This Love of Mine by Blissfully Absent Minded

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 01/10/2004
Last Updated: 13/03/2005
Status: Completed

What would you do to win the heart of your best friend?




1. Author's Note
----------------

Author’s Note: Okay, this is my very first Harry Potter fanfiction, though I’m an avid reader of
them. I was just bored one night and, feeling inspired, I sat down at my computer and this came
out. I’ve decided to post in all at once instead of in increments as waiting for the next chapter
always drives me absolutely batty.

Now, I’ve no idea how knots, sickles, and galleons compare to pence and pounds, or (for my
Canadian friends out there) dime, quarters, or dollars. So, if the prices of anything don’t really
make any sense to you, just change it around in your mind so that it does.

Now, please enjoy the story and please email me with any comments you may have. By the by, I
really do enjoy compliments on my witty (yeah, right) writing.

- Blissfully Absent Minded



2. Prologue: This Love
----------------------

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).



3. Plan A (big P, big A)
------------------------

So, being the go-getter guy that I am, I’ve devised a few plans to get Hermione to realize that
her best friend is a bloody fantastic guy and she would be crazy not to marry him and shag him…
lots (alright, we can give dating a try first… and snogging, lots of snogging). These plans came
about because my good mate Ron has been nagging me (“I’m not nagging, Harry. I’m not your mother.”
“Oh, so you’ve noticed that, have you? Brilliant.”) non-stop since that deliriously wonderful,
thing-dreams-are-made-of kiss. Now something that you must know about Hermione is that she likes to
figure things out on her own. She’s none too pleased with you point something out to her
(especially if it’s obvious to everyone but her) that she’s missed picking up on. Therefore, I must
treat this very delicately because should I, at any point, reveal too much or her push her too far
too fast, she’ll likely run as far in the other direction as possible and avoid me for weeks. So,
I’ve devised three plans too move things along at a pace that she should be able to handle.

Plan A consists of being very sweet in a safe and subtle way that hopefully won’t get me hexed
across the pond to America should she not fancy me as well (though all these geniuses that I bunk
with assure me that she most certainly does). This involves leaving little notes for her in various
places such as her many books, on her bedside table (with the help of Lavender, who I’m sure only
volunteered so that she can read the note and then share it with the entirety of Hogwarts), in her
bag, in her underwear drawer (if I truly wanted to die); carrying her bag for her often; telling
her how gorgeous she is and how badly I want to ravish her (scratch the ravishment… for now) and so
on.

Should the safe and subtle approach fail miserably, I shall move on to Plan B (big P, big B).
This plan involves being a spot more direct and a little less subtle. Should I need to take this
approach and I will ask my beautiful best friend out on the town for a night of dinner and dancing
(I’ve been taking lessons from Parvati. Who knew that girl could move like that), during this
magical night we will dance cheek to cheek (for the first wonderful time. I will do my best not to
step on her toes, Parvati is still cursing me from last weeks incident) and I will hold her hand,
unless she should look at me like I’m out of my mind and demand to know what I’m playing at (at
which point I will probably say something horribly embarrassing and run away).

Should Plan B not work (though I don’t know how she could not pick up on how I feel after all
that) I will gladly move on to Plan C (big P, big C) my favourite of the three. Plan C is quite
simple actually. Plan C involves my kissing Hermione (on the mouth) and praying to every God I can
think of (if I can think at all during that moment in time) that she will not perform one of the
forbidden curses on me (or something special that she cooked up all on her own just for me).

Really, I don’t see how I can fail. I see how I can die, but I still would have gotten my point
across. I love when a plan can’t fail. It’s a ruddy wonderful feeling. And I owe it all to Hermione
for teaching me how to plan things in the first place (I really would be dead without that woman).
Also, if she doesn’t like what I do, it’s all her fault because, before her, I never would’ve
thought to come up with such wonderful plans.

So, tonight I commence my seduce Hermione campaign. I’m going to have so much fun. I can’t
wait.

* * *

Round one of Plan A (big P, big A) began this morning. I got up early (very early since Hermione
insists that studying is much more important than sleep and rising an hour before everyone else)
and slipped anonymous notes into several of her books and left one on the table in her study
corner. I’ve decided to leave the notes anonymous for now as I thought it would be safer to be a
secret admirer and feel her out before I let her know who’s admiring her (don’t want to lose any
bits).

Round two will begin when we go to our first class for the day and continue until we get back to
Gryffindor tower this evening. We’ve all the same classes today (thank, Merlin. I don’t know how
I’d live if I didn’t have at least one day of classes that were all shared with wonderful
Hermione), so when we leave the tower for breakfast I’ll carry Hermione’s bag and I’ll do so for
the rest of the day. No point in her tiring herself unnecessarily, especially since she’ll
eventually need that energy for snogging with yours truly.

It just so happens that we’ve a special trip to Hogsmeade tonight since Halloween is fast
approaching and we’re seventh years and yada yada yada. Honestly, I didn’t much care about the
reasons, I was just happy to be going to Hogsmeade. Anyway, for this trip Hermione will be out of
her school robes and into something a little more casual. Something that will look wonderful on
her, I’m sure, which will give me the perfect reason to tell her she looks so very, very
shall-I-compare-you-to-a-summer’s-day pretty. Then, I will follow her every where she goes in
Hogsmeade, just because I love watching her and I hate to miss out on any opportunity to just be
with her.

For the final round of the day and a great (I hope) way to kick off tomorrow, I’ve given
Lavender the first wonderful note to put on Hermione’s bedside table (with a flower charmed not to
wilt. I’m brilliant when adequately inspired) for her to find when she wakes up in the morning.
Lavender has promised to put it under Hermione’s wand so that she can’t possibly miss it (wonderful
suggestion from Lavender). The girls in Hermione’s room are going to chat me up and make me sound
absolutely fabulous (shouldn’t be too hard since I am fabulous). Parvati has doubled my weekly
dancing lessons (I haven’t trampled her toes in two weeks, I suspects she’s feeling a little more
safe these days). Hermione and I have become a house project (I suspect the lads are getting a
little annoyed with me lately. I’ve been warned several times that if I don’t stop pining away and
do something about it, they’ll turn me into the love-sick puppy that I’m acting like), it’s
great.

Now, I’ve just got to sit back and watch Hermione (something I love to do) for her reactions to
the notes that I’ve planted everywhere.

* * *

Unable to go back to sleep after planting the notes (do to a combination of fear and
excitement), I’ve decided to sit on the sofa and pretend to read a Quidditch magazine while I wait
for Hermione to put in an appearance. She seems to running a little late this morning or maybe it
just feels like it because I feel like I’m awaiting death. I hear someone coming down the stairs
and, realizing that I’ve been daydreaming about the object of my affections, I quickly snatch my
magazine from the floor and try to look completely engrossed. Seconds before Hermione appears, I
realize that I’m holding the magazine upside down and quickly right-side it before Hermione has a
chance to notice.

I watch over the top of the magazine as she makes her way to her corner (she hasn’t noticed me
here yet, which is good because it gives me a moment to think of a reason for being awake at this
ungodly hour). I notice that she has a small smile on her lips and choose to believe that it’s
because she found the note on her bedside table and not because she’s about to start studying. She
sits in her chair and, instead of getting right to work as I had expected and feared, she leans
back in her chair and closes her eyes. For a fleeting second I’m half worried and half hoping that
she’ll go to sleep without seeing the note on her table or the dozen hidden in the various books
surrounding her. But then she opens her eyes and reaches out for one of the massive tomes around
her and spots the note on the table. She tilts her head slightly (something that I’ve had the
pleasure to learn that she does when something has piqued her curiosity) and takes the note from
the table. I watch in anticipation as she opens it and am absolutely crushed when she reads it over
without the slightest expression of any kind, folds it up and puts it in her bag. But then I recall
that it wasn’t the greatest love letter of all time and that there are much better ones waiting in
her books, like the one she’s just picked up. I’ve used this note to mark the page she left off at
(I know this not because I’m absolutely obsessed with her and everything she does, but because… no,
I do know this because I’m absolutely obsessed with her and everything she does. I can’t deny it,
she’s on my mind every waking-and sleeping-moment and it’s a bloody nuisance sometimes, not that
I’d ever do anything to change it) and it’s sitting right there in the middle of the page when she
flips the book open. I see one eyebrow go up in interest as she plucks the note from the page and I
grin devilishly because this one is a true work of Shakespeare-eat-your-heart-out art. And I watch
smugly as she reads it over without a single thread of emotion, folds it and puts it in her bag
with the other. And what the bloody hell, does this woman not have a romantic bone in her body?
Lavender and Parvati practically fainted when they read that note. Oh! Wait; do I see a smile on
her lips? Oh, bloody hell, she’s just found some fascinatingly, inane fact in her ruddy book. “Life
sucks!” I groan mentally.

She looks in my direction and I quickly hide my face behind my magazine and try to pretend to
have been reading it all along, because apparently that groan wasn’t so much silent as it was out
loud and she heard.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

A mentally smack myself and manage a not too sarcastic “Yeah, just great, thanks,” while cursing
myself.

“What are you doing up so early? You usually enjoy sleeping in, especially since it’s Saturday
and we haven’t any classes.”

Great, it’s Saturday. My excuse of wanting to get a spot of studying in before classes has just
been shot to hell. That excuse was pushing it when I thought it was Friday, it’ll never fly on a
Saturday. So now I’ve got to come up with some plausible reason for being up at the crack of dawn
on a Saturday and I briefly wonder how crazy Hermione must be to be up at this hour on a Saturday
to study, but I remember that her wackiness is one of the many things I adore about her and move
on. And now I realize that she’s looking at me, patiently waiting for me to answer her question,
and I panic and say the first thing that pops into my head.

“I’m meeting Hilda Ginklefief for a walk.” And I am such a bloody idiot! Merlin, I wish someone
would just come along and put me out of my misery. I’ve just told the woman that I adore that I’ve
a date with another girl. A girl that doesn’t even exist! Bloody hell!

To my delight (I’m a horrible man) I see a slight flicker of what I’ve decided is disappointment
mixed with jealousy cross her face and I do a little mental dance of joy.

“Oh.” She brightens slightly, but I suspect it was false (I can be just as delusional as the
next insanely in-love man). “I was going to ask if you wanted to join me, but you’ll probably be
leaving soon.”

Why couldn’t I have told her that my scar hurts or I couldn’t sleep because Voldemort was
invading my dreams again? Just because he’s dead (go me) doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work, it would
probably just really freak her out and then I could’ve comforted her… now that would’ve been a good
plan. God, I’m disturbed.

“Yeah,” I mumble unenthusiastically. “She’ll be expecting me soon.”

She smiles brightly, a little to brightly. “Well, have a good time. I’ll see you at lunch, I
suppose.”

How long does she expect me to be gone and what, exactly, does she think I’ll be doing with the
imaginary Hilda Ginklefief? I decide not to voice these questions and instead leave the common room
trying to look like I’m anticipating a wonderful date and not like I’d much rather stay and snog
Hermione, which I would. Even if Hilda was real.

* * *

It’s time for lunch, finally. I’ve been walking around this ruddy lake for hours. It actually
hasn’t been so bad, gave me plenty of uninterrupted time to think about Hermione and plan our
wedding (and wedding night) and I’ve made a few decisions about it: 1. I’d like to get married at
Hogwarts for two reasons, the first being that it’s the only place I’ve ever really felt at home (I
wonder if that’s just because Hermione is here as I think that any place Hermione is would feel
like home to me), and the second being that this is the place that I first met Hermione and where
we’ve spent so many wonderful times together; 2. We should get married as soon as possible because
I consider anytime spent not being her husband to be a complete waste of time; 3. It would be
bloody fantastic to make love with her in one of the empty classrooms; 4. The castle and grounds
are absolutely breathtaking in any season and the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall would make a
lovely touch to the ceremony; 5. Hogwarts is protected from any and all dark magic, so we wouldn’t
have to worry about anything happening; 6. It would be so wonderfully inappropriate and therefore
great to make love with her in one of the classrooms (any of them, I’m not picky).

I’ve also made a few decisions about our honeymoon: 1. It will be never ending and we will only
get out of bed when absolutely necessary; 2. Clothes will be banned unless we have company, which
we really shouldn’t because who has company on their honeymoon? 3. It will be somewhere that no one
can find… ever; 4. It will be whatever Hermione wants because she rules my heart and, therefore, my
world (just so long as if follows the three aforementioned criteria).

I continue to mull over our honeymoon as I make my way to the Great Hall for lunch and decide
that maybe that isn’t the best topic to mull over before I enter a room that contains the entire
population of Hogwarts as it makes me rather unpresentable. So, now I’m standing outside the Great
Hall, absolutely famished and thinking about very unattractive things (Snape in a dress, Malfoy,
Malfoy, Malfoy) which seems to be working quite well until Hermione appears around the corner, her
robes in complete disarray, her hair wonderfully mussed, and chewing thoughtfully on the end of her
quill as she studies the book in her hands. Now I’m back at square one, but I can’t find it in me
to care because Hermione’s here and whenever Hermione is around everything is right with the
world.

I step out of the shadows that I was hiding in and call her name. She looks up in surprise and
quickly snatches a piece of parchment from the book and shoves it in her pocket. I realize with not
a small bit of pleasure that it was one of my many notes that I left for her and wonder which one
it was as there were several very good ones (if I do say so myself, which I do).

“Oh, hi, Harry. How was your date?”

Date? What in Merlin’s name is she talking about? I decide to ask her this. “Date? What in
Merlin’s name-“ Riiiight, my pretend date with my pretend girlfriend Hilda Ginklefief. Man, that
was a stroke of genius that just will not stop coming back to bite me in the arse, isn’t it? “Oh,
yeah, it was great. Yeah, a really good time was had all around.” I try to look serious and like I
really did enjoy myself, which actually isn’t that hard because I really did enjoy walking it. A
little too much, some might say, but I am not one of them.

Again I see a flicker of something cross her pretty face and again I decide that it can’t be
anything other than disappointment and jealousy. Don’t worry, sweet Hermione, you’re the only girl
for me.

“Good, I’m glad. Hilda’s a really lucky girl to have you.”

I swear I almost had a heart attack. That is the first time that Hermione has ever said anything
to me that even remotely concerns anything she may feel for me. Apparently I look rather odd at the
moment as my brain takes that and runs because Hermione is looking at me in concern and I think
that maybe I should do or say something.

“Urgh… bha…uh.” Good God, I think my brain has leaked out my ear. I am going to die when she
finally says that she loves me. Can’t even handle an accidental reference to feelings that may or
may not exist. I’m pathetic, really truly pathetic.

Now she’s even more concerned, not that anyone could blame her since I’ve apparently gone
temporarily brain dead. And she’s walking towards me and you’d think that she’s never been within
five feet of me before the way my heart is pounding in my chest. These plans are going to be the
death of me seeing as it’s only day one of Plan A and my brain has already gone on sabbatical.

I jolt back to reality when her hand grips my arm and I try to smile down at her, but I don’t
think it works because now she’s frowning at me and I think she’s saying something about Madame
Pomfrey and the hospital wing, so I just shake my head and I think I say something about just being
hungry, but I’m not really sure. I decide I must’ve said something to that affect because now she’s
leading me into the Great Hall. We stop across from Ron and I see him smirk at me, but Hermione’s
now holding my hand so I decide to ignore it.

I sit down on the bench and she sits beside me and she’s sitting so close that her leg
occasionally rubs my. She’s talking to Ron and he keeps looking at me and then at Hermione’s plate
and I wonder what he’s on about. Then I see it, there’s a little piece of parchment sticking out
from under her plate and it can only be one of my notes.

“What’s that under your plate, Hermione?”

I could smack Ron, I really could. As if I’m not a nervous wreck already, he has to point out
the note. Now she’s reaching for it and she’s frowning and I can’t decide whether she’s worried
about what this note will say of anxious to read it. Now she’s unfolding it and everything seems to
be going in slow motion. She’s reading it now and I try reading it over her shoulder because I
can’t remember what it says. I can only catch glimpses of it because she keeps turning it away so I
can’t see, but I see enough to know that it’s one of the best, very poetic and sweet. I watch her
as she reads it and I’m pleased to see the corners of her mouth curl ever so slightly as she mouths
the words. A light blush colors her cheeks and I’m so bloody relieved that she likes the notes.

“Well, what is it, then?” Ron asks around a mouthful of chicken.

Hermione carefully folds it and puts in her bag, where I see that there are several others all
carefully set aside so that her books won’t crush them. “Oh, it’s just a note that someone’s left
for me.”

Ron raises his eyebrows and looks very interested, but I know it’s an act because he’s the one
that put the note there so he already knows what it say. I’ve never really noticed before, but Ron
is quite the actor.

“Like a love letter? From who?”

Hermione blushes even more and I think I’m blushing a little myself and I hope she doesn’t
notice. “No, it’s just a note.”

“From who?” He asks again, though he knows full well whom it’s from and that it’s not
signed.

Hermione shrugs. “I don’t know, it isn’t signed.” Deciding that the conversation is over,
Hermione digs into her lunch.

Ron looks at me and grins and I’m a little worried that he’s going to keep at her, but I’m
hoping he does because then I might be better able to gauge her reaction.

“It wasn’t signed?” He’s looking at Hermione now. “Do you mean to tell me that you have a secret
admirer?”

Hermione frowns at him and I really wish that she’d let on about how she feels about these
notes. But I decide that she must rather enjoy them since she’s being rather careful to keep them
from getting damaged in her bag. I’ve been surreptitiously looking at the in her bag and have
noticed that the half dozen giant books that she’s somehow crammed in there are even close to
touching the notes, which is a feat that could only be accomplished by casting some sort of
protection charm on the notes. Which must mean that she’s enjoying this little game of ‘secret
admirer,’ but still I decide to leave the noted anonymous until at least tomorrow. Just in
case.

“No, Ron, I don’t mean to tell you that I’ve a secret admirer. I don’t mean to tell you anything
at all.” Uh-oh, she seems to be getting a little annoyed with him, not that that’s unusual.

Ron turns on me and I suddenly have a sinking suspicion that whatever he’s up to won’t be good.
“Do you hear that, Harry? Hermione’s got a secret admirer. I wonder who it could be.”

I shrug and try not to blush, but fail miserably. I can feel Hermione’s eyes on me and I try to
act as casual as possible, which isn’t all that easy when my face feels as hot as it does.

“I don’t know, Ron. Could be any bloke. Who wouldn’t fancy Hermione?” I can tell from Ron’s
shocked expression that I’ve said that out loud and I rapidly try to think of some way to cover it,
but nothing’s coming to me and I can feel Hermione watching me, but I don’t dare look at her. I can
feel my face getting hotter, but I just can’t think about something to cover with. So I think I
mumbled something about having to meet Hilda again before I rush out of the Great Hall.

It isn’t until I’m outside again that I realize that not only have I said that I’ve a date with
the nonexistent Hilda, but that I also left my lunch untouched and now I’m beyond famished.

* * *

After another few laps around the lake, I’m seriously considering running all the way to
Hogsmeade to find something to eat. I haven’t been this hungry since I was eleven and living with
the Dursleys. But I decide that I’ll just have to hold out for three hours when supper will finally
be served. I have it planned so that this time I won’t be able to say something embarrassing and
end up missing another meal as I honestly don’t think I could make it. I figure if I sit at the
opposite end of the table than Hermione then I can’t possibly embarrass myself in front of her or
say anything about Hilda thus further convincing Hermione that I fancy some other girl (like that’s
possible). Now, I know what you’re thinking and you may be right. Avoiding Hermione at supper may
give her the wrong impression, I can see how my avoiding her may lead her to believe that I’m upset
with her or don’t fancy her, thus putting an extra spin on Plan A. But it’s just a risk I have to
take. A man’s got to eat.

As I’m mulling over this and trying not to think about how hungry I am, Ron shows up out of the
blue.

“Harry, mate, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You just took off, you didn’t even eat your
lunch.”

Gee, Ron, thanks for pointing that out because I had no bloody idea! I’ve been told I get a
slight bit cranky when I haven’t eaten, I’ve no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

I watch Ron reach into his pocket and pull out a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. “I
snagged this for you, figured you might be hungry.”

He hands me the bundle and I fold back the handkerchief to reveal a small pile of food. I love
Ron, he’s my favourite person in the world (next to Hermione of course). I could hug him, but I
won’t because that’s just wrong. So, instead I smile gratefully and start inhaling what he’s
brought me.

“Hermione’s been asking why you took off like that. She thinks maybe she’s done something to
upset you.”

I look at him like he’s daft but I’m really thinking that Hermione must be the daft one to think
that I could stay mad at her over anything for more than several minutes.

“I told her I had to meet Hilda.”

I find it rather interesting that Ron looks rather guilty when I mention Hilda. Hmmm.

Ron looks away and I notice that his ears are pink and I wonder if it’s because it’s a little
nippy today or because I’ve caught him out on something.

“Yeah, about that, Harry. She kind of knows that there is no Hilda.” If I didn’t have a mouth
full of food I’d either tear him a new one or thank him profusely, but since I do have a mouth full
I settle for scowling at him. It seems to do the trick as he starts stammering. “I-it wasn’t me,
Harry. R-really. Hermione’s the smartest witch at Hogwarts. She figured it out herself.” Well,
that’s really not at all surprising. My Hermione is a very clever, resourceful witch. “She checked
the school records for her name and it wasn’t there.”

Ha, Hermione couldn’t stand the thought of me having a girlfriend. Point for Harry Potter.

Ron looks at me a little nervously (he does that every now and then since I defeated Voldemort,
finally realized that I could turn him to spider with a thought if I so choose, not that I ever
would, but he doesn’t need to know that at this point in time). “Are you upset, Harry?”

I swallow my mouthful and look sadly at the empty handkerchief and give a fleeting thought as to
the cleanliness and said handkerchief, oh well, too late now.

“No, I’m not upset. Clears things up a bit actually. I was a little concerned about what
Hermione might think if I suddenly moved onto her from Hilda.”

Ron scoffs and I hear him mutter “yeah, suddenly” and I scowl. “It would be sudden to her,
wouldn’t it? She doesn’t know how I feel.”

“Actually, I think maybe she does, Harry.”

I look at him in surprise and I feel very relieved that she knows. “Really? What did she
say?”

“Well, she didn’t actually say anything. But she knows there is no Hilda Ginklefief and she’s
seen the doodles on your parchments, you know, H.P. + H.G. I imagine she’s put it together by
now.”

Hmmm, that’s a good point. She probably has put it together. “But she hasn’t been acting any
differently.” I say more to myself than to Ron.

He answers anyway. “Well, I think she knows more on a subconscious level. I don’t really think
she’s let herself believe it yet.” I must look pretty amazed at this astute observation because
Ron’s ears turn a distinct color of pink and he shuffles his feet a little. “I think maybe I’ve
been spending too much time with Hermione.”

“Yeah, I think so.” I find myself briefly wondering if Ron still has feelings for Hermione, but
figure that if he did he wouldn’t be nearly so helpful in my crusade to win her heart (or rather
make her realize that I already have her heart because I’m pretty sure that I do).

“Anyway, she’s been looking for you. She thinks your avoiding her and that’s why you’ve made up
all this Hilda nonsense.”

Avoiding her? Why, in Merlin’s name, would I avoid the one person who I always want to be with.
If it weren’t for the lack of a connection between my brain and my mouth, I wouldn’t be out here in
the first place on a pretend date with a pretend person. Maybe I should consider psychiatric
treatment. Just a thought.

“Maybe I should go find her.” And hopefully this time I won’t become a bumbling fool. Yeah, good
luck with that. “Did she say anything about the notes? Does she know who they’re from?”

Ron shakes his head. “Nah, she thinks someone’s playing a joke on her. She’s kind of ignoring
them, playing them off like they’re nothing, you know? I think she’s in the library if you want to
see her.”

If I want to see her, I always want to see her. “I’m going to have to start signing the notes. I
don’t want her thinking someone’s playing some kind of cruel joke on her. That wouldn’t be
right.”

“Alright, see you later, Harry.”

I just wait distractedly at him, my mind is already on other matters. Like how I’m going to keep
my brain functioning properly while I talk to Hermione. I can do it, I know I can, I’ve been
managing it nicely for the last seven years.



4. Plan B
---------

A few hours later (Parvati dragged me into an empty classroom for an impromptu dance lesson
after my chat with Ron), I find myself in the library. Ron was right, not that it was hard to guess
where I’d find Hermione. I walk straight to the back of the library, to a secluded little niche
that barely anyone knows about and that no one dares use for fear of Hermione’s wrath (she can be
quite scary when she wants to be, she’s frightened one or two (dozen) times). And there she is,
bent over a book, writing like mad, trying desperately to absorb every bit of information in the
tome. She’s so adorable, I really don’t want to disturb her. But I find it quite impossible to turn
around and walk away. So, instead, I walk over to the table, sit down beside her, but far enough
away to not disturb her (something I’ve learned about Hermione is that she has a ‘safe distance’
when she’s studying which means that no one is allowed to sit within three feet of her), grab one
of the Quidditch magazines that she keeps on her table for me (and she doesn’t see how in love with
me she is) and Ron, but he’s hardly ever here, and settle in to enjoy and afternoon with her.

I’m well into an article about Viktor Krum (I can’t stand him personally, and not only because
he dated Hermione, but he’s a fantastic Quidditch player none the less), when I feel someone
watching me. I glance around before realizing that it’s Hermione who’s looking at me and meet her
gaze. She’s looking at me oddly and I find it rather discomforting and start to shift in my
seat.

She doesn’t seem to plan on saying anything and I’m getting rather uncomfortable with her
looking at me in this particular way, so I decide to risk it and say something. “Uh, hi.” Okay,
good, nothing embarrassing there. However, she’s still looking at me in that way and still doesn’t
seem to plan on saying anything. So, here I go again. “Um, what? Why are you looking at me like
that?”

She shakes her head and comes back to reality (hi, welcome back, love). “Why are you sitting all
the way over there? I don’t bite, you know.” (Not even if I say please? “Please!”)

“Uh, what?” Hey, I’m doing pretty good here, this isn’t so hard.

“I’m just saying that you don’t have to sit so far away. I feel like I have to shout to speak to
you.”

Okay, this is strange for two reasons, 1. Hermione never talks when she’s studying, actually
I’ve heard her threaten people with curses just for breathing too loudly; and 2. I’ve just been
invited into her ‘personal study space.’ This has never happened before, ever, to anyone. I do
believe I’m making progress.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I quickly slide over a few inches. She’s still
looking at me oddly, so I budge over a little further. The look isn’t going away. Well, then, I’ll
just keep sliding over until she tells me to stop, I’m sitting in her lap, or the look goes away.
All right, so we’re almost touching now and Hermione has gone back to study so I stop moving over.
We’re sitting closer than we’ve ever sat while she’s studying. I can feel the heat from her body
I’m so close. I rather like this, it’s nice being this close in the library; it feels almost
naughty. I take a deep breath to savour the moment and oh-my-God I can smell her hair! This is
heaven! I’m in heaven! All right, no need to over-react, just act cool and try not to
hyperventilate. Merlin, I love her shampoo.

I open my magazine and continue where I left off and out of the corner of my eye I see Hermione
reach for another book. My attention immediately focuses on her, magazine forgotten, and I watch as
she pulls the heavy book towards her and opens it and I see my note laying there waiting for her to
read it. My eyes jump to her face and I study her for any reaction at all and if I didn’t know her
as well as I do I would’ve missed it. But I do know her, so I see the flash of delight in her eyes
and the tug at the corner of her mouth and I really want to kiss her right now, but I won’t. She
carefully unfolds the note and I watch her read it, and I notice that her cheeks take on a red tint
and I feel like a million galleons because she likes the letters and I’m wooing her…
effectively.

I turn back to my magazine and pretend to be ready it and not paying attention to her, but every
fibre in my body is focused solely on her. I hear the paper rustle as she folds the note again and
I hear her carefully put it in her bag and mutter a protection charm (yeah! I was right!) and I
smile to myself. She goes back to studying and acts like nothing happened at all. Yeah, like I’m
going to let her get away with that.

I clear my throat and focus my eyes on a picture of Krum chasing the snitch. “Any clue who
they’re from?” I ask casually.

I feel her jump beside me and turn her head to look at me. “No, not really. I think someone’s
probably just playing joke.”

“Why would you think that?” I keep my eyes trained on the picture because I know if I look at
her I’ll start stammering and rambling.

“Well, because the notes are really very sweet and, unless it is a joke, I can’t imagine who’d
want to leave me notes like that.”

I turn to meet her gaze. “Why would that be so hard to believe?” I wonder if that sounded as
breathless to her as it did to me.

I think I’ve embarrassed her a little because she’s blushing now and can’t seem to look me in
the eye. Oh well, it’s about time she got a clue.

“Well, I mean, who would be interested in me? I’m not very interesting or attractive or anything
like that.”

I almost laugh out loud, but stop myself at the last moment. I don’t think that would help
matters much. “Good God, Hermione. You’re everything like that.” Okay, apparently I’m going for the
bold approach. I can live with that. “A bloke would have to blind to not see that.”

I think maybe I’ve succeeded in giving her a heart attack because she’s looking at me with wide
eyes and her mouth is hanging open. But before she can say anything, the dinner bell goes (since
when is there a bell anywhere in this castle, let alone the library). Hermione doesn’t seem
surprised by the bell at all, but just starts to put her books away, so I decide that she’s
probably responsible for the bell. It makes sense, since she used to miss meals often (even lost a
few pounds, which didn’t please me at all) and now she rarely misses any. Once she’s got her books
packed in her bag, I reach down and grab it from the floor and sling it over my shoulder and almost
lose my balance because the bloody thing weighs a tonne. Before she can protest, I take her hand (I
do realize that I’m stepping on Plan B, but I’m feeling impulsive) and lead her out of the library.
I hold her hand all the way to the Great Hall and she doesn’t say a thing about it (to my
pleasure), but I release it before we enter the Great Hall because I really don’t know how she
would feel about the entire school seeing us holding hands. I can’t not touch her though, so I
satisfy myself by putting my hand on the small of her back to guide her into the hall and to our
spots at the table. And I sit right beside her, so close that our legs are touching and I let my
fingers trail down her back as I remove my hand. I can feel her looking at me (in shock, I’m sure),
but I ignore her gaze and pile my plate high because I’m still starving (Ron really didn’t bring me
that much, I’ve a feeling that he ate most of what he snitched). And I know I’ve blown my plan to
sit at the opposite end of the table, but it was a dumb idea to begin with. Really, why would I
want to be that far away from her. Besides, I’m feeling rather confident at the moment.

Ron’s noticed what I’ve done, I can tell by the smile he’s giving me. I fear that he’s going to
say something stupid and embarrass me, so I engage him in conversation about the next Quidditch
match which is between Ravenclaw and Slytherin and isn’t for another month, but since it involves
Slytherin, we’ve a great deal of interest in it. While Ron and I are talking, I reach under the
table to wipe my hand on my leg and ‘accidentally’ run it down (and back up) Hermione’s slim, jean
clad thigh. She jumps and looks at me in what I’m positive is shock this time (how’s that for a
clue, Hermione), although I don’t look at her. Ron’s cottoned on and he raises a single eyebrow at
me in question (probably wondering when the hell I got so bold, if only I knew) and I grin at him
and keep on with the conversation. It’s not the last surprise she’ll get tonight.

We’ve finished eating and, as is our custom, we’re sitting at the table talking, catching each
other up on the happenings of the day and what, if anything, one of us has done to Malfoy today
(Ron slipped him one of the twin’s toffees and he was walking around with an enlarged tongue for an
hour). During this down time, I reached under the table and took Hermione’s hand in mine, slipping
my fingers between hers. She didn’t seem to mind and by that I mean that she didn’t hex me and
other than a little jolt she didn’t react much at all. I chose to take this as a good sign. Ron and
I have made it around to the upcoming Quidditch game again and Hermione has started a conversation
about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor (when Hermione casually mentions that he’s
rather handsome, I give her hand a quick squeeze in warning and catch her quick grin).

After my conversation with Ron earlier, I gave him another note to slip under Hermione’s plate.
This one is sign and, after my name, reads P.S. This is definitely not a joke. I’m watching this
note out of the corner of my eye, waiting anxiously for her to spot it. I think maybe she already
has and is ignoring it, maybe because she’s cottoned on that I’m the one behind the notes and she’s
a little freaked out, though if that were the case I don’t think she be stroking the back of my
hand with her thumb right now. I decide to let the note be for now, I’ll point it out to her with
there are fewer people in the Great Hall.

I realize that I’ve been distracted for quite a while when I feel Hermione tug my hand and
notice Ron grinning at me. I look around, completely lost as to what’s just been said, waiting for
one of them to fill me in. I notice that most people have left the Great Hall and think that now
would be a good time to point the note out to Hermione. But she starts talking before I get the
chance.

“Ron just asked you if you wanted to go to Hagrid’s tonight. How about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” I answer, but I’m distracted as I watch her reach for her cup and (finally!) her
fingers brush the note and she seems to notice it for the first time, but I’m pretty sure she knew
it was there all along.

Ron’s noticed this too and he starts grinning. “Looks like you’ve got another note,
Hermione.”

She pulls it out from under her plate and looks at me from the corner of her eye as she opens it
(so she does have a clue as to who’s writing them). Ron and I watch (Ron excitedly and me
nervously) while she reads it. I know when she gets to my name because she brushes my leg with her
foot and I can see that she thinks it’s just a bit of friendly fun, until she reads the post
script. That’s right, it isn’t a bit of friendly fun. She looks at me now and I can see that she’s
totally shocked and doesn’t really know how to deal with this twist in our relationship. I smile as
reassuringly as I can and try not to laugh at the way that Ron keeps looking back and forth between
us like he’s watching a tennis match.

“Well,” Hermione says a little too loudly and I notice that her voice is a little shaky and hope
that I haven’t completely terrified her. “Shall we go to Hagrid’s, then?”

Ron looks at her with surprise, but I know that she needs time to process all of this (I did lay
it on rather thick this evening), so I nod and grab my bag and hers before she has the chance. She
smiles at me and we leave for Gryffindor Tower, leaving Ron staring after us in bewilderment
(honestly, did he really think that she’d just fall into my arms? I still have my work cut out for
me). We don’t hold hands on the way to the common room, I’d really like to, but I know she needs a
little space at the moment and I gladly give it to her.

* * *

Ron catches up to us just as we’re leaving the tower again, I almost curse him because I think
Hermione was about to take my hand and now I’ll never know. He’s still looking at Hermione like
she’s completely nutters (I think he’s more of a romantic than he lets on) and I know he’s
wondering why I’m not pushing the issue with her because he doesn’t know her like I do and
therefore doesn’t realize that she needs time. But neither us say anything to him (Hermione because
I don’t think she realizes that he knows, and myself because I find it much more fun to let him
stew).

The trip to Hagrid’s is quiet. Hermione walks between Ron and I and, although our hands brush
once in a while, we don’t hold hands, or even look at each other. She watches the ground as she
walks, counting on us to lead her to the cottage, and I look around the grounds and admire the
stars, which are bright in the sky tonight and if it was just Hermione and me I would find tonight
to be a rather romantic night. However, since Ron is still watching us (he thinks he’s being
subtle. Ha, whatever) it’s really not all that romantic.

Hagrid welcomes us in as usual and offers us stone soup (“No, thanks.” “Just ate.” “Really not
that hungry at the moment, Hagrid.”) and tea. We sit at the table (Hermione between us again,
closer to me than to Ron, in case you were wondering) while Hagrid pours the tea.

“So, Hagrid, what do you have planned for us in Care of Magical Creatures this week?” Ah, that’s
my Hermione, always wanting to learn.

“Something really interesting, I’m sure.” Ron puts in.

I try to pay attention and participate in the conversation, but I’m a little worried about
Hermione’s behaviour. I realize that she needs time, but she hasn’t spoken a word to me since she
read the note, she hasn’t even looked at me.

I catch the last bit of Hagrid’s question to me and realize that I’ve been staring at Hermione.
Apparently she’s picked up on this as well because she gives me a little smile, which makes feels
loads better, and surprises me by taking my hand from my leg and holding it in hers, resting both
our hands on her thigh.

“I’m sorry, Hagrid, what was that?”

“Just wonderin’ how ye’ve bin, Harry. It’s been a bit since ye’ve been to visit.”

I feel mildly guilty about that, but I’ve been busy with school (it is our last year after all)
and haven’t really had the time to visit.

“Oh, well, things are really good lately. I just have a lot going on right now, but I promise to
come down more often.”

Hagrid’s satisfied with that and he turns back to Ron and Hermione, apparently having decided to
let me be for now, which suits me just fine because I’m more than a little distracted by the way
Hermione is playing with my hand. I tune them all out for a while and focus on Hermione, they’ve
apparently started discussing something fascinating to her because she released my hand and is
gesturing madly and talking rapidly. I choose to watch her rather than listen and I lay my hand on
her thigh, I figure if she minded it being there she wouldn’t have put it there in the first
place.

I’m starting to feel a little drowsing (which isn’t surprising considering how early I got up
this morning to plant those notes. I suddenly realize that I’ve been chasing Hermione openly for
only one day and it seems so much longer than that. And I wonder at the progress we’ve made in one
day, we’re already holding hands) and I wonder what time it is. It must be late because I notice
that Ron and Hermione are yawning and looking a little tired (Hermione’s pretty well left the
conversation to Ron and Hagrid and has taken my hand again). Hagrid still looks pretty wide awake
and chipper, but he always looks that way to me so it doesn’t really mean anything. I see Ron yawn
massively (how does his mouth open that wide) and stretch in a not so subtle hint to Hagrid about
the hour. Hagrid may not be the quickest man around, but Ron really needs to practice being subtle,
and Hagrid quickly gets the hint.

“Righ’, it’s getting’ pretty late. You three had betta get back to the castle.”

We all agree full heartedly and I reluctantly let Hermione’s hand go so we can pull our cloaks
on. Hagrid walks us to the door and wishes us a goodnight as we leave. We slowly make our way back
to the castle, Hermione and I don’t hold hands again. Ron’s oddly quiet so I think that he either
didn’t notice the interaction between Hermione and me at the cottage or he’s just too tired to
comment on it. Knowing Ron like I do, I’m willing to bet on the former.

* * *

As tired as I was feeling at Hagrid’s, as soon as I lay in my bed I find that I’m wide-awake.
Ron and I said goodnight to Hermione at the head of the stairs and I watched her go to her room,
wishing that she had chosen to stay up and study tonight so that I could join her. But I figure
she’s probably trying to work out what’s going on between us. I find tonight to have been very
encouraging. I never thought that Hermione and I would be holding hands by the end of the night. It
doesn’t seem like a big step, but it feels like a giant leap. I just hope that she knows that I was
holding her hand because I want to be with her and not just because I was feeling ‘flirty’ or
something (she once told me that she has a guy friend back home who likes to hold hands when he’s
feeling ‘flirty’). I don’t even know what flirty means.

At any rate, I decide that since things are going so well, I’ll step it up a notch. We’re moving
faster than I’d expected, but I still feel that I have to kick things up a notch or we’ll just hold
hands forever and never progress further. So tomorrow morning Plan B goes into effect. That’s
right, the first time I get Hermione alone tomorrow, I’m going to ask her on a date. Yep, a night
of dinner and dancing. But not tomorrow night as tomorrow is Sunday and only old people go out on
dates on Sunday. Besides, everything closes early on Sundays and Hermione would be distracted by
thoughts of Monday’s classes, which would not be good at all.

I drift off to sleep thinking of dancing with Hermione and holding her close and I just know
that I’ll have wonderful dreams tonight.

* * *

Last night I dreamed that Hermione and I were married. It’s a bit of a recurring dream and one
of my favourites (trumps the ones that include Voldemort), but the ending is always different. In
some, she’s taken from me, killed by a faceless enemy (he usually sounds quite a bit like Malfoy,
but sometimes I could swear that it’s Ron. I never go down that path), in others it’s me that’s
killed, in my favourites we have two children (one boy, one girl) and they look just like their
mother and it’s like a dream come true. Last night it was different, it felt so real, like it
wasn’t a dream at all, but a premonition of sorts. I hope it was. In my dream, we were happily
married, living in a beautiful house that we had both fallen in love with at first sight. We had a
four-year-old son, Donovan James, and Hermione was pregnant and she looked so beautiful. She was
glowing with happiness and pride. Donovan had most of Hermione’s features, but his messy hair and
his eyes were replicas of mine and he always managed to find trouble of some sort, but was never a
bother. I was happier than I think it’s possible to be, looking at my little family.

In my dream, Hermione and I were snuggling on the couch, watching the fire burning in the grate.
Her head was resting on my shoulder, one of my arms was around her shoulders and my other hand was
in hers, resting on her swelled stomach. Donovan was asleep on the loveseat. We never said a word
to each other, we were content to just be together and enjoy the rare moment of peace and
quiet.

I was sad to wake, I didn’t want to leave the dream, but once I realized that I could live that
moment someday, I was wide-awake. After all, to live that moment, I have to make Donovan’s mother
realize that she wants to spend her life with me as my wife (I love that word, but even more I love
the idea of being her husband). And to do that, I have to ask her on a date. Which brings me to my
plans for today.

It’s Sunday and, once again, I’ve woken up earlier than usual (not on purpose this time) and I’m
feeling rather bolstered by the events of last night (i.e. Hermione holding my hand of her own
will), so I’ve decided to move onto Plan B. I’m excited and scared by the progress that we’ve made
in just one day. I never (even in dreams) thought that I’d be moving onto Plan B the day after I
started Plan A and I’m wondering if maybe Hermione thinks that I’m feeling a little lonely or down
and am looking for reassurance or that I’m feeling ‘flirty.’ This worries me as I don’t want her
thinking that I’m pursuing her for any reason other than my love for her. She’s a clever witch and
I know she’ll figure it out sooner or later, but I really want it to be sooner.

Anyway, Plan B. Now, the beautiful thing about my plans is that they run into each other. For
instance, when we move into Plan B, we can still hold hands (which I most definitely intend to do),
I’ll still leave her notes (one every so often ought to be a sweet reminder of our beginning), I’ll
carry her bag for her, and I will still remind her of how heart-breaking beautiful she is (which I
realize I haven’t done yet and mentally add it to my plans for today). And, when we eventually get
to Plan C (my favourite of the three) we will still go out on dates, still hold hands, and I’ll
still tell her how gorgeous she is.

I was talking to Parvati yesterday (actually we were dancing and I was talking and she was
cursing because, apparently, when I talk while dancing I step on her toes… a lot) about where I
could take Hermione for a date. As I’ve never had any reason to until now, I’ve never really paid
much attention to the acceptable date-restaurants in Hogsmeade. Yes, I have dated girls (and by
‘dated’ I mean eaten one meal with them where it was just the two of us), but those girls were
never really love interests for me as I was (and still very much am) madly in love with Hermione.
So, it was more like just a nice dinner between schoolmates and nothing special. Those meals where
usually at the Leaky Cauldron or a picnic by the lake prepared by Dobby. Now I’m in need of a truly
romantic restaurant with the perfect atmosphere for a date with the woman I intend to spend my life
adoring. Who better to ask than Parvati, who has a new boyfriend every month or two (it’s a wonder
she hasn’t dated the entire male student body yet) and, therefore, would probably know every
restaurant in Hogsmeade. She suggested Le Chanson d’Amour, which I thought sounded a little cheesy,
but she assured me that it’s the most romantic restaurant in town. So, tonight, Parvati and I are
going to give it a test run (I heard Parvati telling Lavender that it’s a date, but I’m not
bothered because everyone at school knows of my devotion to our resident know-it-all) to make sure
it’s Hermione-worthy.

I’ve always enjoyed the art of dancing (though I’m bloody terrible at it myself) and, for as
long as I can remember, have enjoyed watching people dance. So, I’ve noticed several places in
Hogsmeade that are perfect for a night of dancing and I think I’ll probably take Hermione to Sway,
which, just as it sounds, is a club where couples can slow dance and hold each other close (exactly
what I want).

Now that I’ve got the night planned out, I just have to ask my lady friend if she’d like to
accompany me (I think I would look rather odd dancing by myself). I’ve decided to ask her for
Friday night since it will give her plenty of time to think of an excuse to get out of it should
she decide that the idea of dating me is absolutely revolting, or it will give her plenty of time
to buy something that will look so good on her that it will fry my brain (I’m hoping desperately
for the latter).

Time to find Hermione.

* * *

As usual, I find Hermione in her spot in the library (I love how predictable she is sometimes).
When I sit beside her (closer than three feet because I’m feeling daring today), she smiles at me
and I notice that, contrary to habit, she’s not study. In fact, when I look at the parchment in
front of her, I see that it’s a letter to me and I feel my heart drop. If she’s writing me
something that means that she feels she can’t talk to me about it, and that can’t be good at all.
She surreptitiously slides a book over the parchment before I can read what she’s writing about and
I don’t like that one bit.

“Hi, Harry. What are you doing in here on a Sunday?”

I smile at her and reach over to take her hand, I feel her hesitate, but when she sees that I’ve
no intention of letting go, she allows me to slide my fingers between hers and rest our hands on my
thigh. This confirms for that she’s having doubts as to where all this is leading and I feel that I
should clears those doubts up as soon as possible.

“I was looking for you, of course.” I tell her and she looks a little surprised at this. I
mentioned before that Hermione is a little slow when it comes to personal matters (if you can call
taking two years to realize that she loves me and I love her slow), but I’m rather astounded that
she hasn’t clued in yet, especially after all the notes and hand holding.

“Oh? Did you need help with something?” (There are a few things you could help me with… but
we’ll save those for a later date. And a different local.)

“Sure, you could say that. You see, I want to take you out on Friday, for dinner and maybe a bit
of dancing, if you like, and it would be a big help if you would say yes.” She looks a little
overwhelmed and I realize that she really wasn’t expecting this (so she did think I was just being
‘flirty’). I also realize that I haven’t actually asked her to go out with me and, thus, she has
nothing to reply to, really. “So, how about it? Will you go out with me this Friday?”

I wait patiently (kind of) for her to answer, but she doesn’t seem to planning to respond to my
question and I think that maybe she’s trying to think of a way to let me down easy.

“Keep in mind that I’ve no intention of taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’ll just have to keep
hounding you all week and if you still refuse, well I hate to do this, but I’ll just have to bind
and gag you and drag you from the castle.”

She smiles at that and my heart stops for a few long seconds. She looks down at our hands and I
notice that she’s blushing (how sweet). “Alright, Harry. If you’re sure.” (If I’m sure. Sweet,
oblivious Hermione. Let the denial go, sweetheart, you adore me.)

“I’m sure, Hermione.” I squeeze her hand before letting it go and standing up. “Are you coming
to lunch?”

She’s already gone back to her books and whatever letter she’s writing me. She nods quickly.
“Yes, I’ll be there in a little while. There’s just something I want to finish first.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there.” Impulsively, I drop a kiss on her hair and feel her jump a
little, but she doesn’t look at me.

I’ve reached the end of the table and am about to turn the corner when she’s calls my name. I
turn to look at her again and she looks confused and, I think, a little scared, maybe. Maybe I’m
moving things along too fast. I’ve been laying it on awful thick in the last day.

“Yes, Hermione?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

I smile at her. “You’ll figure it out, Hermione. When you’re ready.”

I know I’ve probably just confused her even more, but I leave her with that and go to lunch.

*** * ***

Ron’s already digging into his lunch enthusiastically (go figure) when I get to the Great Hall.
He’s so focused on his plate that it takes him several minute to notice me, but as soon as he does
the questions start.

“What was that last night?”

I decide to have a spot of fun with him and play dumb. “What was what, Ron? And would you
swallow before you speak?”

He swallows his mouthful and I grimace, wondering how he didn’t choke on all that food.

“All that with Hermione, holding her hand and flirting with her and all that.”

I take my time before answering, taking great care to cover everything centimetre of my dinner
roll with margarine before responding to him. “Hermione and I were not flirting, we hardly even
said a word to each other all night.”

“Come off it, Harry. I saw the way you two were looking at each other. Are you together,
then?”

Merlin, I wish. “No, Ron, we’re not together. I think Hermione thinks I’m just toying with her
or something. Really, I don’t know how to be anymore clear.”

“You could just tell her. That would be pretty damn clear.”

I roll my eyes at him. He can really be so… dumb sometimes. “Yeah, and have her run off. You
know Hermione; she likes things that are logical and well planned. Besides, if I tried to force her
to see it, she never would. She’ll see it when she’s ready and when that happens I’ll be
waiting.”

Ron gulps down another great mouthful. Really, it’s a wonder he isn’t disgustingly obese the way
he eats.

“You’re not going to force it? What exactly are you doing, then? What with all those notes and
holding her hand and all that. I don’t call that ‘waiting’, mate. You should just snog her and get
it over with. At least then you’ll really know how she feels”

Sometimes it’s no wonder that he hasn’t found himself a girlfriend yet, he’s just so sensitive
and thoughtful.

“Ron, if I were to ‘just snog her’ as you put it, I’d be spending the rest of my says and some
rodent or bug.” I take a moment to glance around the Great Hall and wonder what’s taking Hermione
so long. The longer she spends on that later, the less I’m going to like it, I’m sure of it. “I’m
just giving her a little push in the right direction. I’ve spent two years waiting and we haven’t
much more time here. Which means I’m running out of time before we’re off to lives where we don’t
see each other everyday.”

Ron blanches at that and I wonder if he’s just realized that we won’t still be living at
Hogwarts after we finish the year.

“Blimey, I forgot about that.” So he has just realized it. “Bloody hell, Harry, this is it,
isn’t it? Real life is next.”

“Yeah, you could say that. So, from your reaction, I’m assuming that you haven’t really put much
thought into what you’re going to do after Hogwarts.”

He shrugs and takes a massive bite of his dinner roll. “Fred and George have offered me a job
working in their shop. And I’ve gotten an offer from *The Quibbler* to write for them.”

Well, that was unexpected. I can’t believe he’s actually put some thought into it.

He looks at me. “What about you, Harry? Any plans? I mean, besides marrying Hermione.”

I smile at that thought (yes, life will be good when that finally happens). “I don’t really
know, Ron. I’ve been accepted into Auror training if I decide to go that route.”

“Auror training.” I hear someone gasp behind me and then Hermione plops down beside me, one hand
over her mouth and the other grabbing my arm. Her eyes are wide and she looks truly terrified at
the idea. “But, Harry, that’s so dangerous.”

Well, guess that’s out.

“Yeah, and facing Voldemort wasn’t.” We hear Ron mumble, but we both choose to ignore him.

“Surely you’re not serious, Harry. Do you really want to spend your life, however short it would
be, risking your neck everyday? I mean, what about a family and kids and normal?”

She does have a way with words. Hermione knows how deeply I crave normalcy. And I would love a
family and kids someday, so long as that family involves her.

“Well, I haven’t really decided yet, Hermione. I mean, I’ve had a few other offers.”

“From who?” Ron pipes in, once again talking around a mouthful of food.

I’m feeling a little on the spot. I’ve never really like talking about myself much. “Well, from
*Wizarding Weekly*, but they just want me to write about myself, so I’ve ruled them out. And
from the Ministry of Magic, something to do with locating dark wizards. A few Quidditch teams have
been trying to recruit me for next season. And Dumbledore has asked me to teach Defence Against the
Dark Arts.” They both stare at me after that little revelation. “I don’t really know what I’ll
decide to do. I’ve time yet to choose. And it’s not like I need to find anything right away.” I’m
mumbling now, but they’re both just staring at me and I really can’t help it. “I mean, I don’t
really need the money or anything. I think I might just like to take it easy for a little
while.”

All right, enough of this, I’m going to turn the tables on Hermione. Let her take the spotlight
for a while. Besides, I’d much rather hear about her. “What about you, Hermione? I know you’ve
probably got it all planned out by now.”

Ron snorts. “She’s probably had it planned for ages.”

Again, we ignore him.

Hermione shrugs slightly and starts dishing out her lunch. “I’d like to go to university.
They’ve some fabulous wizarding universities in France and England, but I think I’d like to go to
Lion’s Heart University. It’s been named the best university for mediwitches for last three hundred
years. And, it’s in the magic district of London, so it’s close to home.”

“You want to be a mediwitch? I always figured you’d want to teach.”

She looks at me like I’m daft. “Honestly, Harry, you’ll need some around to fix you up all the
time, won’t you?” So, she plans on me being part of her future, that’s definitely a good thing
since I plan to be a very important part of her life. She starts to blush a little and I think
she’s just realized what she’s said. “It will also come in handy when I have children. And who
knows who’ll I’ll marry, could be some clumsy bloke who’s always hurting himself.”

Well, that stings a little, but I’ll let it pass because deep down she knows that clumsy bloke
will be me.

“You want kids? I feel sorry for them already. I can just see you forcing them to study and not
allowing them any sort of social life.” Good, God, Ron, why must you always pick at her like
that.

“I think she’d be a great mother, Ron.” I reach over and squeeze Hermione’s leg under the
table.

“Of course you do, Harry. Why would you think otherwise?”

I choose not to rise to his bait because I just know that it’ll turn out bad and probably damage
the shaky relationship that (I hope) is developing between Hermione and me. Instead I turn to
Hermione again.

“How many kids do you want?”

She smiles happily and I know that I’ve started her off now and I like that. “Two, one boy and
one girl. Donovan James” (that’s highly interesting and encouraging) “and Loralei Greer.” (That
one’s a little different, but I think I could live with it.) She continues on, but I’ve divided my
attention between listening to her and watching her. I only catch parts of what she’s saying, but I
like everything I hear.

“Harry,” I hear Hermione say from a distance and I come back to reality and notice that the
Great Hall is almost empty and I wonder how long we’ve been sitting here. I see that Ron is gone
and I hope that I haven’t missed anything important that Hermione has said.

“Yes?”

She looks a little shy and blushes when I catch her eye. “I was just wondering, what should I
wear on Friday?”

I can’t resist this perfect set-up and I shrug. “Anything you like, you’ll be beautiful no
matter what you wear.” And the cheesy-movie line works and she’s blushing even more.

“I’m serious, Harry.”

“So am I.”

“What kind of restaurant are we going to? The Leaky Cauldron? The Wizard’s Getaway? Where?”

I swing one leg over the bench so that I’m straddling it and can look at her more easily. I take
both her hands in mine and look her in the eye. “Those are places that friends go, Hermione, and
I’m not taking you out as a friend, okay?” She nods slowly and her eyes widen slightly (apparently
she did think that this was a friend date). “I don’t think you totally understand what I’m
planning, so I’m going to make things painfully clear, alright? I’m going to take you to Le Chanson
d’Amour this Friday.” Her hands tighten on mine, so she has heard of it and knows what sort of
restaurant it is. “We will not be going as friends, it will be a date between two people who may
have something more than friendship between them. After dinner, if you want, we’ll go dancing. I
know this nice little place called Sway, it’s a great little place for slow dancing.” I pause to
let her take all this in. “Just so you know, I do plan to hold your hand on Friday, and every day
from now until and after Friday, I also intend to flirt with you and tell you that you’re beautiful
and be so unbelievably sweet that you’ll wonder what happened to your friend Harry. But remember,
on Friday I won’t be you friend Harry, I’ll be Harry who really wants to be your boyfriend.”

She looks a little overwhelmed, so I decide to leave it at that. I think that’s enough honesty
for one day. After all, I do have the rest of the year to wake her up to the reality of being loved
by me and loving me.

“Now, I know you probably want time to process all this and figure out what it all means, so I’m
going to go play Quidditch with the lads and let you disappear into the library and I’ll see you at
dinner. But don’t go thinking so much that you freak yourself out, okay? Because this isn’t scary
and I’m not going to pressure you for anything, other than this date on Friday, you’re not getting
out of it.”

“I don’t want to.” She says and I don’t think she knows she’s said it.

“Good.” I squeeze her hands one more time before I let them go and stand up from the bench. “So,
I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” I look around and see that we’re alone in the Great Hall, so I
kiss the top of her head before leaving.

I look back once, briefly, and I almost feel sorry for her because she’s just sitting there in a
daze and she looks like her world had been turned on its side. Which, I suppose, it has in a
way.



5. Taking it Further
--------------------

All right, it’s Friday night (finally) and I’m pacing the common room waiting for my date,
Hermione (yeah, we’re going on a date tonight). Everyone else has already gone to supper (I planned
it this way so we wouldn’t have a great audience for this as I think Hermione is nervous enough…
and so am I), so the common room is empty right now. Hermione’s running a little late, our
reservations are for seven and it’s half past six now, but I’m not worried considering how
accommodating the witch was when I made the reservations (“Oh, my, Harry Potter is coming to our
restaurant. Is this a special night, Harry Potter?” People who don’t know me always use my full
name. “Yes, it is.” “Brilliant! We’ll do everything we can to make it extra special for you.” I
really didn’t like that extra and am a bit concerned about what they’ve done).

This week has been a real test for me. Hermione has been avoiding me as much as possible (which
really isn’t that much because I won’t let her), which means that she’s uncomfortable with the
speed at which things are progressing. So I backed off a little (by a little I mean that let her
have a bit of space, but I still make sure to sit with her in the library for an hour every
evening, flirting, chatting and hold her hand, just so she won’t think I’ve given up entirely) and
it seems to have worked. Last night she actually chose to study in the common room rather than the
library and, when I sat on the sofa with my books rather than beside her, she scowled at me until I
moved to my usual chair, right next to hers.

It’s another five minutes when Hermione finally appears at the head of the stairs and I
immediately forget that we’re running late. She’s apparently taken my words about us ‘having
something more than friendship’ to heart because she’s gone all out and I now feel a little
underdressed in a black suit, green silk shirt, and tie (the mirror said, and I quote, “She’s going
to go up in smoke when she catches sight of you, lad.” I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever
received). She’s wearing a stunning, shimmering green gown that I think must be charmed, she’s
pulled her hair up in some twist thing and left a bit to hang by her face, and, if I’m not
mistaken, she’s wearing more make-up than usual. I almost can’t believe that this is my Hermione
that I’m looking at; she looks absolutely nothing like her usual self (who I already think is
beautiful). She looks absolutely stunning.

I feel a hand on my arm and I realize that I’ve been in a daze and that she’s now standing right
in front of me and now I can smell her. She smells wonderful, looks stunning, and she’s smiling
nervously and the whole package put together sends a shock to my brain (which is never a good
thing) and I take leave of my senses temporarily (I hope).

“Uh, hey, Hermione. How are you tonight?”

Now she looks thoroughly amused with me. “Hey, Harry. I’m alright.”

“Good, good.” I stare at he for what I think is a rather long time before my brain returns to my
head. “Right, so, we should go.”

I take her hand and rest it in the crook of my arm, she smiles at me and I barely manage to keep
hold of my senses.

“Did I tell you how stunning you are tonight?”

She blushes and makes a how of pulling her cloak around herself. “Thank you, Harry.” (You’d
think after this past week she would be used to complimenting her.) “You look pretty devastatingly
handsome, yourself, tonight.”

Whoa, was that a compliment from Hermione? On how I look? She’s never before complimented me on
anything not having to do with Quidditch or school. I like it. I really like it.

I say the password to open the portrait door and stand back to let her go first, and, the moment
we step out, a camera starts flashing madly and a loud chorus of cheering fills the air. I quickly
realize that no one has gone to dinner yet, but that they’ve all been waiting for us to come out. I
see Hermione blush madly and I feel my cheeks become unbelievably warm.

“Honestly, don’t any of you have anything better to do than bother us? Really, we’re just to
friends going to dinner.” What? I thought I made it perfectly clear that this is not a friend date.
Maybe I should snog her, you know, just to clear up any lingering doubts.

“Bloody couple of the century, you are!” I hear amid the laughter and cheering. “You don’t dress
like that for dinner with a friend.” Someone else calls.

I look down at us and realize that we do look rather spectacular together, like celebrities or
something (Hollywood celebrities not wizard celebrities because I always look like a wizard
celebrity, being one and all). I don’t have as much time as I’d like to admire Hermione in her
dress as she quickly takes my hand and pulls me through the throng of Gryffindors and rushes us
down the steps and out of the castle (I choose to believe that she’s eager to be alone with me and
not embarrassed by all the attention).

“I’m sorry about that.” I say when it feels safe to talk again.

“It’s alright, Harry.” I find that hard to believe since she’s still blushing and it’s been
around ten minutes already. “Really. I mean, it’s not like you planned all that. You were just as
surprised and I was.”

“True, though I honestly can’t say why.” I feel her confusion and shrug. “Well, it’s really no
secret how I feel about you, I mean, the whole castle knows. Every Gryffindor in our year has been
plotting to get us together for ages.”

I can she never noticed this, though I haven’t the slightest idea how she could have missed it,
they weren’t exactly subtle.

“They have?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you ever find it suspicious that they’d all disappear whenever we went to
Hogsmeade, or that everyone at Hogwarts seemed to have dates months before the last two balls, or
how every professor except Snape assigned us each other as partners for every project since fifth
year?”

She thinks on that for a moment. “Now that you point it out, their behaviour has been rather
questionable, but, to be perfectly honest, I never really noticed before.”

I grin. “That’s because you were just too taken up with your gorgeous best friend.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t really think it had anything to do with Ron at all.”

I scowl at her, but find that I can’t keep up the act when she starts giggling. There’s no
better sound in the world than Hermione laughing. Also, we’ve finally reached the apparition point
and all playing has come to an end. This is it, the second we apparate to Hogsmeade we’ll
officially be on a date.

I put my arms around her waist and pull her close against me both because I’ve wanting to feel
her against me for so long and because we have to be close in order for me to apparate both of us.
She puts her arms around my neck and looks up into my face and I’m so tempted to screw Plan B and
jump full force into Plan C and I probably would if I wasn’t absolutely, bloody terrified of moving
too fast and scary her off. Though she’s taking all this rather well (which I’m very proud of her
for), it can’t be easy to realize that the best friend that you thought you knew everything about
is actually a bit of a stranger (a stranger who wants nothing more than to snog you senseless), I
think she’s battling an instinct to run screaming from me. So, I shove Plan C to the back of my
mind and apparate us to Hogsmeade.

We appear at an apparition point in Hogsmeade, just around the corner from the restaurant and
I’m delighted that she doesn’t immediately pull her arms from around my neck (rather encouraging,
it is). But, as much as I’d love to stand just like this for hours, it’s just past seven so we’re
already late for the reservations. I reach up to take her arms from my shoulders and clasp her hand
in mine to lead her to the restaurant.

The hostess recognizes me and makes a big deal of showing us to our table (right in the center
of the room where everyone can see that Harry Potter has chosen La Chanson d’Amour for his date)
and stands around for several minutes, staring at me (I think she’s trying to see my scar, so I
casually brush aside my hair hoping that’ll satisfy her and she’ll leave) before returning to her
post.

I smile apologetically at Hermione before opening my menu and holy, Merlin this place is bloody
expensive (who could have afforded to bring Parvati here). I assume that Hermione has also noticed
the outrageous prices when I hear her gasp.

“Harry, the prices are-“

“Unbelievable, I know.” I set down my menu and reach across to take her hand. “Don’t worry about
it, Hermione. After all, you are on a date with the richest wizard at Hogwarts. Besides, I’d
happily spend every sickle I have if it meant you would be happy.” (I’m really beginning to wonder
if I can say anything other than cheesy movie lines.)

“But, Harry, four galleons for a butterbeer? These prices are insane. Maybe we should go
somewhere else.”

She’s already starting to close her menu and reach for her purse when I tighten my grip on her
hand to draw her attention back to me.

“No, Hermione, it’s fine really. Besides, you’re too gorgeous to go anywhere else, we’d likely
be kicked out for making the other patrons look poor.” I give her what I hope is a relaxing smile
and hand her the menu. “Now, order whatever you like, pay no attention to the prices. I know I
won’t, I’m starving. I’ve been too nervous to eat much of anything today.”

“Why on earth were you nervous? It’s just me.”

I give her a look that I hope shows how mad I think she is at the moment. “Hermione, ‘just’ you?
There is no ‘just’ you, not for me. There’s you and then there’s ‘just’ everyone else.” She blushes
at this (she seems to be doing that an awful lot lately), but I don’t feel the slightest bit sorry
for it. I warned her that I’d be unusually sweet tonight (I do have two years of holding in all
these sweet comments to make up for). “This is our first date and, I don’t feel at all silly for
saying this, I’m terribly nervous that if I muck this up I won’t get a second chance.”

She smiles at me like I’m a daft four-year-old. “Really, Harry, you don’t have to do anything
special for me. You know that I like you just as you are.”

I don’t bother to point out that she likes her friend Harry just as he is and I’m trying my
damndest to make her see me as more than a friend and she’s really not making it too easy. She just
keeps accepting everything at face value and it doesn’t seem to be affecting her opinion of me much
at all.

“I know I don’t have to do anything special, but I really want to. I want this night to be
perfect.”

“It already is, Harry.”

It’s comments like that that make me wonder if she actually is aware that she’s in love with me
and is just biding her time until she feels the moment’s right. But then she smiles at me just like
she’s been doing since we met and I realize that she still sees me as that eleven year old boy,
scared by what’s going on around him and wondering where his place in the world is. And though that
very smile has been stopping my heart for two years, tonight it makes it ache like it never has
before because to me she’s a wonderful young woman and to her I’m a daft little boy. I wonder if
she’ll ever see me as the man that I am, the man that loves her with everything he is and has.

* * *

Supper was fantastic, well worth the dent in put in my savings, and now we’re wandering around
town, too full to either sit and relax or dance. I haven’t said much since dinner and I think it’s
starting to worry Hermione as she’s started fidgeting constantly and keeps stealing glances at me.
But I don’t deign to put her out of her misery. At the moment, I don’t feel much like reassuring
her, especially since I’ve only realized a half hour ago that my dreams of being with her may
remain just that.

Finally, she can’t take it anymore and she stops (so do I since her hand is gripping mine) and
turns to me. “What’s wrong, Harry? You’ve been awfully quiet since dinner.”

I shake my head and try to keep walking because I know that if I say anything it will be
absolutely horrid and ruin this night even more and as hurt and disappointed as I am at this
moment, I don’t want to upset her because I love her so much more than she will ever know.

“Harry?”

“It’s nothing, Hermione, really.”

She doesn’t seem to like that answer much and tugs my hand to get me to turn around. Her soft
hand touches my cheek and she looks really concerned for me. “Come on, Harry. You know you can tell
me. Besides, I already know that it’s something that I’ve done.” I must give her a pretty surprised
look because she 'tsk's me and shakes her head. “Please, you were chatty before supper and
you’ve barely said a word to me since, and when you have spoken it’s been short answers to
something I asked. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Well, it is you, you’re right about that. But it’s not something you’ve done, not really. It’s
just…” I trail off. I really don’t know how to put this without telling her too much and scaring
her off.

“Just what, Harry?”

“It’s just… well it’s how you look at me.” Yay for ambiguity, I’m a big fan.

“How I look at you? What does that mean? Why would that upset you? I look at you the same way
that I always have.”

Precisely.

“Because of exactly that. I don’t think you see me, Hermione.”

She scoffs at that and I think I may be upsetting her a little. “Honestly, Harry, of course I
see you.”

I shake my head, shaking her hand from my cheek at the same time, and step back from her. “I
don’t think you do. You see that eleven-year-old boy that you met on the train. You see the boy who
goes to you for help with his schoolwork, who needs you to demonstrate the latest charm Professor
Flitwick taught us, who needs you to talk him down when he’s right mad at Snape or Malfoy. But, I’m
not that little boy anymore, Hermione.”

She’s looking at me like I’m daft (she’s been doing that a lot lately). “Of course, you’re not,
Harry. I know that. I know you’re not eleven anymore.”

I shake my head; this just isn’t coming out properly. “I know you know that, but you don’t look
at me like you know that. You don’t see *me*. You don’t see the man who has spent the last
week trying to get you to see him as more than a friend; and you don’t see the man who would give
his life for you; and you don’t see the man who killed Voldemort so that *you* could be safe.
You see that little boy and not the man who wants to be with you.”

She doesn’t say anything for quite a long while and I wonder if I have ended up scaring her. But
she eventually reaches out for my hand and I let her take it. When she meets my eyes again, I can
see tears in hers and I hate that I put them there.

“You’ve given me a week, Harry, one week to deal with everything you’ve been throwing at me and
to figure out what it means. I’ve been so overwhelmed by everything that you’ve been doing that
I’ve hardly had time to think about how I feel and if I do see you as more. But, I’m trying, Harry.
I really am. I just… I think I need some space and time to deal with all this.”

“I don’t want you to have to try, Hermione. I just want it to be there.”

She shakes her head and wipes at the tears on her cheeks. “That’s not how it works, Harry. It’s
not that simple.”

“It was for me.” I argue. “It was more simple than that even. I didn’t have to try or think
about it. It was just there one day.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. But it’s just not there for me.”

Yes, it is, I want to yell, you just have to open your eyes and look. But I know that I can’t
say that. If this, *us*, is going to work, she has to see it on her own; I can’t force it.
But, even though I knew that it is there for her too, hearing her say that it isn’t just broke my
heart. To have the woman that I love look me in the eye and tell me that she doesn’t feel anything
beyond friendship toward me is one of the hardest things I’ve ever endured. But I refuse to give up
hope. She’ll see it eventually; she has to, because the idea that she won’t is too painful to think
about.

I slip my hand from her grasp and step back from her again. I keep my eyes on the ground because
I know that if I look at her I’ll start to cry or say something stupid.

“Okay.”

I see her hand reach for me and I pull back further. “Harry,”

I shake my head. “No, Hermione, really, it’s fine. You can’t feel what’s not there.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, and I can hear the regret in her voice and I know that she truly
believes that she feels only a love for a friend for me.

“Yeah, me too.”

We both decide that dancing may not be the best idea tonight and it’s getting rather late, so we
head back to the castle. We apparate back to the grounds from the same apparition point we used
earlier and the walk across the grounds is made in silence and we’re so far apart that I almost
forget that she’s even with me. When we reach the common room, everyone is sitting around playing
games, chatting, or joking around, but silence reigns as we enter. I watch as Hermione quickly
disappears up the stairs and around the corner before I trudge over to my seat in the corner and
collapse into my chair. I lay my head back and close my eyes, relaxing for the few short seconds
that will be allowed to me.

I hear someone come over to me and sit and I smile when Ron starts cursing and jumps up because
he apparently forgot about the charm we put on Hermione’s chair. He moves over to the third chair
in our corner (his chair, nothing special about it) and I can feel his eyes on me and I know that
he’s dying to ask about my night.

“We’re friends,” I say before he can ask me anything. “Nothing less, nothing more. Just
friends.”

“But, Harry-“

I shake my head slowly. “She just doesn’t feel anything for me, Ron. She knows-thinks she
knows-how I feel about her, and she doesn’t feel the same. So we’re just friends.”

“That’s crazy, Harry. Everyone knows that she loves you. Even Professor McGonagall has commented
on it.” Well, that’s news to me, not shocking, but new.

I open my eyes to look at him and I’m touched to see that he’s actually concerned about this.
“Yes, Ron, I know that everyone knows and I know that she loves me. But that doesn’t matter because
*she* doesn’t know.”

He nods and seems to accept that as a valid point. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Don’t be daft, Ron. Of course, I’m not giving up. What good would that do?”

“Right, so what’s the next plan? Are you going onto Plan C, then?”

I love Ron, I do. He’s like a brother to me. He’s my best mate, but I said it before and I’ll
say it again; he’s really quite clueless when it comes to dealing with girls, especially if that
girl is Hermione.

“No, Ron, I am not going on to Plan C. I believe that would have the opposite effect of what I’m
aiming for. That comes later, much later.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

I shrug and start to set up a game of wizard’s chess, pretending that I need a moment to think,
which I don’t because I’ve had a backup plan ready since the beginning.

“I’m going to give her the space she seems to think she wants. I’m going back to the way things
were before.” I proudly inform him.

Now *he*’s looking at me like I’m daft and I find it bothers me more then when Hermione
does it.

“You’re going to *what*? How do you figure that’ll do anything? Isn’t that what she
wants?”

There you go. “Exactly, Ron. She’s gotten so used to me being there all the time and holding her
hand and being sweet and carrying her bag and doing everything that I wouldn’t do if I were just
her friend. Now, I’m going to stop doing all that. I’m going to go back to being ‘friend’ Harry and
see how much she likes that.”

“What are you getting at, Harry?”

Good, God, Ron, try to keep up.

“You see, Ron, I’ve been laying it on pretty thick this past week and Hermione still doesn’t see
me as anything more than a friend. My theory is that if I revert to being just her friend and
abruptly stop doing what I’ve been doing this past week, she’ll realize that she’s likes it when
I’m more than just her friend.” I see that he still doesn’t get it. “It’s like that saying,
‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ By taking away what she’s grown accustomed to she’s bound to
realize how much she likes it. And, by avoiding her, and there by giving her the space she’s asked
for, she’ll realize how much she likes, nay, loves me. I hope.”

I can see that he’s completely confused, but when I try to break it down further for him he
quickly shakes his head and holds up a hand.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Hermione. Just do what you need to do, Harry.
I’ve confidence in you.”

“Gee, thanks, Ron.”

“But, if you hurt her, in anyway, I will be forced to beat you severely. However, I promise to
try not to cause any long-term problems for you, although you’d probably deserve them.”

“Gee… thanks, Ron.” Though the phrasing is a little scary, I appreciate the sentiment. As much
as he picks at her, he really does care for Hermione. She’s like a little sister to us-him. To him,
definitely not to me because that would make what I want to do to her illegal.



6. This is it
-------------

It’s Sunday now, time for supper and everyone is pouring into the Great Hall, starving, and I’ve
been officially avoiding Hermione and being ‘just friend’ Harry since Friday night. And it’s been
killing me. Usually, Hermione and I spend Saturday walking around Hogsmeade or strolling the
grounds at Hogwarts or just sitting somewhere, chatting. Yesterday, I went to Hogsmeade with the
boys in the morning and we spent the afternoon playing Quidditch. Last night, I went off with
Parvati for another dance lesson (I will put them to use someday) and then went to visit Hagrid, by
myself this time, like I promised I would.

I usually spend Sundays in the library with Hermione either studying for an upcoming test or
reading the Quidditch magazines that she keeps stocked on her table. However, today I spent most of
the day chatting with Ginny (surprised me too) and I discovered that we actually have quite a lot
in common. She’s mad about Quidditch (which I really should’ve known since she’s been a chaser
since her third year), she loves sappy romantic comedies, and her favourite song is ‘I Could Not
Ask For More’ by the muggle artist Edwin McCain (it’s my favourite too) followed closely by
Des’ree’s ‘Kissing You,’ which I happen to know is also Hermione’s favourite song. She loves poetry
(fell in love with it when she read a poem by someone called Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but she
can’t remember the name and hasn’t been able to find it since), she’s a huge fan of Shakespeare and
live theatre, and when you put the two together she’s in heaven.

I’ve taken my avoidance of Hermione to the extreme, I’ve even avoided sitting with her at meals.
I hide outside the Great Hall until she enters and then go in and sit as far from her as possible.
I don’t have to hide today because I am so busy talking to Ginny that I don’t realize what time it
is and we have to make a mad dash for the Great Hall. We slide in minutes before supper is over and
eat as much as we can before all the food disappears. Which isn’t much because we can’t stop
giggling. And I’m having so much fun with her, talking and laughing and trying to eat, that I
almost miss the if-looks-could-kill glare Hermione sends Ginny’s way. But thank Merlin I see
it.

Hermione storms (I feel that this word adequately describes the way she brushes past, close
enough for her arm to sweep across my back,) out of the Great Hall and I’m so happy that my plan is
working that I start to grin madly. I look at Ginny and she’s smirking at me and I’m pretty sure
she knows what I’m up to, but I hope she doesn’t think I’m using her to make Hermione jealous, and
I say exactly that to her.

She laughs and shakes her head. “If I thought that I’d hex you before Hermione could get her
hands on me.”

Smart girl. “Good, because I really have enjoyed talking with you today.”

“Me too, Harry.”

I lift a drumstick to take a bite and it disappears just before it reaches my mouth. I look at
my empty hand in surprise and start to chortle. “Well, I guess that’s that.” I see that Ginny’s
food is gone too. “Are you still hungry because we could always go tickle the pear.”

She gives me a strange look and I decide that that probably sounded pretty odd if she doesn’t
know what I mean. “No, I’m alright, thanks.”

“Okay. So, any big plans for tonight, or would you like to talk some more?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve a paper due in Defence Against the Darks Arts tomorrow and I’ve barely
touched it.”

And that reminds me that in all this bother trying to avoid Hermione I’ve forgotten that we’ve
classes tomorrow and that I also have a paper due, but for Snape, which makes it even worse.

“Bloody hell, me too. Thanks for reminding me, Ginny.”

We stand from the table and head out of the hall; I offer my arm to Ginny, feeling playful and
‘flirty’ (so this is what that means). “May I escort you to the common room, Miss Weasley?”

She giggles, but nevertheless slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. “Of course you may, Mr.
Potter.”

We joke and laugh together all the way to the common room, where we sit on the couch together
and try to tone down the fun and be serious so we can get our work done. It doesn’t work too well,
but we manage too get our papers done eventually.

At one point in the night, when Ginny has said something that’s set me off laughing again, I
look over to Hermione’s corner and see her watching us. I give her a soft smile before turning back
to my work.

* * *

It’s Wednesday before Hermione finally confronts me on my behaviour. I suspect she’s getting a
little suspicious of all the time I’ve been spending with Ginny, which I have to admit has been
quite a lot, but you can’t really blame me because the girl is fascinating. I don’t tell Hermione
that she needn’t worry, that I still love her and always will. I also don’t bother to tell her that
Ginny is mad about Dean. I figure, she shot me down she can think whatever she wants for now, but
I’ll correct her eventually.

“What’s going on, Harry?”

I look up from the assignment I’m working on and lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Ha, I know
perfectly well what she’s on about.

“I mean, you’ve been avoiding me since Friday and now you’re spending all your time with
Ginny.”

“I’m not spending all my time with her. For instance, I’ve no idea where she is at the moment.”
That’s a flat out lie, Ginny ditched me about an hour ago because Dean has apparently noticed that
she exists and wanted to ‘study’ with her tonight.

“Whatever, Harry.”

I can see that she’s about to stomp off to her corner and before she can I grab her hand and
pull her down beside me.

“What’s bothering you, Hermione?”

She huffs, but doesn’t try to leave. “I’m just worried that I’ve done something to upset you,
you’ve barely spoken a word to me since Friday. And we haven’t done anything together at all, you
don’t even eat with me anymore.”

“And?” I prompt.

“And… you’re always with Ginny now. I mean, is there something going on between the two of
you?”

For a very brief moment I feel like jumping for joy because I’m managed to make Hermione jealous
and maybe that will trigger something for her. But it’s very brief because I look at her face and
she looks so worried that I want to kick myself for doing this to her.

So, I decide to offer her a little of indirect reassurance. “Ginny has ditched me to go study
with Dean, the bloke she’s fancied for the last three months.”

She releases a deep breath at this revelation and looks a bit happier. “Oh, well then.”

“You asked for time and space, Hermione.”

“I know. It’s just, I never thought-“

“That I would back off and give it to you?” I finish for her.

She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” She finally looks at me and her eyes are sadder than I can ever
remember seeing them. “I miss you, Harry.”

“I’m right here, Hermione. I’m still your friend.”

“I know that, it’s just it’s not the same.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s right, it’s not the same, we’re just friends now because
that’s what she said she wanted. Funny, she doesn’t seem to want that right now.

She’s silent for so long that I think she’s done talking and I go back to my assignment because
I’m really behind and really need to get it done. I’m surprised that she’s not hiding away working
on something, it is a school night after all, but then again, this is Hermione so she’s probably
been done everything for weeks.

“It’s Halloween this Saturday,” she says and I think maybe it’s a hint because every Halloween
we have a ball (not costume because we’re wizards and witches and Halloween is to us what July 1 is
to Canadians, a celebration of the beginning. A little fact I learned from my good pal Hermione is
that Halloween day used to mark the first day of the wizarding calendar centuries ago).

I nod in response and pretend to continue with my work, but all my attention is really focused
on her.

“Are you going to the ball?”

“I don’t really know yet. I don’t have a date, but I might go stag. I hear lots of people are so
maybe they can hook up with someone there.”

She’s quiet again and I think she’s trying to decide how to take that. “Is that what you want to
do? Hook up with someone there, I mean.”

Now it’s mine turn to look at her like she’s daft. It gets the point across.

“I didn’t think so, you’re really not that type of person.” Would that be the horny teenager
type because I most definitely am that type. “I don’t know if I’m going either, no one’s asked me.”
That could very well be because I’ve threatened everybody with physical abuse should they even
consider it.

I see that for the hint that it is, but I’m not going to take the bait. I’ve done my share
already, it’s time for her to take the initiative and put the moves on *me*.

I will, however, give her a little push in the right direction. “Was there something you wanted
to ask me, Hermione? I really have to finish this assignment.”

Her expression is unreadable to me and I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have acted so oblivious to
what she was saying. “No, nothing.”

Well, that backfired and I honestly didn’t see it coming. Maybe I’ve been doing too good of a
job being her friend. Maybe she thinks that I’m not interested in her any longer. Could she
possibly be that blind? Actually, if the past two years are any indication, yes, yes she could be
just that blind.

She’s getting off the couch and I really don’t think she’s going to say anything to me and I’m
about ready to demand that she go to the ball with me, when she turns around again. She has that
determined look on her face and her hands rise to rest on her hips and I just know that she’s ready
for battle, but I’m not planning to put up a fight.

I struggle to keep my eyes on the parchment in front of me, trying to appear engulfed in my
work. It’s a hard battle.

“Harry, since you’re not going with anyone and I’m not either, why don’t we go together?”

Well, that’s not as nice an invitation as it could be. I, at least, would have asked for a date
and maybe transfigured something into a flower. And, hey, nothings stopping me from doing just
that, so I transfigure my quill into a white rose (her favourite flower) and look up at her with a
smile so wide it hurts a little.

I hold out the rose to her. “I’d love to, Hermione. Really, I thought you’d never ask.”

She’s stunned into silence (something Ron and I thought impossible) and I put the rose in her
hand. Her mouth opens and closes but she can’t seem to think of anything to say, and then she turns
and stomps off to her corner. Ha, good ol’ Potter charm.

* * *

It’s Saturday evening, just two hours until the ball begins and we’ve all decided to go to
Hogsmeade for a nice dinner before the dance (we being Ron, Lavender (Ron’s date, that one was a
surprise as they fight almost as often as Ron and Hermione), Hermione and me). Ron and I are
already dressed in our finest robes (Ron’s are a nice blue that actually goes nicely with his
flaming hair and mine are the shade of green that, Hermione once told me, makes my eyes stand out
beautifully) and are chatting about Quidditch while we wait for the girls.

“You’re mad, Harry. Hufflepuff will squash Slytherin, they have to.”

“I’m not saying that wouldn’t be fantastic, Ron, I’m just saying that Slytherin has a much
better team than Hufflepuff. They really don’t stand a chance.”

“I’d have to agree with Harry. Hufflepuff’s team is horrid.” We both spin around to the new
voice in our conversation to see Lavender standing at the foot of the stairs looking smashing in a
dark purple dress.

I turn to see Ron blushing madly and apparently not knowing what to say, so I step in to give
him a chance to gather his senses. I take Lavender’s hand and raise it to my lips for a quick kiss.
“You look smashing, Lav.”

She smiles at me and looks me up and down. “You’re looking pretty good yourself, Potter. Better
tell Hermione to keep an eye on you or I may be tempted to steal you away.”

“You will not.” Two voices say simultaneously and Lavender and I both laugh. That is until I
look up to where the second voice came from and see Hermione at the top of the stairs.

She’s wearing a fitted gown that’s a few shades lighter green than my robes. Her hair is pulled
up and kind of piled on top of her head (it looks really beautiful) and fairies are sparkling at
her ears, I’ll have to ask her about those. I’m completely speechless as I watch her carefully
descend the steps. I could just stand here all night and admire the way her gown moves with her,
she looks like she’s floating.

When she finally reaches the bottom and is standing in front of me, I can’t think of anything to
say, so I stare at her in bewilderment and she laughs nervously.

“He’s speechless, Hermione, that’s a good thing.” I hear Ron tell her and I still can’t find my
tongue so I smile at her and lean in to kiss her softly on the cheek, close to the corner of her
mouth.

“You look indescribably stunning, Hermione.” I whisper in her ear.

I pull away far enough to meet her eyes and we’re instantly transported to our own world and I
think tonight is the night.

“We should get going or we’ll be late for our reservations.” Leave it to Ron to ruin a perfectly
good moment.

I take Hermione’s hand and place in the bend of my arm, covering her fingers with my free
hand.

“Don’t worry, Ron. The hostess likes Harry… a lot.”

Yeah, that’s right, we’re going to La Chanson d’Amour again, but I plan for this night to turn
out much better than the last one.

* * *

I’m finding it rather difficult to focus on the conversation at our table. I’m more than a
little anxious about is come. All day, I’ve had this feeling that tonight is it, that one way or
another, this quasi-relationship between Hermione and me will be resolved, I just hope that this
night doesn’t end with me feeling like a daft git and Hermione avoiding me, again.

Hermione and Lavender are on about something, Lavender is talking and gesturing madly and, from
the grin on his face, I can tell that Ron is very much enjoying what’s being said. My gaze wanders
around the restaurant and I see a few students from school, but mostly it’s twenty-somethings
enjoying their dates. I understand that, there are few things more enjoyable than a romantic night
with your special someone. They’ve a fantastic DJ who keeps spinning romantic slow songs (‘At Last’
by Etta James had just ended and I recognize the beginning chords of ‘I Could Not Ask For More,’).
As my eyes wander, I see a man handing his girlfriend a small, black box and I gently nudge
Hermione and gesture to the couple. She looks over and we watch as the woman opens the box and
gasps at the gorgeous ring inside. Hermione smiles softly and reaches out to take my hand from my
lap to hold in hers and I think that someday (in the not too distant future) I’d very much like
that to be the two of us.

Drawing my attention back to our table, I glance at my dinner companions. Ron’s whispering
something in Lavender’s ear that makes her grin broadly and look at Hermione and me and I know that
he saw Hermione reach for my hand.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

Hermione is leaning close to me to speak in my ear. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re awfully quiet tonight and the last time you were so quiet you
avoided me for a week.”

I smile at her. “No worries, Hermione. I’m just enjoying the evening.” I give her hand a squeeze
and she smiles in relief.

“Oh, good. I don’t think I could handle another week like this past one. What with you avoiding
me and disappearing for hours on end with Ginny.”

I find this opportunity to be far too good to pass up and I give her my most charming smile.
“Why, Hermione, are you telling that you’re jealous of Ginny Weasley?”

“Oi, what are you two whispering about?”

“Oh, Hermione’s just telling me that she’s terribly jealous of your little sister.”

The both look at Hermione in confusion. “You’re jealous of Ginny, Hermione?” Lavender asks.
“Why? Oh no, you don’t have a thing for Dean, do you?” She whispers this conspiratorially (probably
hoping that I don’t hear) and looks like she’s stumbled on to the best gossip of the year.

“What’s he got to do with anything?” Ron asks, clueless as ever.

I frown at Lavender. “She does not, Lav.” (I don’t think. I mean, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.
She bloody well better not!) I turn on Hermione. “Do you?” I demand.

She scowls at me. “For heaven’s sake, no, I do not have ‘a thing’ for Dean. Honestly,
Harry.”

“What does Dean have to do with Ginny?” Ron asks again.

“Then why would you be jealous of Ginny?”

Hermione huffs impatiently. “I’m not-“

“Because,” I interrupt, “she’s bothered by the amount of time I’ve spent with Ginny lately.” I
puff my chest out proudly. “She’s afraid that Ginny’s gone and stolen my heart.”

“Ha, like that’s possible.” Lavender laughs.

“Yeah, Hermione. I’m not that easy to win over.”

Lavender giggles. “I don’t know, Harry. Hermione really didn’t put much effort into winning
you.”

I watch in amusement as Hermione’s cheeks color. “Well, you know what they say, Lav, you can’t
fight something that’s meant to be.”

“Really, Hermione, he talks like that about you and you’re jealous of Ginny? What are you
think?”

“I am not jealous of Ginny, Lavender.”

“Good.” I squeeze her fingers again and lean in to whisper: “Because you’ve no need to worry.
Ever.” I receive a shy smile for my effort.

“Somebody blood well better tell me what Dean’s got to do with Ginny,” Ron all but shouts.

“Really, Ron. They’re only dating.” Hermione tells him almost too happily and sits back to enjoy
the result of this news.

“What?! I’ll kill that sodding git!”

We all share a laugh at Ron’s expense before we’re kicked out of the restaurant for his
outburst. With profuse apologies from the hostess (“I’m really very sorry, Mr. Potter, sir. Please,
don’t let this little incident keep you away. I’ll talk to the manager, I’m sure I can arrange a
free meal for you. I mean, it is *you* after all.”), we gathered our cloaks and pushed an
irate Ron from the restaurant.

“I told you she likes you.”

* * *

I now find myself sitting beside Hermione in the Great Hall, watching our peers dance the night
away. As usual at this time of year, several pumpkins have been enchanted to float around the room,
their faces aglow with firelight from the candles within. The entire Great Hall has been decorated
with orange and black and a refreshment table set up in the corner is loaded with chocolate bats
(which actually do fly), figurines of black cats that arch their backs and hiss if anyone gets too
close, and various other treats.

I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from Hermione, not that I actually have any desire to. She’s
gazing around the hall, her face alight with happiness, and every so often her gaze lands on me and
she gives me the sweetest smile and I just want to melt (I find it necessary, at this point, to
inform you that I wasn’t nearly this cheesy and soppy before I fell in love with her).

For this special occasion, the professors have found a magnificent DJ who has a great library of
both wizard and muggle music (‘Monster Mash’ by a muggle artist caused an uproar among the younger
students while the older kids rolled their eyes, but had a great time dancing to it nonetheless).
My only complaint is that he hasn’t played many slow songs yet, nothing that I’ve deemed worthy of
my first dance with Hermione.

I soon realize that I’ve complained too soon as the fates are with me tonight. What better song
to dance to with the love of my life than her favourite song. As the first strains of *Kissing
You* by the muggle singer Des’ree (Hermione and I have always shared a fondness of muggle music)
filled the Great Hall, I stand from my seat beside Hermione and offer my hand. I smile at her when
she looks up at me in surprise and pray that she will accept my offer and not laugh in my face. To
my utter relief, she stands from her chair and I take her small hand in mine and lead her to the
center of the dance floor.

My heart is pounding and two thoughts flit through my head: 1. I can’t believe this is finally
happening, and 2. Dear, Merlin, if I step on her feet and ruin this moment I’ll hex myself. I
slowly turn to her and manage a shaky smile as I pull her close (not too close, I don’t want to
freak her out now that we’re finally at this moment). She puts one arm around my back and pulls me
closer (I, of course, go willingly), her head rests on my shoulder. I draw a deep breath, savoring
the wonderful scent of her (parchment, ink, flowery shampoo, and… just Hermione). And I’m so
unbelievably happy that I just want to weep, hold her like this forever, and never move from this
spot. We begin to dance and I wonder if she can feel the mad beating of my heart.

As Des’ree begins to sing of crying souls and kissing (I suddenly understand why this song makes
Hermione want to cry with its beautiful simplicity and truth and I think that maybe Des’ree is a
witch because no song has ever worked such magic on me), I hold Hermione tight and bury my face in
her hair and marvel at my unbelievable fortune. To be here at this moment, with Hermione’s arms
around me and her head resting on my shoulder, is just pure poetry. I wish everyone could feel the
way that I feel at this moment, but at the same time I hope no one else does because this is just
to special to share with anyone.

I lightly trail my fingers up and down her back, barely aware that I’m even doing it, and stop
abruptly when I feel her pull away from me. I look down into her beautiful eyes and don’t bother to
even try to mask any of the emotion showing in mine because at this moment I just don’t care
anymore; I just want to tell her everything that I’ve felt for her and thought about her in the
last two years, but this moment is too perfect and speaking would shatter the spell that seems to
have been cast on us. She briefly returns my smile before I feel her stiffen in my arms and her
eyes widen and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong, but then I see it in her eyes and she pulls
me close and buries her face in my neck. I feel her tears against my skin and for a fleeting moment
I’m absolutely terrified that I’ve read her wrong and she doesn’t love me and that I’ve terrified
her and irrevocably damaged our friendship by letting her see my feelings. But then her hold
tightens and I know that I was right and that she has just realized that she loves me (Bloody hell,
it’s about time!) and that maybe I love her too and I release a breath that I’ve been holding for
the last two years (and silent lament that I didn’t make it to Plan C, which I was rather looking
forward to). Relief and happiness and absolute, pure, unadulterated love flood me and I pull her as
close as I possibly can and bury my face in her hair again and just breathe her in. I don’t say
anything, mainly because I don’t think I could speak at this moment if my life depended on it, and
I can still feel her tears on my neck and I think that crying is a pretty good idea right now, so I
do.

I hear the song draw to a close and I wish that it would just play on forever because this
moment is just too perfect to ever end. But the song does end and neither of us moves. Hermione
just holds me and cries against me and I wish that we could stay like this forever, but the next
song is a fast one and people are starting to bump into us and I don’t like this at all, so I put
my arm around her shoulders and keep her close as I lead her out of the Great Hall and outside. The
moon is bright in the sky and large flakes of snow are falling gently and it’s so romantic that I
wonder is maybe I’m dreaming and I decide that if I am I never want to wake up.

I sit on the top step and pull Hermione into my lap. She’s still crying so I just hold her close
against me and mutter a warming charm so we can sit here as long as we like. Her arms are around my
neck, her tears damp on my collar, and I drop feather light kisses on her hair that I’m not sure
she can feel.

I don’t know how long we sit here-could be five or fifty minutes and I don’t care-when she stops
crying and her hold loosens and she just rest against me. We sit in silence for a long while and
I’ve never been a comfortable or as at peace as I am at this moment. I stroke her back gently and
just enjoy the moment.

She’s the first to speak. “How long?” She whispers so softly that I barely hear her, but I know
exactly what she’s asking.

“Since fifth year.” I answer just as softly and feel her surprise.

“And me?”

I gently kiss her hair and gently squeeze her. “Shortly after me.”

“And you’ve known the whole time?”

“Yes.”

She pulls back then to look at me and I see that her eyes are slightly puffy from crying and I’m
sure she’ll have a headache in the morning and I’m sorry for that. I also see mild surprise and
wonder in her beautiful brown eyes. She doesn’t speak for a while, just watches me, studying my
features as though seeing me for the first time. Which I suppose she is in a way because she’s
never looked at before like she is now, with such love in her eyes and I’m bowed by the look and
feel so honoured that this amazing woman would choose to love me of all blokes, but then I think
that she doesn’t really have a choice, just like I don’t. I was born to love her and I hope that
she was born to love me as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks and I smile and think she must think I’m a real fool if she
expected me to tell her that she was in love with me. I may be a Gryffindor, but even I’m not that
brave.

I raise a hand to her cheek and tell her: “Because you had to see it for yourself when you were
ready. It never would have worked if you weren’t ready for it. It couldn’t be forced.”

“Will it work now?” She sounds unsure and I love it because I suddenly find that I’m unsure as
well. I know I love her and now I know that she loves me, but we are young and it will still be
hard.

But it’s us, it’s Hermione and me, and I know that it will work because how could it not? “Yes,
it will.”

She takes that in and I can almost see her wonderful brain working it over. And then she nods
and rests her head on my shoulder again.

“I know,” she whispers.

And we’re silent again as my hand resumes stroking her back. And, to my surprise, I find that I
don’t need to hear her say it, that just knowing is enough for now and I don’t need to say it yet
because she already knows and she has enough to process tonight. So we just sit together and I’ve
never felt this content in my life and I wonder if anyone has felt so right with the world and then
I don’t care because I have Hermione in my arms and, for now, everything is perfect.



7. Plan C Yet?
--------------

I woke early this morning, the dorm is peaceful in the way it only is when everyone is still
sleeping and it’s absolutely silent and everything is still. I was pleasantly surprised to feel
nothing upon waking. I’m at peace with everything and so blissfully happy that upon waking I felt
nothing. And then reality crashes into me and I remember last night and a wave of emotion washes
over me. I recall the feeling of holding Hermione in my arms when she realized that she loves me,
and how it felt to sit outside on the step and hold her close when, for several long minutes,
everything was right with the world and we were untouchable.

When we finally wandered back inside, the ball was over and everyone had disappeared for the
night (most were likely passed out in various locations throughout the castle or sleeping off the
night in their beds). The halls were deserted and completely silent as Hermione and I made our way
to Gryffindor Tower, holding hands and not speaking. I just want to touch her all the time
(actually, I’ve always wanted to touch her all the time) and just be near her (ditto). We didn’t
talk for the rest of night. When we reached the common room I sat on the sofa and she fitted
herself against my side, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder (we fit perfectly together,
like our bodies were made for each other, which didn’t at all surprise me) and her arm across my
middle, our joined hands rested on my stomach and I had my arm around her shoulders holding her
tight. We stayed there until we couldn’t stay awake any longer and then reluctantly parted, I
really didn’t want to leave her (I happily noted that she didn’t seem to be too keen on the idea
either).

I find that I can’t wait to see her and that I’m dying to talk to her (about everything and
anything, it doesn’t really matter, I just want to hear her voice), but when I look the clock on
the dorm wall I see that it’s still too early for her to be up, she probably won’t be rising for
another half hour, maybe longer consider how late we were up last night. Still, I throw back the
covers and get out of bed deciding that even if I can’t be with her yet at least I can surround
myself with her presence. So I pull on my dressing robe and slip out of the room to go downstairs
and sit in her corner and wait impatiently for her to join me.

I’m both surprised and not at all surprised to find her sitting in her chair with a steaming mug
of, what I assume is, cocoa in her hands and another on the table in front of her as if she was
expecting me. Which, I decide, maybe she was since she knows me better than I know myself so it
wouldn’t be a great shock to learn that she knew I would be up so early. I stop at the foot of the
stairs to just watch her for a little while before she notices me there. I believe I’ve mentioned
before how much I love to watch her, aside from Quidditch and actually being with her, I think it
may be my favourite activity. She’s so beautiful. I’ve searched her over so many times for a flaw,
but I’ve never found one. In my eyes, Hermione is perfection. And she’s mine, finally, and that
thought is almost enough to blow my mind.

Remembering last night, I can’t believe how well I handled it, especially considering that I was
a bumbling idiot while executing my plans. I didn’t even say anything embarrassing last night,
which is quite the feat in itself. I find it endlessly amazing that a simple look from her can turn
me into a bumbling idiot.

She’s noticed that I’m here and she looks at me with a small, sweet smile on her lips (there’s
that pause that my heart always takes when she smiles, I’m finally getting used to it) and such a
welcoming/happy/loving look in her eyes that I fear I may melt. Luckily I don’t. I attempt to take
a step towards her, but don’t release the handrail until I’m sure that my legs are in full working
order. I slowly make my way over to her and sit in my chair (I carefully situated it to be close
enough to hers that I can comfortably look at her, feel the heat from her body, and smell her and,
like Hermione’s chair, I’ve charmed mine to shock anyone who sits in it other than me… and Hermione
of course). She’s still smiling at me and I worry that if she doesn’t stop I’ll go into cardiac
arrest (what a great way to go), but quickly decide that I don’t care if I do because I never want
her to stop smiling, especially if it’s me she’s smiling at. She hands me my mug of cocoa and I
smile my thanks, and we sit back in our chairs at the same time and just relax in each other’s
company.

Several minutes pass before I realize that, though I was dying to talk to her when I came down,
we have yet to say a word to each other. I look over at her with the intention of saying
something-I don’t know what-but she smiles at me and reaches over to take my hand and my mind is
suddenly a blank (something else I’ve grown used to in the past two years). We sit in silence,
holding hands, drinking cocoa and watching the fire and it’s nearly as romantic as it was last
night on the step. And again she’s the first one to talk.

“Good morning, Harry.” It’s so simple and it’s something that I’ve heard her say every single
morning since I came here seven years ago, but it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Good morning, Hermione.” I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb and she gives my fingers a
brief squeeze and it’s all so natural.

I feel her eyes on me and I turn my head to meet her gaze and everything else just fades away
into oblivion and we’re the only two people in the world (my world).

“Did you sleep well?”

I nod. I want to tell her how much I love her and I want to tell her that she’s so beautiful and
so perfect that it makes me want to cry, but now isn’t the right time. That time will come, but
it’s not in the common room.

We sit silently again and I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to take her out and show
her off and shout to the world that she’s mine and that every other bloke out there has missed out
on the greatest thing that life can offer: Hermione’s love. And even thought it’s Sunday and Sunday
isn’t really a date day, I decide that I want to take her out, now, today (one of the many perks of
being a seventh year, we can go to Hogsmeade on any weekend we please). I want to spend the day
with her and only her.

“Hermione,” she turns to meet my gaze with that soft smile and I almost forget what I was going
to say. “Would you like to go out with me today?”

I watch as her whole body relaxes and she starts to laugh (not the side-splitting kind, but the
soft, sexy, breathless kind) and I wonder what’s so funny about me asking her on a date and then
she looks at me again and she’s still laughing and she says: “Goodness, Harry, I was beginning to
wonder if you’d ever ask.”

I start to smile and I wonder what is going on in her head that she thinks I would go through
the trouble of hiding notes, carrying her bag, asking her to the dance, and trying to fulfill her
heart’s every desire and not ask her out on a date.

“Is that a yes then?”

“It’s more like a ‘what are we waiting for, let’s get out of here.’” She answers and I jump to
my feet and pull her out of her chair.

“Go get dressed and I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes.” I tell her and put her hands on
her hips to guide her to the stairs.

We jog up the steps (my hands on her hips the whole way. I love that I can touch her now) and
separate at the top to go to our dorms and my heart is pounding and I feel like laughing and I know
that she feels the same because I can hear her giggling on the way to her room. Sweet, Merlin, I
love that woman.

* * *

It’s been just over a half hour since I sent Hermione to get dressed (I’ve been ready and pacing
the common room for twenty-five minutes) and I’m wondering what’s taking her so long. Then I hear
her door open and I hurry to the foot of the stairs with her cloak in hand, ready for her, so I can
watch her come down and the minute I see her I completely forget that I’ve been waiting for
twenty-five minutes. She dressed in jeans and a green sweater and I don’t think she’s ever looked
better. When she gets to the foot of the stairs, I can’t help myself, I pull her to me and wrap my
arms around her in a tight hug, she’s a little surprised, but she quickly puts her arms around my
shoulders. Her body’s so warm and soft against me that I never want to let her go. All too soon,
she pulls away, but the look that she gives me lets me know that she’ll be back in my arms soon and
there will be more than just hugging on the menu (good god I think the waiting will give me a
stroke).

I put her cloak around her, carefully close the clasp at her throat and take her hand in mine to
lead her from the common room. She slides her fingers through mine and I bring her hand to my lips
to kiss it and, as I do this, I realize that this is the first time that my lips have ever
(purposefully) touched her skin so I do it again.

The castle is quiet as everyone is still sleeping and it’s just like it was last night, only now
we’ve the whole day ahead of us to enjoy and to be together. We walk into a wall of cold air when
we leave the castle and the contrast between the warm castle and the cold day is so strong that I
almost want to go back in, but we continue on. Rather than perform a warming charm, I pull Hermione
close against me (because, really, is there any better way to stay warm than huddling together) and
she slips her arm under my cloak and around my waist. I can feel her shiver against me and as much
as I like my method of trying to stay warm, I’d much rather Hermione be comfortable and, since
that’s very much in my power, I do cast the warming charm and am quite happy when Hermione presses
a kiss to my shoulder and huddles closer to me anyway.

* * *

Several hours later (after a wonderful day of window shopping, actual shopping, and playful
flirting) we’re seated in the Leaky Cauldron enjoying warm butterbeer.

“I don’t know how you managed it, Harry.”

Well, that was a little out of the blue.

“How I managed what?”

“You knew how you felt about me for two years. I look back now and I just can’t understand how
you dealt with it. I mean, if it were me, I would’ve told you years ago.”

I shrug. “I wanted to. I almost did tell you a few times, but I knew that it would never work.”
I set down my bottle and turn to look at her straight on. “I knew that if I pushed you, you’d run
the other way and I also knew that if I tried to make you see it, we wouldn’t work. It had to been
you were ready.”

“So, why now? What made pushing me now okay?”

I grin at her. “You were just taking too bloody long. We’re almost done school and I didn’t want
to risk losing you when we get out there and start careers. So, I figured I’d give you a gentle
push in the right direction and if that didn’t work I’d have to hit you over the head with it.
Figuratively, of course.”

She nods thoughtfully. “And that would be where Plan C came into play?”

I spit out the butterbeer I’d just sipped (I’m quite the catch, I must say. I’m just all
manners) and look at her like she’s just asked if I’d like to see Malfoy’s knickers with him in
them.

“W-what?”

Her grin bears a striking resemblance to that of the Cheshire cat (she made me watch that movie
in sixth year, it’s always been one her favourites… and one of mine since that wonderful
night).

“You know, Plan C. I believe it entailed snogging me and praying that I didn’t hex you for
it.”

“Uh, I-uh-I.” Oh, so I’m back to that. Fantastic, I so missed stammering incoherently.

She leans forward over the table conspiratorially and signals for me to do the same. She reaches
across the table and takes my hand in hers, I briefly wonder if my hand is shaking. She’s looking
at our hands and I notice that she’s not grinning anymore; in fact she looks very serious. I wonder
if I’m in trouble.

“I just wanted to say,” she whispers so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. “That I won’t
hex you,” her eyes lift to look into mine and my brain seems to have short-circuited. “You know, in
case you do decide to go ahead with Plan C.”

My heart is hammering in my chest. Did she just say what I think she just said? Because I think
she just gave me the go ahead to snog her. I’m still staring at her (I probably look like my brain
has leaked out my ear and I think that maybe it has) and I’m pretty sure that I must have heard her
wrong. But then she gives me the sexiest look I have ever seen and she brings my hand to her lips
and nips my knuckles, soothing them with a kiss. And I know that I heard her right and she’s the
sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and there’s no way that I can get up from this table without horribly
embarrassing myself and her, too, probably. So, I choose to continue to stare at her in utter shock
(and not only because it’s the only thing that I seem capable of at the moment).

She’s starting to look unsure, like she’s afraid that maybe she’s said something horribly wrong
(daft woman, like telling me that I’m allowed to snog you as much as I like could ever be the wrong
thing to say) and I think maybe I should say something.

“Oh, uh, alright, then.” That was bloody brilliant.

She looks a little disappointed, which, I admit, makes me a little happy because it means that
maybe she wants to snog me as much as I want to snog her. But I don’t really think that’s possible
because I’ve been waiting two years to snog her and she’s not yet spent twenty-four hours waiting.
Then again, she has, she’s spent just as long waiting as I have, she just didn’t know it. I decide
that I really should put us both out of our misery. Today. But the Leaky Cauldron really isn’t the
ideal place for a spot of romantic snogging, so we’ll just have to suffer a little longer.

I glance out the window and notice that it’s getting pretty dark out there and it’s started to
snow rather hard (can it snow hard? Really, when you think about it, it’s not like snowflakes are
really that heavy. Whereas rain can actually hurt, snow never does. Interesting). The clock on the
wall reads eight o’clock and I think that maybe we should head back to Hogwarts, seeing as we’ve
been in Hogsmeade since early this morning and we didn’t tell anyone where we were going (Voldemort
is dead, but the hundreds of other people who want me dead are not).

I finish my butterbeer with one big swallow. “We should get back.”

Hermione looks up in surprise (she can’t really think that I want this day to end, can she), but
finishes her butterbeer and gathers her cloak. I pick up our bags (her bags, my bag-singular) and
wait for her to get her cloak on and adjusted just right. I follow her out of the Leaky Cauldron
and cast two charms once we’re outside, one to keep us warm and the other to keep the snow off us,
and we head towards school.

Hermione’s walking with her head down and her hands in her pockets and she looks rather dejected
and I just can’t have that, so I reach out and tug at her wrist until she pulls her hand from her
pocket and I can take it in mine.

“Did you have a good day?” I ask her, trying to draw her back to me and out of whatever thoughts
she’s thinking that are making her look so sad.

“Oh, yes, it was wonderful. Thank you.”

I can’t help but smile at her. “Good, I’m glad.”

She doesn’t seem very interested in talking, so I leave her to her thoughts, promising myself
that I’ll cheer her up once we’re back at the castle. Besides, I’ve a few things I’d like to think
over myself, like when would be the best time to snog her senseless tonight. We can’t very well do
it in the common room as everyone will be there and they’ll all watch us and cheer, I’m sure (bunch
of immature gits). There’s always her room. She is Headgirl and, as such, she has her very own
private room with a very comfortable couch that, I recall thinking on several occasions, would be
the perfect place for an extended snog session. I think that’s a brilliant idea. After all, I will
have to go to her room to drop off her bags, maybe I just won’t leave (ever). What’s she going to
do, throw me out? (Yeah, I’d like to see her manage that with my tongue in her mouth). Excellent,
Plan C is going into action risk free as she said she wouldn’t hex me for it.

I feel Hermione stop beside me and realize that we’re standing at the castle doors and, if I
hadn’t returned to earth, I would’ve walked smack into the heavy oak doors. I look around me and
realize that it really is quite a beautiful night and we are all alone and maybe I don’t need to
wait until we get to her room. I see her reaching to pull the doors open and decide that just won’t
do. I set our bags down and tug her hand, pulling her towards me. She’s looking at me, trying to
figure what I’m up to. I move my free hand up and cradle her soft cheek as I slowly lean down to
(finally) kiss her.

“Harry,” she breaths just before out lips touch and holy, sweet Merlin. I must have died and
gone to heaven because nothing on earth could ever be so good as this. She tastes like butterbeer,
chocolate, and Hermione and I’ve never tasted anything like it before, but I decide that it’s the
best taste in the world and I’ve just got to keep tasting if for the rest of my life because I
could never do without it. I wonder how I’ve survived 17 years without tasting her and how I am
going to make it through the times when I can’t be kissing her, which I really hope are few and far
between. Right here and now I decide that any time spent not kissing Hermione will be a colossal
waste of time and I really wish that I never had to breath again. Maybe there’s a way around that,
I am, after all, dating (oh, I like that) the smartest witch at Hogwarts and if any one can find an
alternative to breathing it would be her.

All too soon, she’s pulling away from me and I feel like whimpering and I think maybe I do a
little. I wait for a few moments, thinking that she’s just taking a breath and we’ll be kissing
again in no time. It’s been several seconds now and I finally open my eyes to see her glaring at
someone over my shoulder and now I hear the whooping and cheering that’s drawn her attention. I
turn to look and there’s Ron, Seamus, and Dean laughing and cheering and applauding. Feeling
spontaneous and deliriously happy, I decide to give them a little show. I pull Hermione hard
against me, cover her mouth with mine and dip her back over my arm, snogging her for all I’m worth
and fervently hoping that I won’t regret it later.

I feel her tongue against my lips and forget about our audience as I open my mouth to her. Her
tongue slips past my lips and… wow. I wonder where she learned to kiss like this, but I don’t dare
ask because then I’d have to go kill the bastard. I hope that she learned it from one of her books
because I don’t think I can deal with the thought that she’s kissed other blokes, especially since
I haven’t kissed anyone since Cho Chang because I knew that, one day, I’d be right here doing this
with Hermione and doing this with anyone else would have blasphemous to me.

I feel something hard hit my back and the damn thing jolts me back to reality. I stand up
straight, bringing Hermione with me, and regretfully pull away from her wonderful mouth. As I gasp
for breath I hear one of the lads yell, “Get a room!” That’s a fantastic idea. I pick up our bags
again and reach out to open the door for Hermione.

I turn back to the guys and shout, “See you tomorrow.”

I immediately regret that because Hermione’s scowling at me and she says “Harry” in the way she
always does when she’s about to start in on me for something I’ve done. Then the corner of her
mouth curls slightly and she grabs the front of my cloak and tugs me inside the castle, to the
delight of the blokes outside, who start laughing and wolf whistling again.

We don’t hold hands in the castle because this ‘us’ is still very new and I think we’d both like
to keep it to ourselves for a while. Though, from the looks we’re receiving I’ve the feeling that
our housemates have already filled in most, if not all, the students (and professors) about the
turn our relationship has taken.

Colin Creevey jumps in front of us from Merlin knows where and starts snapping pictures and I’d
like nothing more than to toss his camera from the astronomy tower (after taking all the wonderful
pictures of Hermione and me from it). By the time we reach the portrait to Hermione’s room, we’re
all but running. She breathlessly says the password (green eyes, wonder what that’s about. Hmmm,
let me think) and she takes my hand and pulls me into her room after her and the portrait door
slams shut (I think maybe Colin got a picture of my bum, I’ve been wondering about that boy for a
while now).

We stumble over to the couch and collapse on it; I drop our bags at my feet and rest my head on
the back of the couch. Hermione immediately cuddles up to me and I smile and put an arm around her
shoulders to pull her closer. I hear her say the spell to light the fire and another to dim the
candles around us. She sighs deeply and rests her head against my shoulder and I decide that this
is the best part of the day; I hope it will be a part of all my future days. I can see us, in my
mind, sitting just like this in front of the fire in our home, maybe with a baby sleeping nearby in
a bassinet and I can’t wait to get to that day. That is, until Hermione puts her arm around my
middle and I decide that I’ll like the journey to that day and there’s really no point in
rushing.

I turn my head to press a kiss to her forehead, then pull back to look at her. She lifts her
head to see what I’m doing and the fire catches her eyes. The flames highlight her hair, making it
all kinds of shades of brown, and cast a soft glow on her face and dance in her eyes.

“You were right, you know.” She begins softly.

“Yes, I know. But, just to clarify, would you mind telling me what I was right about. I’m just
right so often that it’s rather difficult to keep it all straight.”

She ignores my teasing; apparently she’s feeling rather serious at the moment.

“When you said it wouldn’t have worked if you forced me to see my feelings,” I pull back to look
at her and she turns her head on my shoulder to meet my eyes. “You were right. I would’ve run and
we would’ve missed out on this. I’m glad that you let me see it for myself. But I’m also sorry that
you had to wait for so long. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, Harry.”

I press my lips to her forehead. “Don’t be. This is our time and I really don’t think it
could’ve happened any sooner. We were too young, too foolish, we would’ve ruined it, ruined
us.”

We lapse into silence again. I can’t believe that we’re finally here, together (we’re an us). I
find it hard to believe that this isn’t another wonderful dream and I’m so bursting with joy and
emotion and love that I can’t go another minute without saying it.

I bend my head to softly brush my lips against hers. “I love you, Hermione.” And then I kiss her
with all the love I feel.

When I pull back we’re both breathless and we gaze at each other for what feels like hours
before she rests her head on my shoulder again and I lean my head back against the couch. I realize
that she didn’t say it, but that’s okay, I can wait. I don’t need to hear it right now.

“I love you, too, Harry.”

Wow, I really did need to hear it.

The End



8. Author's Note
----------------

Hey All,

I just wanted to let anyone who’s interested know that I’m still around. I’ve received several
requests for a sequel to *This Love of Mine* and I am working on it, I plan to write it from
Hermione’s point of view rather than Harry’s. I thought it’d be neat to get her thoughts on what
happened in *This Love of Mine*. It’s looking good so far, though I don’t know when I’ll have
it up. Also, I’m writing a sort of prequel to my other story, *Cravings*. I’ve decided to
write about Hermione’s birthday and the events following that I mentioned in *Cravings*. I
hope to have this one up in a week or so, it will be a one-shot like *Cravings* was.

On a slightly separate note, I’ve started work on a longer story as well. This one will not be
related to either of the stories that I’ve posted so far. I hope to start posting chapters soon,
I’d just like to have a good start on it so I don’t keep people waiting… I hate when authors make
you wait months between posts, drives me mad.

Blissfully Absent-Minded