly been subtle, as I've had pointed out to me several times by several people. Particularly in class when, instead of paying attention like a good student, I'm busy drawing little hearts and H.P.+H.G. on my parchment (Hermione thinks that H.G. stands for Hilda Ginklefief. A moment of pure stupidity on my part since Hermione now thinks that I fancy some Ginklefief girl. There's not even any Ginklefiefs at Hogwarts!).
Another very important little fact that Hermione hasn't yet picked up on, but that makes everyday of my life worth living, is that Hermione loves me as much as I love her. Now, I don't have any solid proof of this, but I'm told by many that when I'm not looking at Hermione like I'd give anything to be one of those books she's always so focused on, she's looking at me like she'd give all the books in the world to be the snitch that I'm always so obsessed with catching. Not to mention how anxious she is whenever she watches me play Quidditch, which is every match because she could never miss one ("I hate watching you fly about and risk your safety for that bloody snitch, Harry, but I could never not go. What would I do with myself while you're out there?"). And lately she's been sitting a little closer to me than usual at the breakfast table (and the dinner table, and the supper table, and the library table, and on the common room couch). And the kisses on the cheek that she gives Ron and I whenever we do well on an exam (which I've purposefully been doing a lot in the last two years) have gotten dangerously close to my lips, and yet haven't moved at all on Ron's cheek. And finally, she has to love me because I'm Harry Potter, her best friend, the boy who's devoted his entire life to her because he's desperately in love with her. She can't not love me. I'd rather dance the tango with Crabbe followed by Goyle, then Malfoy, and finally Voldemort, than face a world in which Hermione doesn't love me like I love her. So there, she has to love me just because.
Hermione has loved me nearly as long as I've loved her, I think. It's a bit harder to tell with her, mainly because I can't feel what she's feeling (what I wouldn't give some days to be an empath) and also because she doesn't get so distracted with watching me that she runs into walls or starts Ron's robes on fire in DADA (not that a smooth guy like me ever does things like that. No, never). I've noticed smaller things with Hermione, like she doesn't get so frustrated with me as she used to (I refuse to accept that this is because I've grown up and not because she's in love with me), she's more worried at my Quidditch matches than she used to be (this is not because my new broom is much faster than my Nimbus 2000 was), she doesn't seem to mind when Malfoy calls me her boyfriend or her my girlfriend (this isn't something you suddenly get used to after seven years of hearing it). These may seem like minor things to you, but they're not. Not at all. These are huge! Massive even. The woman is clearly head-over-heels, I'll-kill-Voldemort-for-you in love with me. (No, I am not delusional). These points, and the word of my close, wonderful friends, are what I'm basing my beliefs, my life, on and I'm not letting anyone tell me otherwise. Not even Hermione, not that she ever would, the girl's clearly crazy for me. Now, if she'd just clue into all these things and realize what a great catch I am and how bloody much she loves me and can't live without me life would be great.
* * *
She kissed me! Oh yeah, baby! Hermione kissed me! Life is good! No, life is great.
So, yeah, Hermione kissed me today. I knew she couldn't resist me and my boyish good looks and charm. All right, so it was an accident (on her part anyway, I think Ron did that on purpose, bless his sweet soul), still her lips touched my lips. Have you any idea how wonderfully fantastic that is?
It started like this, we had a test in transfiguration today and Hermione's been helping Ron and I study for weeks (actually she's been making Ron study and doing a perfectly fabulous job of distracting me from everything, including what she was saying. Really, it's a bloody miracle I even passed the test) and we did great. As usual when we score unusually high (unusually high for us, that is) Hermione gave us each a kiss on the cheek, which Ron always wipes off immediately (bloody moron he is) and I play over and over in my head for days. This time, after Ron got his kiss he went over to talk to Dean and Seamus while I eagerly awaited my torturously short, but bloody amazing peck on the cheek. Just as Hermione leaned in to kiss my cheek, Ron called my name. Of course I turned my head to see what he wanted. Well, his timing could not have been better (he's my hero, a bloody brilliant, he is). Just as I turned my head, Hermione lips made contact… with MINE! I couldn't believe it! It was… it was… it was indescribable, is what it was. I never knew something could feel so good. I thought I was going to collapse right there at her feet. I wanted to beg her to do it again and again and again and again and… well you get the picture.
I looked at her, amazed, exhilarated, and more than just a little aroused (I'm always more than a little aroused when she's around or, you know, within a hundred foot radius of me) and she blushed (she's so beautiful when she blushes. Hell, she's beautiful whenever she does anything). Somewhere in the far distance, I heard someone wolf whistle, which made me blush. Hermione stammered an apology. I thanked every God I could think of. Hermione rushed off to her corner (Ron and I had actually set aside a corner for her to study in, complete with a sign that read "Hermione's Study. Keep Out (except Harry and Ron)." Her chair even shocks anyone other than her who tries to sit in it. She loves it). I watched her go with a goofy grin on my face, I'm sure. Ron called me and I turned to see what he wanted. And fell flat on my face, breaking my glasses and perhaps bruising a rib or two on some stupid books that some git had left on the floor. Yeah, tripped over my own foot. They call me Mr. Smooth. I did not, however, scream like a little girl. No, not manly me. Never.
Ron and the guys and pretty much everyone in the common room started laughing at me, the bloody git who can't walk because the woman he not so secretly covets accidentally kissed him. I heard Hermione gasp across the room (my hearing's always trained on her, I swear some nights I hear her calling my name in her sleep from across the tower. Or it could be just my imagination, but I much prefer the other idea) and suddenly she's kneeling in front of me repairing my glasses (again) and checking me over for injuries. I try not to moan too noticeably, but when she inadvertently touches my left nipple through my robes, jumper, and t-shirt, I moan loud enough for her to hear, but she assumes that I've hurt myself. I don't correct her because it means that she has to touch me more to fix my "injury." Honestly, I'm not an idiot. She taps her wand on my chest, mutters some healing spell that she no doubt read in a book and looks up at me to see if it feels better and I just smile at her. She says something about being more careful and I nod and mumble a "Thanks, Hermione" before she goes back to her corner. I watch her go, again, and when I turn back I see Ron standing in front of me, holding out his hand to help me up, and doing a very poor job of trying not to laugh. Bloody bastard.
"Smooth, Harry. But I think you may want to work on your moves, mate. Didn't look like she was swooning to me."
I let him pull me up and dusted off my robes. "Just you wait. I've got her right where I want her. It's only a matter of time now."
Ron snorted. "That's what you said last week, when she fixed your arm after you fell down the stairs watching her."
"I was right then, too. It was only a matter of time. She's caving, I can fell it."
"That's what you said last month when she fixed your nose after you walked into the wall, and two weeks before that when she saved you from falling off your broom, and a week before that when she reversed the curse Malfoy used to turn you into a pup, and last year when she-"
"What's your point, Ron?" I said, perhaps a little too harshly.
"My point is, Harry, that maybe you should just bloody tell her how you feel." He glanced over at her, looking her up and down and, had he not been Ron, I would have beaten him to a bloody pulp for it. "She feels the same way as you, everyone's sure of it. What's the worst that could happen?"
I looked at him like he was daft, which he often is. "What's the worst that could happen? Ron, have you forgotten what she did to Ernie MacMillan? Well, have you?" I repeated when he didn't answer. "She turned him into a bloody toad! It took McGonagall to turn him back and even she had a hard time of it. Do you want me to be a toad? Because there are easier, much less painful ways to go about it."
He shook his head. "Come off it, Harry. Hermione would never do that to you."
"Maybe, but it's not something I'm willing to put to the test." I looked at her admiringly (is there any other way to look at such an amazing creature?). "Besides, she's a smart witch, she'll figure it out sooner or later." (Sooner, I hope). "Now, how about a game of Wizard's Chess? I'll let you beat me."
Ron laughed. "Like you let me beat you every other time we play?"
"Exactly." Ron and I made off to a quiet table in the corner and I tried not to stare at Hermione too much while Ron handed me my arse. It didn't work. I watched Hermione study, and Ron happily whooped me at chess (not that I minded, I'd much rather watch Hermione than play chess, she's so cute when she's concentrating).