Summary: Hermione Granger has been in love with Harry Potter since the middle of fifth year-she thinks the feeling is mutual and she's tired of waiting. Now Hermione is a very smart witch; when she sets out to achieve a goal, the realization of said goal is generally in the bag. A tale about what happens when Hermione gets fed up and Harry gets woken up.
Rating: PG13 for some intense snogging (eventually dear reader-be patient!) and occasional innuendo.
Disclaimer: Nope. I'm not JK Rowling. This will become fairly obvious as the story progresses and my lack of brilliance shines through. Therefore, all recognisable characters belong to her and her alone. Only the plot is mine.
Waking Up Harry
Chapter One: The Plan
There are limits to a girl's patience, and Hermione had reached hers.
A change in strategy was called for-something more daring, perhaps? A full-on all-holds-barred snog? Jump him, grab him, and kiss the living daylights out of him? No. Far too risky (not to mention terrifying. True, she was a Gryffindor, but even Gryffindor courage has its boundaries). Well, considering Harry's advanced state of cluelessness, maybe something utterly obvious and impossible to miss. Along the lines of a bludger to the head? No. Too painful. Hmmmm. What to do? What to do?
How about subtle but relentless? Break down his barriers one by one, leaving him weak, defenseless, and begging her to put them both out of their misery and . . . ? Yes, that was it! That had definite possibilities-certainly worth a try. Now she only needed to work out the details, and Hermione was very good at working out the details. One could say that she was truly detail-oriented; known for it throughout the school in fact.
Hermione Granger was in her sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Almost assured the position of Head Girl next year and the brightest student to come along in well over a hundred years, Hermione's academic life was spot-on track. And she loved her studies; she really did. Parts of her social life were not bad either-in fact she'd been best friends for over five years with two of the most eligible bachelors in the wizarding world: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. And therein lay the problem.
Harry James Potter: AKA The-Boy-Who-Lived, emerald-eyed, raven-haired, Seeker extraordinaire, best friend, sometimes giant prat, and Hermione's secret love. For the past couple of months or so, she and Harry had been engaged in a subtle dance of "how-far-can-I-go-and-still-be-your-best-friend." A glance here, a touch there, a hug before and after a Quidditch game . . . the odd kiss on the cheek. This was all very well, but Hermione was tired. She wanted more-quite a bit more actually. And being the smart witch that she was, she was pretty sure Harry did too. Only perhaps he didn't know it yet.
Helping him realise his feelings would be her job. Her mission if you will.
The previous year had been a difficult one for the trio. Fourth year had ended with the return of Voldemort, Harry's narrow escape, and Cedric's death. The summer hadn't been much better. First there had been the terrible dementor attack in Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry had to perform underage magic and work the Patronus Charm in order to save his own life and the life of his fat cousin, Dudley. That episode had almost gotten Harry expelled. Then there was Harry's anger when he arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place only to find that Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had been there for weeks already. His rage at Dumbledore and the other members of The Order of the Phoenix for excluding him had been something to behold. Hermione vividly recalled his reaction:
'SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT-WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?'
Poor Harry, she sighed to herself-even his relief at being exonerated by the Wizengamot and returning to Hogwarts was marred when Dumbledore passed Harry over and made Ron a prefect. Cornelius Fudge refused to accept that Voldemort was back and the Daily Prophet made no bones about the fact that the majority of the magical community saw Harry as slightly mad at best and a deranged glory-hound at worst. None of that, however, compared to the horror that was Professor Umbridge.
Foul, loathsome woman! Hermione shuddered as she pictured Umbridge's squat figure with its wide, toad-like grin, bulging eyes, nasty hair-band, fluffy cardigans and dreadful punishments. Harry still carried the scars from his detentions with her. She had made him write, 'I must not tell lies' with a magical quill which cut the words into the skin on the back of his hands. Umbridge had made almost everyone's life a misery, about killed Professor McGonagall while trying to get rid of Hagrid, gave Harry, George, and Fred a lifetime ban on playing Quidditch, and even managed to replace Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts.
Finally, to top off a spectacularly appalling year, Sirius was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. Naturally Harry, being the noble git he was, blamed himself for Sirius' death and the injuries they all sustained while fighting the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. If anyone deserved a little happiness, it was Harry Potter, and Hermione was determined to do everything possible to make sure she would be the witch to give it to him.
Shaking off those unpleasant memories, Hermione noticed that on this beautiful day in early September the library was deserted and likely to stay that way, with most of the students either out enjoying the sunshine or taking advantage of the weekend to sleep in. It was a perfect time to draw up the preliminary outline of The Plan.
Hermione pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and nibbled thoughtfully on her quill as she considered her strategy. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she titled her list:
Subtle ways to drive him slowly mad
No, she mused, crossing that out. Not quite right. Perhaps:
Clues for the clueless
Too obvious. No style. Definitely not, although true, she chuckled to herself. Quill posed over the parchment, she pondered for a moment longer. Then-inspiration.
Waking up Harry
Perfect!
Soon she was scribbling furiously, and within thirty minutes the parchment was tightly packed with her small, neat script. She put down her quill in relief and took a moment to flex her aching fingers and admire her handiwork. Hermione was so intent on what she was doing that she didn't hear the footsteps stealthily approaching the library table.
"Arghhhhhhhhhhh!" she shrieked, jumping about a foot into the air as Harry tickled the side of her waist. "Harry!"
"Gotcha," he laughed. "You were really into it there, Hermione. What's so important that you have to be in the library at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning?"
As he bent down to look, Hermione whipped the parchment off the table and briskly rolled it up into a tight tube, shoving it haphazardly into her bulging book bag.
"Nothing, just an Arithmancy essay. It's not due for a fortnight but I wanted to get a head start," she lied, fussing with her book bag to hide her hot cheeks.
"MISS GRANGER! MR POTTER!" Madame Pince hissed angrily. "This is a library! Kindly keep your voices down or I'll have to ask you to leave."
"Sorry," Hermione said breathlessly.
Harry smirked. "Yeah, sorry." But he didn't sound at all sorry.
He dropped into the chair next to her, propping up his head with one hand and grinning at her, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. Hermione heart gave a thump; her knees felt weak and she was glad she was sitting down. When Harry flashed her that special grin, it was all she could do not to run her fingers through that adorable messy black hair of his and grab him, pulling him towards her and . . .
"I couldn't resist, you know. The library is so quiet and you really looked like you were off in space. Dreaming about SPEW were you? Or maybe about N.E.W.T.s? Less than two years to go you know."
"Haha, very funny." Hermione gave a dry laugh. "It's not SPEW, it's S.P.E.W., as you very well know. And for your information, I don't dream about N.E.W.T.s; I have nightmares about N.E.W.T.s."
At the mention of nightmares, Harry's grin faded, a rather fixed smile taking its place. He sat up and looked intently at his hands.
Hermione clapped one hand over her mouth in dismay. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry." Joking about nightmares to Harry was not in the best of taste, especially right now, with Voldemort out there and the second war already started. She knew from conversations with Ron and Neville that Harry had been dealing with constant nightmares once again. She put a hand gently over one of his.
He gave her a small smile. "It's OK, Hermione. I know you didn't mean anything by it." With his free hand, he began absent-mindedly playing with her fingers. "I don't want everyone feeling like they have to walk on eggshells around me. Especially you."
She gulped. What did he mean, "especially" her? Now he was stroking her fingertips and a thousand hippogriffs flew wildly around in her stomach.
"I know Harry. But the last thing I want to do is remind you. I know you've been having trouble sleeping lately."
"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sick of hearing myself moan about it, and I'm sure you and everyone else are tired of it too." He dropped her hand. "So, you're coming to Hogsmeade with us after lunch today, right?" he inquired, not-so-subtly changing the subject.
"Us?" she asked, staring at him with a blank expression.
"With Ron, me, and Luna?" She continued to stare. Harry waved a hand in front of her eyes. "Remember, Ron? Ginger hair, eats a lot?"
"Harry, did you forget? Luna asked Ron to go with her."
"Right," he frowned. "I know that." Then his eyes widened slightly. "Oh, you mean, she wants to go with him alone?"
"That's the general idea," Hermione said, smiling slightly. She did love Harry, so much, but he was not all that quick on the uptake, especially where girls were concerned. His lack of sophistication regarding the opposite sex was infuriating at times, but also one of the qualities she found most endearing about him.
"Right," he said again. "Well, I guess we'll have to make do with each other then."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Please don't feel as if you have to make do, Harry. If there's someone else you'd rather go to Hogsmeade with, do so. Don't let me stop you."
Harry looked puzzled. "Why would I want to go with someone else?"
"I mean," she explained patiently, "if there's a girl you'd like to ask out . . ."
"No. There's no one I'd rather go to Hogsmeade with than my best friend," he smiled. "I just want to relax and have fun; if I were to go with a girl, then . . ."
"I'm a girl," Hermione snapped, frowning.
"Erm . . . uh, yeah, I know that you're a girl," Harry said nervously. "But, you know what I mean . . ." his voice trailed off uncertainly.
"No. Pray do enlighten me," she said icily, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, of course you're a girl, Hermione. Everyone knows that you're a girl. You're just not . . ."
"Not what?"
"Uhhh."
"Not giggly, not pretty? Just swotty old Hermione!" She pushed her chair back with a sudden jerk.
"No! I mean, yes! I mean . . . Are you mad at me, Hermione?" he stammered.
"Why would I be mad at you?" she asked, gathering up her belongings and deliberately avoiding his eyes.
"I don't know. But you seem kind of upset. Did I say something wrong?"
"No, Harry," she sighed. "Shall we go to breakfast?"
"Uh, okay," he said slowly, getting to his feet, still confused. What had he done now?
They headed to the Great Hall in silence. In his mind Harry was going over what had happened in the library, while Hermione walked sedately at his side. Her face was carefully blank, but Harry could tell that she wasn't happy. They had been talking about Hogsmeade when Hermione asked him if he wouldn't rather ask some girl to go with him. He had said no, he wouldn't, and then she went and cut up all stiff on him. It was obvious he had somehow unwittingly hurt her feelings. What had he said? Then a light clicked on in his churning brain.
"Um, Hermione, you know you're um . . . well, you don't think that I don't think . . ."
"That you don't think what?"
"Well-you're not giggly, but most chaps aren't that keen on giggling. Makes us feel rather uneasy to tell you the truth. A-and you are pretty, you know," he burst out somewhat desperately.
Her face softened. "It's all right, Harry. You don't have to say that. I'm very well aware of what I look like and actually, I'm usually resigned to being plain. It's difficult not to be aware when I look in the mirror every morning and see a bush of boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, boring . . ."
"Hey," he protesting, stopping so suddenly that she banged into him. "What are you on about? I meant what I said. You're not plain! You are pretty, Hermione, and nothing about you is boring."
She let out a self-depreciating laugh. "It's all right, Harry. I accepted my looks a long time ago."
He turned to face her. "No, it's not all right." He raised a hand to touch her hair, hesitated, and then dropped it back down. "I don't want you to ever say things like that about yourself. You're smart, you're loyal, you're trustworthy, you're . . ."
"Harry, you make me sound like a dog," she laughed.
Harry let out a frustrated sound. "Hermione," he grabbed her by the shoulders. "What I meant to say was, you're not like the other girls, and I wouldn't want you to be. You're better than all of them. You're real, Hermione. Don't . . . just don't ever change," he said blushing. "You're perfect just the way you are." Hermione could feel the hot colour rushing to her face as she met his brilliant green gaze.
"Perfect," came a hated drawling voice. "Bookworm Granger, perfect?" They turned to see Draco Malfoy smirking at them. "Tut, tut, Potter. You shouldn't tell lies."
"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry snapped, clenching his fists.
"Ignore him," Hermione said wearily, pulling on Harry's arm. "Let's go have breakfast."
"Yes Potty. Obey the wife and run along like a good little boy."
"Harry! Please just ignore him. He's trying to pick a fight." Her face scarlet, Hermione tugged forcefully on an equally crimson-faced Harry to stop him from lunging at Malfoy's throat. After a brief hesitation Harry went, Draco's mocking laugh echoing through the corridor behind them.