Heaven and Hell

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.

This particular plot bunny was born while I was watching the closet scene in the movie “13 Going on Thirty.” If you’re a shy, inexperienced teenager, what could be more hellish than being trapped in a closet for seven minutes with someone you barely know? Or with someone you know, but don’t like in that way. Or with someone you like in that way but don’t know if they like you. Or . . . well, I think you get the idea.

Additional notes: I apologize in advance if some of the formatting is off a bit – when I uploaded the chapter, some of the indents didn’t show up properly. Also, I hope it’s kosher on this site to have a hint of G/N. I emailed the moderators but haven’t heard back yet.

Hope you like it. I’m not sure yet if this will be more than a two-part story.

PART ONE: Seven Minutes in Hell

By 11 o’clock that Friday night the Gryffindor common room was empty, except for a handful of fifth and sixth years. The seventh years were all upstairs in the seventh-year boys’ dorm; what had begun as a study session was, from the sound of things, rapidly deteriorating into an impromptu party.

Ron and Harry were in a corner playing wizard chess while Seamus, Dean, and Neville looked on with half-hearted interest. Hermione was curled up in her favourite over-stuffed armchair beside the roaring fire, muttering to herself while her eyes flew over a large dusty tome. Peals of laughter could be heard from the other side of the room, where Lavender and Parvati were talking in excited tones, Ginny looking on tolerantly.

“Hey there, keep it down,” Ron shouted. “We’re trying to concentrate!”

A shriek of mirth from Lavender was his only answer.

“What are they on about now?” asked Ron irritably. Focused intently on his game, he was annoyed by the distraction.

“Hmmm,” answered Harry, desperately trying to come up with a move that wouldn’t get his knight crushed by Ron’s Queen.

“Yeah, they seem a bit more . . . animated than usual,” snorted Dean, “and that’s saying something. Didn’t know Ginny was that keen on Lavender and Parvati though.”

“What’s wrong with Lavender?” asked Seamus.

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” Dean replied. “She’s just a bit too girly for my taste.”

“Sometimes girly is good, mate,” Seamus chuckled. “Especially in certain . . . ahem . . . situations, if you know what I mean!” And he winked mischievously.

“Well, if you put it like that then,” Dean admitted, laughing. “Parvati’s pretty good at the girly thing too, right?”

“Ohhhh yeah,” Seamas laughed. “Parvati’s REALLY good at the girly thing. Ginny, now, I’d love to have a chance to find out how she is at . . .?”

“What do you mean?” Ron and Neville snapped simultaneously. “You’d love to see how Ginny is at what?” Ron jumped to his feet, knocking over the chess board. “You’ve ruined the bloody game,” he snarled.

“No loss there,” Harry mumbled to himself. He wasn’t all that sorry to have the game ruined, considering that he never won.

“Well?” Ron barked.

Under Ron’s intimidating glare, Seamus held up an appeasing hand. “Nothing, Ron. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You take it back then!”

All four boys turned in astonishment. Trembling with suppressed anger, Neville was scarlet, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Say you take it back!”

“All right, mate. Take it easy,” said Dean. “He’s sorry, aren’t you, Seamus?”

Seamus, not usually one to back down from a fight, was so astonished at Neville’s unexpected aggression that he simply nodded mutely.

“Well . . . OK,” Neville sank down into his seat and seemed to lapse into a brown study. Now that the confrontation was over, he was shocked at his own daring. Ron was still standing, looming over the others but somewhat mollified by Dean’s words and Seamus’ apology. He seemed a bit agitated and was trying to process what had just happened. He had a hard time accepting the fact that his baby sister was 15 and more than a little interested in the opposite sex. To make matters worse, she’d filled out over the past year and was getting a fair share of attention from the fifth and sixth-year wizards. Ron didn’t like it; he didn’t like it one bit. The whole thing was bloody unsettling!

“Hey guys,” Lavender’s voice cut through the tension. “You up for a game?”

“But it’s too dark for Quidditch,” Ron said in puzzlement.

“It’s also after curfew,” Hermione cut in reprovingly.

“Quidditch!” Lavender said in disgust. “No, not Quidditch,” she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, is that all you lot ever think about?”

“No, he also thinks about breakfast. And lunch. And dinner,” Ginny snickered. The others all laughed; even Ron let out a reluctant chuckle.

“So what game did you have in mind then?” asked Harry warily.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” giggled Parvati. “It’s a muggle game. My cousin saw it one time in a muggle movie.”

“How do you play it?”

“Well,” Parvati giggled again, “We pair up, picking names out of a hat, and each of us gets to spend seven minutes in the broom closet over there with someone of the opposite sex.”

Neville gulped audibly. Hermione, Harry, and Ron all turned pale, while Seamus and Dean appeared to cheer up considerably.

“Oh yeah, we’re in,” Seamus said, rubbing his hands together.

“Honestly,” broke in Hermione. “Don’t you think we’re a bit too old for that kind of nonsense?”

“Scared, Hermione?” Parvati asked slyly. “You’ve never snogged before, have you?”

Lavender smirked, while Ginny and Harry looked sympathetic.

“It’s really none of your business what I have or haven’t done,” said Hermione loftily. “I just think games like that are childish.”

“So you are scared!” Parvati’s voice was triumphant.

That did it. Above all, Hermione was a Gryffindor; accusing her of fear was like throwing petrol on a fire.

“Of course I’m not scared!” Hermione retorted scathingly.

“So you’ll play then?”

“I guess, if everyone else wants to.” Hermione sounded incredibly bored, but Harry could tell that she was really very worried. Her cheeks were flushed pink, but most revealing of all, she was clutching her book with both hands and her knuckles had gone white. That only happened when she was under the throes of great emotion—usually anger or fear. But Harry knew that it was fear this time.

“How about the rest of you?” Lavender smiled sweetly at Neville, Ron, and Harry. “You up for it then?”

At that moment, Harry grasped the idea that Hermione had been right all along: Lavender and Parvati really were very silly girls. But at the same time, he didn’t want anyone to know how nervous he really was. This was going to be so awkward. No matter who he was matched up with, he was doomed.

“Yeah, of course,” Ron cut in bravely. “Sure. Why not?” He didn’t sound all that happy though.

“Come on everyone, it’ll be fun,” Lavender laughed. “Give us a chance to ‘get to know each other’ better, so to speak,” she grinned.

“Wait a minute,” Hermione cut in. “We have five boys and only four girls. The numbers are uneven. It won’t work.”

“Well, if you’ve got too many guys, I guess I’ll leave the field open to the rest of you and head up to bed. Busy day tomorrow.” Harry turned to go (run) up the stairs. Ron and Neville looked as if they would like to run right after him.

“Wait, Harry,” giggled Parvati. “We’ve already figured a way around that.”

‘You would,’ thought Hermione bitterly.

‘You would,’ thought Harry sourly.

“We’ll put the name of each boy and each girl on slips of parchment. The first girl we pick will be saved for the last two boys. All the others will be paired in order.”

“So one of us will get to kiss two of you,” squealed Lavender.

“Oh, joy,” muttered Hermione.

“Lovely,” mumbled Harry.

With great pomp, Parvati produced a quill and parchment and proceeded to write down the names of everyone present.

“All right then. First I’ll pick the lucky girl who’ll get fourteen minutes in heaven. Drumroll please . . .” and with a flourish, Parvati plucked a name out of the pile. “And the winner is . . . Hermione Granger.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, turned pale, and slumped back speechlessly. ‘Please, just kill me now.’

“Now for the pairing up.” Parvati smiled (nasty smile that girl’s got, thought Harry). “Are you ready?” and she quickly began pulling out scraps of parchment. “First we have . . . Dean and . . . oh,” she paused dramatically, “me! Ginny, you be in charge of timing us.”

Dean beamed, grabbed Parvati’s hand, and headed for the broom closet.

“Humph!” Ginny sniffed, turning up her nose. She and Dean had broken up, but seeing him go into the closet (so eagerly into the closet) with Parvati was still rather insulting.

Everyone waited anxiously. For Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville the next seven minutes crawled by at a snail’s pace. Ginny seemed indifferent, while Seamus and Lavender kept exchanging smiling glances. Aside from a couple of muffled bumps (the closet was VERY small), silence reigned supreme. Finally, Ginny called “Time!” and knocked on the door. Parvati and Dean emerged smirking and Parvati went right to the parchment pile.

“Let’s see here (smoothing her ruffled hair) . . . next up are . . . Neville and . . . Ginny!”

Ron glared at poor Neville, who swallowed and, avoiding Ron’s gimlet eye, met Ginny at the closet door.

They emerged seven minutes later, Neville visibly stunned, as if he’d been hit in the head by a bludger; Ginny was smiling demurely. Before Ron could cause Neville any more grief, Parvati had selected the next couple: Seamus and Lavender. Which left . . .

Ron turned red; Harry turned white; Hermione turned to stone.

Laughing, Seamus and Lavender almost ran into the closet, from which squeals and short bursts of laughter were soon heard.

“Well,” Parvati said rather enviously.

“Looks like you’re going to have a chance to ‘broaden your friendship’ with Ron and Harry then, eh Hermione?” Dean said with a wink.

“At the same time?” squeaked out Ron. Harry looked ill.

“No, of course not, silly,” sniggered Parvat. “She’ll go with you first and then finish up with Harry.”

‘Finish up with Harry. That’s a great way to put it,’ Harry thought. ‘I’m doomed.’ He collapsed onto the couch beside Neville, who was now looking somewhat pleased and smiling to himself.

‘This could not possibly be worse,’ Ron thought to himself. ‘If I snog her, she’ll probably slap me silly or hex me into next week. If I don’t snog her, she might think I hate her and start crying. Either way, I’m dead.’

The minutes ticked by. Parvati knocked on the door. Seamus and Lavender tumbled out of the closet--Lavender’s hair askew and Seamus’ face smeared with bright pink lip gloss.

“All right then,” giggled Parvati. “Go ahead Ron. Hermione.”

Feet dragging, his face rivaling his hair, Ron slunk to the closet.

“Oh honestly, Ron,” Hermione scolded, stalking up to him. “You look as if you’re going to your own funeral. Grow up, for heaven’s sake!”

“Grow up!” Ron exploded. “I suppose you’re just fine with all this. Read about it in a book somewhere did you? Think you can give me pointers do you?”

“Oh right, like you’re so experienced, Ronald Weasley. You just . . .”

SLAM!!!

And for the next two or three minutes, everyone in the common room was treated to the muted sounds of bickering and squabbling, as Ron and Hermione continued to argue from inside the depths of the broom closet.

Then --

Total silence.

‘What are they doing in there?’ Harry worried. ‘It’s too quiet. Maybe they decided to make up and right now they’re . . .’ The mental picture this conjured up was too horrible to contemplate.

“Wow, Harry. Looks like you’re going to have a lot to live up to mate,” snickered Seamus. “Haven’t heard a word out of them for a while. Maybe there’s more to ‘ickle Ronniekins’ than we thought!”

Ginny, who had gone to sit beside Neville (much to his delight), rolled her eyes.

“Maybe she’s put a full-body bind on him.” Neville added, only half-joking.

“Maybe she’s killed him,” suggested Ginny, laughing. “Or they’ve killed each other.”

“Times up,” yelled Lavender.

‘Maybe someone should just kill me,’ thought Harry.

PART TWO: Almost Heaven

Suddenly the door flew open and Ron strolled out of the closet. He was smiling broadly. “Your turn mate,” he said cheerily, holding the door open for Harry and slapping him on the shoulder.

Harry gulped as seven pairs of eyes bored into him. His feet felt like lead and cold sweat trickled down his back. ‘What am I going to do? What is she going to do? What did they just do?’ He was actually relieved when the door shut and he was left in the dark, where no one could see his shaking hands.

“Err . . . um, Hermione?” he stammered, afraid to reach out in case he touched something he shouldn’t, but at the same time feeling completely disoriented in the pitch black of the closet.

“Right here, Harry.” She sounded perfectly normal.

“Where?”

“Here,” and he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

“Oh.” Silence.

“Harry?”

“So, um, how . . . um . . . how was . . . er . . . it?” he managed.

“It?”

“You know, you and Ron.”

“Ron and I, what?”

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, it, you know . . . it seemed like you two were really going at it at first, and then . . .”

“Really going at it?” she sounded annoyed.

‘Brilliant. That came out well.’

“I mean, going at it like you always do. Bickering and arguing and—you know.”

“Oh. Well, we seem to do that a lot,” Hermione noted.

“Umm-hmmm.”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“You know why, don’t you? Why Ron and I argue all the time?”

“Yeah,” said Harry dully. “You like each other.” For some reason, the thought depressed him.

“Of course we like each other,” Hermione said in surprise. “He’s one of my best friends. But sometimes he just gets me so angry!”

“No, I mean you like each other.”

There was a moment of silence. Beads of sweat formed on Harry’s forehead and he began to feel slightly faint.

“Oh, you mean that kind of like. No, we don’t,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Honestly, Harry. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed!” She was sounded annoyed again.

“Noticed what? I thought . . . I think everyone thought . . .”

“That the reason we fight so much is to hide our undying love for each other?” asked Hermione sarcastically, rolling her eyes in the dark. “No. We fight because we’re so different.”

“You and I are different and we don’t fight,” Harry responded, confused.

“Our relationship is totally different, Harry,” Hermione said quietly.

A light-bulb suddenly went on in his head and Harry smiled to himself in the dark, feeling a slow tingling warmth creep up his body.

Hermione had said that they had a relationship. He and Hermione. What was the difference between a relationship and a friendship, he wondered? What did she mean exactly? Was a relationship more than a friendship? Was it less? Did it refer to romantic feelings? But then you could say that he had a relationship with Ron and he certainly didn’t think of Ron that way. Relationship just meant that you were able to relate to the other person on some level, didn’t it? Or you were related to them? No, that wasn’t it either.

He shuddered. Oh bollocks, he was acting like a girl—twisting himself into knots over words! He could almost hear Ron now, ‘Bloody hell, Harry, who knows what girls mean? They’re mental half the time. Crying one minute, happy the next—what’s a bloke to do? There’s no understanding them.’

Hermione would know, Harry thought. She was brilliant at figuring out emotions—look at how she’d explained Cho’s feelings to him last year when he was so confused. But he couldn’t very well ask her to explain this time, could he? And he certainly he didn’t want to think about Cho, especially while he was here in a broom closet with Hermione; a very small broom closet. It made his stomach hurt. He didn’t feel all that well really. His head hurt too.

Hermione coughed and Harry snapped back to reality, his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Hermione. When Ron came out of the closet a minute ago, he had this huge smile on his face. Why was he so happy if you two weren’t snogging in here?”

“Do you think that snogging is the only reason for someone to smile, Harry?”

“No, of course not.” ‘Sure wouldn’t mind giving it a go all the same,’ he thought. Then out loud, “What was he so happy about then?”

“Well, after we stopped arguing, we had a discussion about our friendship and how important it is to both of us. He told me that I’m one of his best friends and what a difference I’ve made in his life,” Hermione choked with emotion. “It was so sweet. Then he hugged me, and . . .”

“He hugged you?” Harry broke in sharply.

“Well, it was more like we hugged each other. Anyway--”

“You hugged each other? So who hugged whom? Did you hug Ron and then he hugged you back, or did Ron hug you and--”

“Oh Harry, what does it matter!” asked Hermione impatiently.

“Because . . . because” Harry sputtered inarticulately. “It just . . . oh, I don’t know!”

“Humph,” Hermione huffed indignantly. “ANYWAY. . . if I may finish?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” said Harry grumpily.

“Thank you! Well, as I was saying before I was ‘interrupted,’ after we hugged--”

“Humph!”

“Harry!”

“Sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry, just incredibly cross.

“After we hugged—just like you and I have hugged, I might add--”

“What do you mean, ‘just like you and I have hugged,’ ” Harry grilled her.

“Exactly what it sounded like. Why are you cross-examining me like this, Harry?”

“I’m not! I just--”

“Harry, will you please let me finish?” Hermione sounded very exasperated.

“Right.”

“After our WE-ARE-FRIENDS-AND-THAT’S-WHAT-FRIENDS-DO-WITH-NO-OTHER-HIDDEN-MEANING-hug,” she almost shouted, “we talked about . . . well, we talked about how we didn’t have romantic feelings for each other any more.”

“Any more?”

“We had a bit of a crush on each other, back in fourth and fifth year,” Hermione admitted. “But,” she continued, “I think we both came to realize that we wouldn’t be good together in that way. He needs a girl who admires and looks up to him—which I do, of course, sort of . . .”

‘Ha! Sort of!’

“. . . and I need someone who . . .”

Silence.

“Someone who what, Hermione?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Someone who . . . who. . . um--”

Was Hermione stammering?

“Someone who loves me for myself—the way I really am and not the way he wants me to be,” Hermione finished, so softly that Harry had to lean closer to catch her words.

The broom closet grew quiet once again as Harry attempted to process Hermione’s words. He wasn’t quite sure what he should do, but a small snuffle from Hermione was his first inkling that he needed to do something.

“Hermione,” Harry said gently, groping out blindly in the shadows and finding her hand, “any wizard would be lucky to win the love of a witch like you. You’re smart and you’re funny and you’re brave and you’re pre. . .”

A sniff interrupted him. “Harry, I can’t imagine anyone describing me as funny. Lavender and Parvati are always telling me to lighten up. Even Ginny thinks I don’t know how to have fun.” She sniffed again, wiping her eyes with one hand while holding tightly to Harry’s with the other. “I mean, honestly! Here I am in sixth year and I’ve never had a boyfriend or even had a date since fourth year. It’s really quite pathetic.”

Harry chuckled softly. “‘Pathetic’ is not a word I’d ever use to describe you, Hermione. Lots of people get to sixth year without ever having a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

“Name one,” challenged Hermione.

“Well, there’s Ron,” and then under his breath “although for a wizard without a girlfriend he certainly seems to get plenty of hugs,” continuing in a normal voice, “and there’s Neville.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about Neville after tonight,” chortled Hermione. “Did you see how he and Ginny were behaving after they came out of the closet?”

“How they were behaving?” Harry repeated. “They seemed normal to me.” He was obviously without a clue.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione chuckled. “Ginny was smiling and Neville looked rather stunned.”

“He looks like that a lot,” noted Harry.

“This was different,” insisted Hermione. “He’s liked her for ages. Didn’t you know?”

“No, I didn’t, but if you’re right, don’t say anything to Ron,” laughed Harry. “Neville doesn’t need ‘big brother’ on his back!”

“I don’t know,” Hermione inserted slyly. “The way Luna’s been acting lately, Ron might not have much time to hover over Ginny.”

“Luna? You think . . .?”

“Yes,” said Hermione firmly. “I do.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean,” asked Harry indignantly.

“Harry,” Hermione giggled, “you’re a wonderful person, but when it comes to noticing certain things, well—you know.”

“Yeah,” said Harry glumly. “That’s probably why you can add another person to your list of ‘never-had-a-girlfriend.’ Me.”

“You’ve had a girlfriend, Harry. What about Cho?”

“She was never my girlfriend,” he protested. “We went to Hogsmead once, and you know how that turned out. Complete fiasco. And before that there was that thing with the mistletoe where she . . .” he shuddered, “cried.”

“OK, we won’t count Cho then. But Harry, you could have any girl you wanted. You know that.”

“Because of the whole ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ nonsense,” Harry snorted.

“NO! Well, that might be what attracts them to you at first, but no. Because of whom you are: loving, handsome, caring—and the best friend anyone could have.”

‘Handsome! Loving? Him?’

“I think you’re the only witch who knows the real ‘Harry,’ Hermione. Do you honestly think I’m all those things?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do. All those things—and more.”

“Really?” Very softly.

“Really.” Even softer.

Harry reached out with his free hand and found her face very close to his own. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid she could hear it. “Hermione . . . I--”

BANG! BANG!

“Ouch!” Startled, Hermione had jumped and bumped Harry’s chin with the top of her head.

“Oi there, you two,” shouted Ron. “What’s going on in there? Quit talking, Hermione, and tell him!”

“RON!” Hermione snapped.

“Tell me what,” inquired Harry.

“Nothing!”

“It’s not nothing,” Harry insisted somewhat ungrammatically. “Tell me what?” he repeated.

“Oh, it’s just that, well, when we were talking earlier, Ron asked me—Has it been seven minutes yet?” she yelled out suddenly.

“NO!” chorused Ron, Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Seamus, Parvati, and Dean.

“I think they’re listening at the door,” Harry noted.

“Humph,” Hermione huffed. “Just wait until I get out of here; I’m going to--”

“What did Ron ask you?”

“Erm . . .”

“Yes?”

“Well, we started talking about how it seemed so ridiculous, the idea of us snogging. And then, he asked me-- well, he asked me what kind of person I would like to snog with.”

“And,” Harry prompted. “What did you say?”

“I told him. And then he asked me . . . well, he asked me . . .”

She’d done it again! Twice in one day. Usually he was the one stuttering and stammering. “So he asked you . . .?”

“HeaskedmehowIfeltaboutyou,” she blurted out very quickly.

“What did you say?”

“I told him that, well, that, we’re best friends.”

“Oh,” Harry sounded somewhat disappointed.

“We are, aren’t we?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes, of course we are,” Harry said. “But why did Ron think you needed to tell me that we’re best friends. I already knew that.”

“Umm, yeah, I guess.”

Nothing.

“Hermione?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Why did Ron think you needed to tell me that?”

“I don’t know,” she said evasively.

“Hermione, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything. Was there something else Ron wanted you to tell me?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Ummmm,” she took a deep breath, “thatIlikedyouasmorethanjustafriend. IS OUR TIME UP?” she shrieked in despair.

“NO!!!” seven voices again replied.

“They are listening at the door!” Hermione said frantically. “Oooo, just wait until . . .”

“Hermione?”

“Yes?” she squeaked. She sounded flustered and embarrassed; very unlike her usual composed self.

“Is it true, what you just said?”

“Yes,” she replied in a very small voice. She cleared her throat and began to speak very quickly. “This is such a silly game, don’t you think? A complete waste of time, especially when we have N.E.W.T.s coming up in just over a year and then there’s our homework for--”

“Shut it, Hermione,” Harry said, very softly. And he proceeded to rub his thumb over her bottom lip.

“W-what do you m-mean?” she murmured. He was still rubbing her mouth. It was really very distracting. She couldn’t think. Why couldn’t she think? Then she felt the softest trace of someone’s lips on hers and her brain shut down completely.

Harry had also given up any attempt at thought. It was all about feeling. Feeling Hermione--the warmth of her lips, the softness of her hair--

“Mmmmmm, Harry,” she whispered as their lips came apart. “That was—mmmm.”

“Yeah,” he agreed huskily. She rested her forehead on his chin, both of them breathing in short, rapid pants.

Harry was having trouble believing that this was happening. He had kissed HERMIONE! She wasn’t mad--she wasn’t even crying--and he wasn’t making a fool of himself. His only other kissing experience, with Cho Chang under the mistletoe last year, had been one step short of disastrous. But this felt so . . . so right. Kissing Hermione was everything a first kiss should be. And in many ways, this was his first kiss—the first kiss he had initiated at any rate. He was utterly overwhelmed by sensation—the taste of Hermione, the scent of Hermione, the feel of Hermione . . .

Hermione was also having trouble believing. She had read about first kisses, rather extensively in fact (several of the Muggle magazines she had read over the summer had been very informative, although diagrams and/or pictures would have helped improve the quality of the articles, she had thought critically at the time), but nothing in any of the books had prepared her for this: Harry’s taste—sweet and spicy at the same time; Harry’s scent—a mixture of fresh air and that lemony-spicy soap he used; Harry’s touch—gentle and innocent, but with a hint of the passion she knew he kept inside . . .

Then Harry reached out and brought his hands to Hermione’s wrists. He began gently tracing his fingertips up and down her arms; she shivered deliciously.

“Harry . . . I . . . Oh, that feels so good,” she sighed, rubbing her head dreamily against his chin.

“This is really amazing,” Harry said in astonishment. “I mean, really really amazing, Hermione. I never realized how much I . . .”

“Me too,” Hermione breathed.

“Is it all right if . . . ?”

“Yes.”

Harry dropped his hands to her waist and with a sudden motion tugged Hermione against him and dipped his mouth down to hers. She reached up and wove her fingers through the soft tangles at the nape of his neck. Pulling her even closer, Harry slowly, tenderly, deepened the kiss. He felt Hermione’s lips part slightly, her breath gentle and sweet. He knew she could feel him trembling, but he didn’t care.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He was kissing Hermione and she was kissing him back!

Rational thought fled. He reached out hesitantly with his tongue, gasping when he felt her respond. Hermione’s hands moved up and down the back of Harry’s head, clutching at his hair, snatching fistfuls of it as they kissed with more and more urgency. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and his hands roamed wildly from her lower back, to her face, to her neck.

“Hermione,” he murmured against her lips, “I just--”

BANG! BANG!

“Time,” sang out Ginny. And she yanked open the door.

A/N What do you think? I originally planned for this to be over in two parts, but maybe I could continue. If I do, any ideas about what should happen next?

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.