Author's Note: A big "thank you" to everyone who reviewed-you have no idea how much those reviews meant to me. Feedback truely is an author's lifeblood.
At the end of Part Two I asked for opinions as to whether this story should continue. I really did envision it as a two-part ficlet; however, most of you seemed to feel a conclusion was in order. Thus, Part Three was born. Hope you like.
Disclaimer: I am not (I'm sure this is obvious to all) J K Rowling. All characters sprang from her brilliant mind, and I am but a humble acolyte.
PART THREE: LET THEM TALK!
For a long moment, nobody said a word. Seven Gryffindors stared into the depths of the closet; seven pairs of eyes riveted by the sight of a flushed Hermione and an equally red Harry, frozen in place. Then, as if of one mind, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny burst into a spontaneous round of applause.
"Brilliant, you two," shouted Ron. Cheers and whistles followed.
"Yeah!"
"About bloody time!"
"Thought we'd have to put a locking charm on that door and keep you in there for the rest of the night!"
"Hey, what's going on down here?" yelled one of the seventh-years from upstairs. Within seconds, doors began opening throughout Gryffindor tower, as curious students came out to see what all the commotion was about.
"Harry and Hermione!" shrieked Parvati, giggling.
"Snogging!" hollered Dean.
"Knew you had it in you, mate!"
"Whoo-hooo!"
Stricken, Hermione turned to stare at Harry. Their eyes met and a look of horror came over her face. With a gasp, she wrenched herself out of his arms and barreled from the closet, almost knocking Ginny over. Without breaking stride, face flaming, she flew through the portrait-hole and out of the common room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was after curfew. Harry stood there, gaping at the seven curious faces intently fastened on his.
"Harry, what happened?" asked Ron eagerly.
"I think that should be pretty obvious, even to you," said Ginny dryly. Then, turning to Harry, "So how . . ."
Her words fell on deaf ears as Harry snapped out of his trance, bolted out of the broom closet, and bounded up the stairs to his dorm, ignoring the throng of interested Gryffindors peering out of doorways.
"Cor," Seamus exclaimed, stunned. "What's the deal with those two then? You'd think a good snog would have cheered them up a bit! Or that they'd at least be running in the same direction. Barking mad, the pair of them."
Ginny made as if to go after Hermione, but a firm hand on her arm held her back.
"Let her go, Ginny," said Neville. "They need to handle this in their own way."
She glanced at him in surprise. "But . . ."
"Neville's right. Let them be," agreed Lavender. "They're both probably feeling pretty confused right now."
"What's there to be confused about?" protested Ron. "Things seemed pretty clear from where I'm standing."
Lavender rolled her eyes.
* * * * * * *
Running towards his trunk, Harry flung open the lid and dug frantically through assorted shirts and rolls of parchment until he found what he was looking for. With a quick movement, he pulled out his invisibility cloak, threw it over his head, and opened the Marauder's Map. A dot labeled "Hermione Granger" was moving swiftly in the direction of the lake. As quietly as possible, Harry snuck down the stairs, through the common room, and out the portrait hole.
Moving along the corridor, he glanced once more at the map. The Hermione Granger dot had turned away from the lake and was racing in an erratic fashion towards the forbidden forest.
"What the--?" Harry muttered to himself.
He picked up his pace and almost ran through the corridor, no longer caring how much noise he made, caring only about reaching Hermione. Frenzied thoughts darted through his head as he tore out the castle doors, his heart pounding.
'What did I do wrong?" he agonised. "She said she liked me, and those kisses were . . . they were . . . wow . . . but maybe it was just the whole broom closet atmosphere thing. When the door opened and she saw everyone staring at us, she probably felt so ashamed and embarrassed that . . . Oh what if I've bloody wrecked everything? I probably scared her, jumping on her like that. And this is Hermione. If she has time to think, she'll probably . . ." and his thoughts darted wildly about.
Taking another quick look at the Marauder's Map, Harry saw with concern that Hermione had entered the forbidden forest.
* * * * * * *
Hermione's flight ended abruptly when she crashed into the forest's thick undergrowth and foliage. She leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, panting, and fought to catch her breath. Closing her eyes, she could still picture the expression on Harry's face when he saw everyone watching them. And then when they all started hooting and whistling . . . Heremione groaned aloud.
'What is he thinking?' she wondered in anguish. "There's nothing Harry hates more than being the center of attention. Nothing! And now, thanks to me-thanks to my stupid lack of self-control over my stupid big mouth and my stupid hormones, there's going to be even more gossip about him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,' banging her head after each "stupid." 'Honestly, after that display . . . If Rita Skeeter finds out . . .' her eyes filled with tears and she sank down onto the mossy forest floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her head in her arms.
Hermione was so absorbed in her unhappiness that she didn't even hear Harry's approach. Once he realised that she was not going to go deeper into the forest, he slowed his pace to a walk and made his way towards her as quietly as possible. He heard her before he saw her.
She was sitting huddled on the ground, her small frame shaking as she sobbed brokenheartedly. Harry stood there for a long while, aching to comfort her, but unsure how.
'Come on you idiot,' he chastised himself, 'you need to do something. If it were you sitting there crying, Hermione would know what to do. She wouldn't just let you blether on alone.' And he remembered all the times she had been there to comfort him. All the times she had just been-there--for him. He thought about her courage, her caring.
Harry leaned down and gently touched her shoulder.
"Hey," he said softly.
"H. . . H . . . Harry?" she looked up through a film of tears. "Is that you?"
He pulled off the invisibility cloak and dropped down beside her. Overcome with shame, Hermione looked down and hid her face in her hands, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of her tear-stained countenance. The look on her face broke his heart.
Acting on instinct, he reached out with both arms and drew her against him. Embarrassed, she averted her face and tried to pull away; Harry tightened his hold. With his right arm still firmly around her, he reached out with his left hand and pulled her resisting head onto his chest. At that, Hermione stopped struggling and gave in to her tears. Harry rubbed her back as she sobbed, soaking the front of his shirt before she managed to get control of herself. With a final sniff, she started to raise her head, but was stopped by a slight pressure as Harry moved his hand from her back to her hair, stroking the soft, bushy curls.
He held her like that for a long while. Exhausted by her outburst of emotion, Hermione rested in Harry's arms. Eventually her face found its way to the nook between his neck and his shoulder. He continued patting her hair, strangely moved by the experience of being the one to sooth her.
Silence.
Then, "I'm so sorry, Harry," she said in a shaky voice.
"Sorry for what?" he asked quietly.
"For what I did. For embarrassing you in front of everyone."
"Hermione, you didn't embarrass me-and we kind of did it together."
"Oh Harry, I saw your face when Ginny opened the door and everyone was looking at us-yelling and whistling . . ."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the shock of that moment. Unfortunately, Hermione choose that instant to look up and caught his expression. With a strangled cry, she jerked away and leapt to her feet.
Startled, Harry toppled backwards, sprawling sideways on the ground.
"Hermione, wait!" he croaked, jumping up.
Hermione knew that running away again was futile; Harry was taller and faster than she was and would catch up to her in an instant. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Less than one hour ago she had been in the broom closet, being kissed by the boy she had loved for so long. Whimpering, she turned and leaned against the bark of one of the old oaks that populated the forbidden forest. Then, she felt the touch of Harry's hands tugging at her shoulders.
"Don't," she breathed.
"Hermione, please. Look at me," and he turned her around to face him. But she wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him.
"Harry, I know you're trying to make me feel better. Please stop. It's not going to help. I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually such a human hosepipe-bawling and carrying on like that. You have every right to be upset with me."
"I'm not upset with you," he protested.
She let out a watery hiccup. "Harry, it's all right. I understand. That Daily Prophet article during third year is probably going to look like an innocent, harmless little fairytale compared to what's coming up once Rita Skeeter hears about our amazing 'broom closet snogfest.' I can just see the headlines now, 'The Boy-Who-Lived Lives It Up,' or 'Trapped in a Broom Closet: How the Ugly Mudblood Managed to Get Her Claws Into the Most Famous Wizard of Our Time - a Rita Skeeter Exclusive.' " She gave a bitter laugh.
"Stop it!" Harry said angrily. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You're not ugly and I wasn't trapped!"
A rather unladylike snort greeted these words.
"Well, what I mean is," Harry continued, somewhat flustered, "we were both trapped in that closet-not that I minded," he added hastily, taking her hands in his.
"Oh, Harry, you don't need to feel guilty about this. It's not your fault," she spoke very fast, looking intently at his feet while she raced on, her hands waving wildly about in emphasis. "We're both teenagers, and probably lonely sometimes, and well, things happen. Nobody will think anything of it if we just act the same as always and go about our daily business. The best way to stop the gossip is to throw ourselves into our studies, since the N.E.W.T.s really are only a year and a half away and . . ."
Harry let out an exasperated grunt. She kept going on, her words spilling out faster and faster as she lectured his shoes.
". . . let all the others spend their time gossiping and fooling around-wasting their time. We'll buckle down to some serious studying and you'll get your homework done and eventually the talk will die down like it always does and then things can get back to normal, except that you'll get really good marks on your N.E.W.T.s. Not that you wouldn't get good marks anyway; I mean I have faith that you'd--"
Harry cut off her flow of words in the only way he knew how-he clamped his hand over her mouth. (A/N: got you there, eh? Heehee)
"Hermione, will you please shut up for a minute and listen to me?"
"Mfffff," she finally tore her eyes away from their fascinated perusal of his shoes and glared at him.
"OK, if I take my hand away, will you promise to listen?"
She nodded, still glaring.
"All right," he moved his hand. "I really do need you to listen-nuh, uh," he chastised, seeing her about to open her mouth. "You promised!"
She subsided and resumed her study of Harry's feet.
"Uh, Hermione? Could you look at me please?"
With obvious reluctance, she raised her eyes to his.
"All right, Miss Granger, I've got four things to say to you. Number one: I don't feel guilty about what we did. Number two: You are not, I repeat not ugly, you are very . . . erm . . . pretty in fact," he blushed, "and I won't let anyone talk about you that way-including you! Number three: Who cares what the Daily Prophet and that Skeeter hag say-she's rubbish and so's that rag they call a newspaper. And number four: I don't want to spend all my time studying and I certainly don't want to act the same as always! Found that I rather . . . um" he coughed somewhat nervously, ". . . liked the way we acted back there." he finished, flushed and triumphant.
"That was five," Hermione said shyly.
"Huh?"
"You said you had four things to say to me. That last one, about not wanting to act the same as always. That's five."
Harry stared at her, stunned. Then he saw the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips (those soft, really full lips that felt so . . .) He made a visible effort and snapped back to reality. "Five things," he repeated.
"Yes five. I was listening very carefully, because I promised to do so, and you specifically said that you had five--"
His hand was back, covering her mouth.
"Hermione?"
"Mffffffff?"
"Will you please shut up?"
And since he removed his hand and immediately replaced said hand with those wonderful lips of his, she really had no choice. Hermione Granger shut up.