Love is...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and any of the characters mentioned hereafter. They belong to the incredible JK Rowling. I am not making a single cent out of this. I wish I did, and was.

[A/N: Okay, as the summary says, this is my reply to the challenge CryHope made on the H/Hr forums. Here are the requirements:

* a question that needed to be asked: "What's love?"
* Kitchen
* a slice of pumpkin pie
* A conversation that answers the question, yet leave more questions.
* angst

Hmmm… I haven't exactly followed requirement no.1, but I'll try to put in the question, somewhere in the story *blushes* I apologize. The reply was hurried, because it was a great challenge, and I couldn't wait to write *blush*.]

What is Love?

Harry couldn't sleep. It was very early in the morning, and he would be starting his 7^th year tomorrow, but he just couldn't drift peacefully to sleep. He had been trying to for hours.

He rolled over on his bed, and saw Ron snoring happily. Harry knew he was snoring happily because his mouth was wide open, and strange noises came from it. Ron snores when he's happy.

Harry couldn't snore even if he wanted to.

He wasn't happy, but he wasn't unhappy, either. Indifferent was the word for it.

Sighing, Harry kicked the quilt off him, and leapt off the bed. If he wasn't going to get any sleep, he might as well make himself something to eat. For some reason, cereals sounded good.

He didn't bother to creep quietly to the door, with Ron snoring away in his bed. Closing the door behind him, Harry saw an almost pitch dark hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The staircase was somewhere around here. He groped around for the banister for a while in near darkness. Finding it, he followed it downstairs, where he felt around for the kitchen door. He found it immediately, due to the thin slits of light from its sides. Someone was already inside.

Shrugging, he opened the door and entered the kitchen. A person who was wearing a nightgown jumped in surprised. Her normally bushy hair was even bushier.

`Harry!' she exclaimed. `What are you doing up?'

`Couldn't sleep,' he replied, walking to the table and sitting on it. `What are you doing up, Hermione?'

`Oh, well, I - ' Her stomach grumbled, and she blushed. `I got hungry.'

Harry smiled in spite of himself.

A few silent moments passed by in which Hermione looked in every cupboard for food. Harry just watched.

`Ugh,' she said, looking at him. `We have to cook something, if we want to eat!'

`Are you hungry enough to cook?' Harry asked her.

`I believe the question he is, are you hungry enough to eat what I cook?' said Hermione, smiling.

It was about three in the morning, but Harry still found it in him to roll his eyes and smile while doing it. Hermione was a brilliant witch, but how she was in the kitchen, Harry didn't know.

`I'll cook then,' he stated. `I mean, milk and cereals were fine with me, but-'

`Great! I'll just sit here and watch,' said Hermione, sitting on the chair next to Harry's. He went to the refrigerator and took out a couple of eggs.

`How do you like your eggs?' he asked, turning to her.

***

`Thanks, Harry! It smells great!'

Harry nodded, as he joined Hermione at the table. He had cooked egg for her and himself.

They ate their eggs in silence for a while, until-

`My parents are so strange,' she said suddenly. Harry looked up as a sign that he was listening. Hermione rarely talks about her parents. `They rarely fight, and when they do, they make up five minutes later. It's either my mom or my dad that apologizes first. Don't you think that's strange?'

Mystified, Harry replied, `I dunno. What do you mean?'

`I mean, why fight at all, if they're only going to make up five minutes later?' explained Hermione. `Shouldn't fights last long? Like maybe hours?'

`I don't know. Maybe your folks just really like each other,' said Harry, shrugging, hoping it was the end of the conversation. He didn't like topics like this. It made him very uncomfortable. He knew close to nothing about these kinds of things.

It was a moment before Hermione spoke again.

`Do you think my parents are in love? I mean, do they look in love?'

Harry just stared. What on earth was making Hermione ask all these questions he knew he would never answer properly?

`I obviously can't judge because I'm their daughter,' she continued.

`I… don't know,' he answered. `They're still together, and you said they make up really quickly after a fight, so I think they are.'

`Do you think your parents were-' Before Hermione had finished her question, she turned white. `I'm so sorry, Harry! That was so tactless of me!'

`It's okay - Hermione, it's okay!' he assured her, as she almost looked tearful. In fact, Harry was telling the truth. He had always known his parents were in love, and it was only during his 5^th year that he had doubted it. But that was before Sirius and Lupin promised him that James and Lily were really in love.

Hermione looked very anxious. Harry smiled a bit.

`Yeah, I know they were. You should see how they look at each other in the photos… completely genuine …' he trailed off.

She smiled warmly at him.

`What do you think falling in love is like? If you don't mind me asking, that is,' she quickly added.

`I don't know. I hope I get to find out, if Voldemort doesn't finish me off,'said Harry absentmindedly.

`You think that's funny?' Hermione asked him fiercely.

`You don't seem to think so.'

She stared at him through narrow eyes, but decided not to pursue it.

`I think,' she said finally, `falling in love is like seeing everything for the first time, and everything looks positively brighter and more colorful. Like waking up one morning, and immediately wanting to be with the person you are in love with. Being absolutely silly and acting embarrassingly with them, and not caring. Calling them the corniest pet names, thinking it's cute. Being addicted to their voice, smell, touch, presence…'

Harry was surveying her the entire time, and her smile seemed to grow dreamier with each word. Her smile alone wasn't all that bad, he thought, maybe even beautiful. Beautiful? At 3am? In a nightgown?Hermione?

`I think love is beautiful,' she declared, sighing and smiling at the same time. `What about you?'

`I... I don't know,' said Harry truthfully.

`Aw, come on,' she persuaded. `I'm sure you do, you just don't want to say it out loud,' she laughed.

`Well,' Harry said, looking at his forgotten scrambled eggs. `I guess Love is…'

***

Wait for the next part, then! :)

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and any of the characters mentioned hereafter. They belong to the incredible JK Rowling. I am not making a single cent out of this. I wish I did, and was.

[A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I was rather busy *blush* But here it is, you guys! Thanks for the awesome words of encouragement! Ya know I love you :)

Just for your reference, what Hermione and Harry think Love is… is kind of how I feel. Call it sappy, stupid, complete waste of time, but what can you do? I'm an absolute hopeless romantic :)]

`Well,' Harry said, looking at his forgotten scrambled eggs. `I guess Love is…'

He took a moment to consider this, not realizing that Hermione was watching him not unlike a woman watching a particularly romantic movie on a Saturday night, cuddled up warmly on her sofa, surrounded by pillows, in winter.

`For me,' he continued. `Love is when you see the person in what they would consider their worst moment, and not once wondering why you like being with them, when there is no need for words to convey what you feel or think, or when words aren't even needed at all. You should know you're in love when your heart screams their name, and it's always painful being apart.' Harry was staring into space as he said these words, and upon realizing he was, he finally looked at Hermione as all awkwardness went away. He said the next few words in a near, but audible, whisper, clearly caught in the moment, in spite of himself, `Love is this… overwhelming feeling to be needed, not wanted, by the person your… your soul calls out to. True love, I'm guessing, is when its call is answered… For me, anyway.'

The easiest way to describe Hermione after Harry had finished was: Hermione was taken aback. A better description would be: Hermione was again, tearful, but they weren't mortified tears, but tears that were the result of her being touched by Harry's words. She seemed glued to the spot, and could barely open her mouth to say a thing, let alone say what she was feeling. This was a rare moment in which a young man actually had an idea of what Love was like, and she knew this. And his words, she thought, his words…

Harry's cheeks turned the lightest shade of red.
`Or, you know, something like that,' he said quickly. `Look, I'm really not good with these things. I mean, I could have said the stupidest, lamest, most embarrassing thing in the world, just now (`Oh, Harry, how wrong you are,' thought Hermione.), so, forget I said anything. I don't know what Love is.'
`I think you do,' Hermione protested quietly, having his definition of Love in mind, but Harry heard her.
`I'm not so sure,' he admitted, standing up and tidying the table, clearly not realizing the meaning of her protest.
`What do you mean?'
`I mean I've hardly been exposed to, er, Love, what with the Dursleys and Voldemort, and everything,' he replied simply.
Hermione looked offended, but Harry was busy washing the dishes to see. She remained silent until he had finished.
`I think I'll try and get some sleep. What about you?' said Harry, wiping his hand on a dry cloth.
`Maybe later,' she said.
`Alright, goodnight!'
As Harry turned to leave, Hermione let out her frustration.
`What about Sirius, Harry? The Weasleys? Hagrid, Dumbledore, and Lupin?'
`What about Sirius? What about the Weasleys, Hagrid, Dumbledore and Lupin?' he asked her, a little offended she had brought up Sirius.
`Don't they love you? Don't I?' Hermione wondered how someone so talented could be so thick.
`I know they do,' reasoned Harry. `I'm sorry I said what I said, then. Better?'
Hermione nodded reluctantly.
`Okay, goodnight,' he said, with a smile.
Harry left the kitchen, and began walking towards the stair, shaking his head. Hermione was always emotional when it came to him. Probably the result of loving him.

Hang on.Loving him?... in what way?

Harry turned around, and returned to the kitchen, his mind working furiously. He wondered why he cared so much. After all, Hermione could have meant she loved him as a best friend, like she always has, for years and years. So how come she mentioned that she loved him, last?

`Hermione,' Harry called, opening the kitchen door rather forcefully. She looked at him bemusedly. `did you just say you - '

[Yes, yes, I know. I'm cruel. However, had you bothered to check out the Challenges section on the H/Hr forums, you'd find out this chapter was already posted there ^.^ But at least I've caught up with everything. Time to write the angsty part, then the ending!.... if I can remember it… no, wait! I can! *blush*
PS: Don't kill me >.< ]

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