Stability

FrostbitePanda

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 28/12/2004
Last Updated: 28/12/2004
Status: in_progress

A story spurned from the reawakening of my long dead muse. Hermione contemplates her life and the things she has but the one thing she lacks and so desprately craves. A fluffy one-shot with humor; a rareity for me. R&R

Chapters

1. Stability

1. Stability

Stability
Written By: Frostbite Panda
Edited By: Skeeter

Sometimes I just have to wonder where my life is headed.

People tell me I have it all: looks, talent, intelligence, personality, humor… the whole bag of chips. I graduated valedictorian at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My second year at my job and I'm already Third Assistant Nurse at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries (I haven't completed my four years of apprenticeship to become a full fledged Healer). I've written two books: Wealthy Wizards and the Oppression of Magical Kind and A House Elf's Trials: The Story of a Slave. Both of which were on The Daily Prophet's Best Seller List for a number of weeks; some say longer than Gilderoy Lockhart's books, which set the record. I don't pay attention to such things, so I would not know. I am also a part of the research team that is currently searching for a way to reverse the effects of a werewolf bite. I have also been asked to be an editor for the newest addition of Hogwarts: A History, and become the founder of a charity organization for banished house elves. I have a nice flat in Diagon Alley amongst all the action, and live with my two very best friends in the world… or one of them, at any rate. I have a lovable cat, all the music, food, clothes, and other such things I could ever want, and other great friends that are always there for me.

Yes, my life it a big ball of happiness and contentment. I'm busy working and leaving a mark upon the world, something that I set out to do as soon as I graduated Hogwarts, and I have the best friends anyone could ever ask for. I have everything.

But hey, there's always a catch, right?

I guess I have some explaining to do now.

I am Hermione Granger. Know-It-All Extraordinaire, author, Healer-in-training and philanthropist.

Most importantly, I'm Harry Potter's best friend.

It's torturous to think that I have what some people only dream about in their lives, but I still want more. I still want one more thing that I've always been unable to get. The one thing that Know-All, Do-All Miss Granger cannot achieve.

Love.

Ah… the story of a nerdy, bookish, plain Jane workaholic who is in love with her best friend, but her best friend could not be more clueless nor more taken up with another woman.

Did I mention that?

Yes, the man I love and have always loved for as long as I can remember is my best friend. He's my best friend in the entire world. The most important person in my life. We've faced anything and everything together. We've picked each other up when the other has fallen. We are the other's solid ground when they feel lost. We are the other's map in uncharted territory, their pride in humiliation. We're so close sometimes it's a wonder that we're not attached at the hip. Of course… now that I think about it, having your best friend attached to any part of your anatomy would certainly make fighting the forces of evil and darkness a tad more difficult.

Oh of course he's an Auror. He's Harry-bloody-Potter! What else could he be?

And he's been away at training for the past two years. Top of his class of course, and will be graduating next month.

No, I'm sorry to say that there won't be a dramatic reunion where I throw myself into his arms, and after our long separation we suddenly realize our hidden feelings for each other and promptly proceed to snog each other senseless. This is because every day for the past two years, we've had lunch together at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour; under the corner window during the cold months of fall and winter, or outside in the warmer months, chatting about anything that came to mind under the brightly striped umbrellas that fluttered in the breeze.

I lived for those days. Ron, Harry and I, seated round the wrought iron table that we had always sat at from our third year in Hogwarts onward. But the truth of the matter was that I wasn't there to commiserate with my two greatest friends in the world. I already saw Ron everyday at the flat, fighting over who would buy the groceries this time around or who would clean out the house apothecary. I went for him. I went to see his face and his patent-pending lopsided grin. I swear, that man could give Lockhart a run for his money. I went to hear his voice, to smell his cologne, to just be with him, by his side, like I had been constantly for the past nine years.

I think that's when I knew. When I realized that the only reason I got dressed in the morning was for the twelfth hour in the day where I could leave the stark walls of the hospital and escape to Fortescue's parlour. I found myself checking the clock every chance I got, and becoming distracted at random times when I would suddenly begin to think of conversational topics for that particular noontime (A practice that's not recommended when one is treating patients that have been severely decapitated in magical accidents). Sometimes I feel like my brain is just going to fly away in all directions. Sometimes I feel like just kissing that boy until he combusts. Some times I feel like just breaking down and crying until I collapse from exhaustion. Sometimes I just feel like screaming at him until my throat bursts.

Despite my achievements in life and my supposed `perfect well-roundedness,' as Ginny would put it, I have yet to achieve a boyfriend.

I've had two…'relationships' since I left Hogwarts. The first was before I noticed that I was madly in love with my best friend. Viktor Krum and I decided to catch up once he moved to England to become the head of the International Gaming Events and Organizations Board at the Ministry (He had retired from professional Quidditch playing, under the pretense that he wanted to settle down a bit a get a steadier job). We dated steadily for about two months. It was enjoyable and I was quite happy there for a while, but it soon started to become quite clear to me that, due to our considerable gap in age, he was looking for someone to settle down with and start a family - something that I was not, and still am not, ready to do. I broke it off, though we still keep correspondence. Last time I heard he had found the girl of his dreams and was planning to propose. I'm happy for him. I'm just not one of those girls who have the maternal stirrings in them. Sure, I'd like a family of my own someday… in the not-so-near future.

The next boy I dated Post-Fall (A title deemed to the life I have had since realizing my not-so-friendly feelings for my best friend). He was simply a distraction. He was a fellow Healer-in-training at the hospital and younger than myself, assigned to me as my apprentice (Being a Third Assistant Nurse meant that one could have very novice apprentices to take under their wing). Normally I would have emotionally distanced myself as far as possible from anyone working under me who should happen to be a member of the opposite sex, so as to make sure it would not lead up to a romantic interlude of some sort that would end with the relationship crashing and burning before my feet and thus, in turn, ruining the full potential that could be achieved through the training. You know…the whole cheesy soap opera thing.

But he was handsome, charming, and had excellent green eyes that reminded me so much of a certain somebody's.

What was a girl to do?

We lasted for awhile… about six months. He was like a drug. I don't think it was love; I simply needed him. Whenever the pain of thinking of Harry, his nonexistent feelings for me, and his intoxication with his own girlfriend would descend upon me - which it did quite regularly - I'd call him up.

He made me feel beautiful and wanted and loved. He was my confidence booster. My daily injection of self-esteem. He was what happened between the hour in the middle of the day when all thoughts of him would leave my mind and I would lose myself in Harry's presence.

Then we had a pretty nasty break-up, once I found out that I was not only nothing but a trophy to him, but he was also cheating on me on a regular basis.

To be honest, I wasn't that upset.

I was - and still am - living quite unhealthily.

One would think that, with all I have in my life, love, while a nice thing to have, would not be the one thing that I would give up all the other meaningless trappings of my life for. Indeed, my achievements were meaningless trappings if I had no one to share them with.

I've always been somewhat of a romantic. Okay, I take that back… I'm a hopelessly foolish, sappy sonnet-loving, torn-bodice-novels-hidden-in-my-underwear-drawer romantic. It's the only thing that I can't apply my notorious logic to. Sometimes I hate what it does to me, but sometimes I'm glad that I'm the way I am. It gives me something more than a couple of published books and my own portrait in St. Mungo's corridors as an inevitability to live for.

I remember first hearing about Harry's new girl. I felt violated… almost betrayed at first. I had been, for the longest time, the only girl in Harry's life, and whether it was romantically or not, it was the truth, and hearing that I no longer held that status was like hearing that I was not my parents' child anymore. It was a position and title that I had assumed and carried not only with pride, but also for a good chunk of my life. The thought of him with another girl never crossed my mind, and foolishly so.

Of course, this had to be declared to me about a week after practically throwing myself into the bed of roses that was my love for this man. Where I had been once been stroking the soft petals, the thorns were now penetrating my flesh without mercy.

It hurt.

However, the more I heard of this girl - Courtney is her name - the more I started to like her. The way Harry talked about her during those picnics under the umbrella… he talked so well of her that I really had no animosity towards her at all. He was obviously deliriously happy. He loved her, it seemed, with all his being. She was his world, and she seemed to return it in kind. I don't think I could've hated her if I tried. She made my Harry happy, and that's all I could ever ask for as his best friend.

I only loathed the very idea of her. The clear realization that she was taking the only man I ever loved - and ever will love - away from me. For the past eleven months I've had to endure his tales of their flawless romance, and, even though I am suffering unrequited love for him, I cannot begin to tell him to shut up and kiss me already. He is my best friend and I am his. First and always.

Which is why it makes me wonder; I am Hermione Granger, master of my emotions and champion analyzer. One would think that after facing a reality like this, that one would lay low and sit on it until said boy had either broken up with said girl of his dreams, or married her, and then act upon it. Less painful that way.

The truth is, is that Harry has - and always had for as long as I can remember - the uncanny ability to spur me to lose control of my carefully cultivated emotions.

It annoys the hell out of me.

But the fact is… I'm not so sure that Harry has no feelings for me at all whatsoever.

There have been times where I've seen a flicker of… something else, something more. These moments, small and insignificant in the instant that they happen, grow to be something much more upon further inspection. I'll tell my two consuls on this subject - Ginny and my mother - about these flashes of something foreign, and they both unanimously agree that he must love me, if not on a subconscious level.

That's why I simply can't ignore it. That's why can't simply `lay low,' no matter how hard the mask of happiness is that I paste upon my face whenever he launches into a tale about the wondrous Courtney. The knowledge that it is there, however much it tortures me that it may never come bubbling to the surface or may not be there at all, is enough for me to throw myself into this without another thought.

~~~
Three Months Earlier
~~~

I remember cursing every single person that I bumped into that day as I practically sprinted down the busy street to the parlour, head bent against the biting wind and arms twisted about my torso tightly. I was in a murderous mood. Not only was I late for my annual meeting with Harry, not only had the toilet run over right before I was to leave for work, not only did one of the new nurses mixed u the medicines, which resulted in patients sprouting mushrooms from their ears and suffering angry red boils that popped up in very uncomfortable places, and not only I had spilt coffee down the font of my favorite shirt that morning, but I had lost my journal.

`The Journal,' complete with the infamous finger gesture reserved for quotation marks, was what my friends who even knew of its existence referred to it as. My journal was not your ordinary journal. It was a place where I jotted down basically everything that was on my mind. It had funny/completely random quotes heard from friends, family, movies, co-workers, books, scribbles of complete nonsense, rants, doodles, to-do lists, some accounts of memorable days, poems, some pages where it had been completely scribbled on in fits of anger… it had everything anyone could ever imagine. It was my soul on paper, and it was gone.

I remember very vaguely talking on the phone to Harry when it happened. The poor boy had probably thought someone had either died or the bloody apocalypse had come raining down upon my flat for at least an hour. When I had finally gained enough coherency to tell him what happened, he had tried to help me as best he could, but it was useless. I had tried Accio, and even a homing charm, but it was nowhere to be found. It had simply grown legs and walked away.

And poor Ron…he had gotten his underwear weirded off of him that was for sure. After having me barge into his room in the middle of the night and unceremoniously tear his room to shreds, he never quite looked at me the same again.

I shoved past the final innocent patron that was to be the victim of my wrath and flopped irritably into my usual chair between Harry and Ron inside the restaurant. I let out a sound that could easily be compared to a water buffalo with a head cold as my usual ice cream and cup of hot tea was dropped in front of me, and the deliverer of said ice cream hastily retreated. I didn't even spare my two friends a greeting as I threw my heavy bag down and snatched up my spoon a bit too roughly, resulting in a glob of butter pecan being flung from the bowl, the sticky substance finding its landing space on Ron's forehead. I didn't notice, however - or rather pretended I hadn't - for I was stressed, I was tired, I was having one the worse days of my life, and I was in love with my best friend, who was in love with somebody whose name was not Hermione Jane Granger.

Life sucked at the moment.

I took a bite of the heavenly sweets and felt the chill of the enchanted ice cream instantly warm to a pleasant temperature for such a cold autumn day. This kind of ice cream was only sold during the cold months and was almost as good to warm the soul as a mug of hot butter beer. I felt a little better.

“Uh…Hermione?” I heard Harry venture as if he was entering a mine field, which, in all honesty, is probably the most accurate simile for how he must have been feeling.

“What?” I said flatly. Okay… maybe the ice cream wasn't working as well as I had hoped. All I really needed at the moment was an extra large shot of Firewhiskey.

There was no response. Instead there was a slight nudge on my side. I looked down and something was pushed into my lap, stained with the coffee from this morning. My anger melted away as quickly as the ice cream in my mouth and I dropped my spoon.

It was my journal.

I couldn't believe it. I opened the cover to confirm it.

And I was right; it wasn't my journal.

It was just a brand new version of it; flimsy, plastic cover of burgundy, spiral-bound, same, nameless brand…

“Just in case the other one doesn't turn up,” Harry whispered in my ear, his breath making my chilled skin ignite.

I looked at him, a loss for words. This gesture would mean more to me than he could ever know. “Oh my…” Was all I could manage.

He smiled at me. Damn his smile.

I shook my head as I looked at it again, stroking its surface as if testing its reality. “Oh, Harry…” I said quietly. I looked back at him, fighting tears. “Thank you,”

Harry nodded. “No problem,” he said quietly. He looked at me for a length, then quickly turned back to his butter beer.

~~~

And that journal is what I'm writing in now.

Damn that boy.

With all the chaos that me, Ron, and most especially Harry, has suffered throughout our lives, we've finally found some stability, some happiness. Ron has his Quidditch career, his ultimate dream job. Harry is becoming what he always wanted to do from the time he was 14; fight the evil forces of the world.

And me: helping other people in need and fighting the war against the prejudice between wizards and witches and the other magical creatures who share this earth.

But a healthy career and a long list of philanthropic investments and dealings is not my stability. Not while I have him, but not in the way I want or need. Not while I should be thanking the stars and higher powers for blessing me with such a great friend, but am doing nothing except wanting more.

~~~
One Week Earlier
~~~

“Ahhhghh!”

“Calm down Harry, you sound like Charlie Brown after Lucy pulls the football away from him.”

“Shut up, Granger. That sock was attacking me I swear.”

“Whatever you say, Potter.”

“Now where'd I put that thing…? Ow!”

“For God's sake Harry, what are doing?”

“Ennnughh…”(pause; rustling in the background) “Courtney's present… it's our one year next week!”

“Oh, wow! It's been that long?”

“Yep! I'm so excited.”

“That's great, Harry.”

“Mmmm hmm…”

Silence.

“Do you realize that it is 5:44 in the morning?”

“Uuuurggg… I hate Mondays…”

“Harry! Tomorrow's Christmas Day! Or…should I say today is…”

“So? I still hate Mondays.”

“It's not like you have training tomorrow.”

“No…” (pause) “Ha ha! If I did I'd already be at the parade grounds!”

“Still talking to me to be sure.”

“Of course.”

Silence.

“Are you tired?”

“Not at all.”

Incoherent mumbling.

“What? You're not copping out on me are you Granger?”

“No, but there's simply nothing left to talk about. After all, there's only so much two people can find to talk about when conversing for four and a half hours!”

Laughter.

“What? What is it? Harry James Potter, I demand you tell me what you are guffawing like a fool about before I curse you into oblivion right through the phone!”

Chuckle. “Calm down, Hermione!” Chuckle chuckle. “I just found it funny…”

“Found what funny?”

“Despite nine years of knowing you, sometimes you're still the bossy know-it-all that you were in first year.”

Snort. “You have a problem with that?”

“No no…not at all.”

“Good.”

Silence.

“I'm glad I met you Hermione.”

“What?”

“You're one of the most interesting individuals I've ever met.”

“Well… thank you, Harry. What brought this about?”

“I don't know. Does a good knight need a reason to dote upon thine fair maiden?”

“Mmm… guess not... good sir.”

“There's a crack in my ceiling that looks like Tony Blair.”

“My, how enlightening Harry. You are truly a jack of all trades; going from shamelessly flattering your best friend to seeing the faces of important political figures in your ceiling.”

“Ah, don't you just love me for it?”

Pause. “Oh yes… of course.”

Pause. “Hermione?”

“Mmm?”

“I really am glad to have met you. Without you I'm not sure I'd be alive.”

“I think you assumed right on that one.”

“No, seriously… thank you… for everything.”

“It was my pleasure, Harry.”

Silence.

“Woah… 6:12.”

“We should do this more often.”

“I'd like that… as long as it's an every night thing.”

“No, no of course not. Don't want to keep the all-powerful Third Assistant Nurse from her sleep.”

“Ha. Ha. Good one, Potter.”

“I try.”

“Too much.”

“Hey!”

Snicker. “That's what you get.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Silence.

Yawn. “Well, I think I'm off to bed.”

“What? Y-y-you're…t-t-tir—“ (Yawn)

“What? Like you aren't?”

“Not at all!” (Stifled yawn)

“Pssh… listen to you! You sound knackered enough for both of us.”

“So what's your diagnosis, Dr. Granger?”

“Hey, I'm not a doctor yet and my diagnosis, smart ass, is that you are suffering from lack of sleep.”

“Mmm… sounds logical enough.” (Sleepily)

Laugh. “Get to bed, Potter. You'll be over here in… (pause) about four hours.”

“Aww… but Mummy! Harry doesn't want to go to school!”

“Shut your trap and get to bed.”

Silence.

“It was real nice talking to you, Hermione.”

“Likewise, Harry.”

“I'll see you tomorrow… er… today.”

“Are you bringing the elusive Courtney? Am I finally going to look upon her immortal form?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Yes, she'll be coming, so I might be a little bit late because I have go by and pick her up. Is that okay?”

Yawn. “Yeah, that's fine.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Well I'll see you in a couple of hours, Harry.”

“I really love talking to you, Hermione. All the crap I go through everyday here doesn't seem to matter once I get off the phone with you.”

Pause. “Well… thanks Harry. I love… talking to you too.”

Chuckle. “I'm honored.”

“Don't be. See you.”

“Yeah, See you.”

“Bye.”

~~~

That conversation is the reason why I'm writing all of this. I just got off the phone with him. As soon as I hit “end” on the receiver I grabbed the journal - the one he had given me - and started writing, and this is what I got.

Talking to him makes me so incredibly happy that I can hardly describe it. It's rather pathetic, quite honestly. I think I love our regular weekend phone talks more than the everyday lunches we share. Because with lunch, Ron's there. On the phone, it's just me and Harry and it's the best feeling ever. Just hearing his voice and knowing that I'm the only person he has his attentions to… it's a wonderful thing. It's the glimmer of that stability that I've been looking for.

But alas, in about an hour, Harry will be here so we can all travel to the Burrow and celebrate Christmas with the Weasleys, which account for about three quarters of the wizarding population in Britain, and then some.

And he'll have her with him.

Yes, after 11 long months of torture and emotional upheaval, I finally get to meet the girl that is good enough to be the Girl of Harry Potter's Dreams.

The best Christmas present I could ever ask for.

Note the sarcasm.

I think I hear Ron stirring. I'll get some sleep for about thirty minutes, at least, and ready myself for the battle ahead.

~~~

“Oy! Hermione! Get in here! Quick!”

I nearly dropped my regular mug of morning coffee at Ron's shout from the kitchen. I hurried down the hall and skidded to a halt outside the open French door. Ron was waving a tea towel at a frying pan that was belching copious amounts of black smoke. I shook my head. I should have known. It was well known that Ronald Weasley did not inherit his mother's good cooking gene. I don't know why I even let him look at the stove.

“Oh Ron!” I cried, rushing in and drawing my wand. I muttered a quick incantation, and the smoke was sucked through the air and into my wand. With another flick of my wrist, the crispy black lumps that resembled cat turds, but were supposedly bacon, were replaced with the clean shiny surface of the frying pan. “What were you thinking? You know you're not even allowed in the kitchen unless you're making toast, which is still risking the whole house going up in flames!”

“Oh come off it, Hermione. You're not exactly Chef Boy Ardee either!”

Well, that was true. That made two things I couldn't do: cook and get a boyfriend. The only one out of the three of us who could cook was Harry.

“Yes, I know, but at least I can make bacon!” He looked sour. I sighed again, realizing that I was probably a bit hard on him. It was Christmas morning after all. “Look, I'm sorry… I'm a bit of a Scrooge this year.”

Ron snorted and he opened his mouth, no doubt for one of his smart retorts. Before he could continue, however, I held up a hand. “But that doesn't mean that I'm going to take any of your comments. Now get out of here,” I said, shooing him with flapping hands. “I'll take care of breakfast.”

Rolling his eyes, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, mumbling something about smart girls and superiority complexes. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, shaking my head, and went to work on some eggs and replaced the bacon (all of which had obviously been burned by Ron in his attempt to cook something) with some fat sausages, and busied myself making some more coffee. After only getting 30 minutes of sleep, I needed all I could get.

There was a knock at the door. It must have been Harry, with just the person I wanted to see on Christmas morning. “Ron?” I shouted, “Could you get that?” I wasn't necessarily busy; the eggs were frying and the sausages were sizzling, but I didn't exactly want to open the door and be the first one for Courtney to meet. I continued to sip my coffee, but noticed that there was no rushing of feet down the stairs, nor any reaction at all. “Ron?” I called again. Nothing. I sighed angrily, slamming my mug upon the tiled counter and almost busting it into pieces. He must've been plugged into his Wizarding Wireless again. I swear, that's all the boy ever did.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I steeled my resolve, straightened my sweater, strode down the hall, and opened the door.

I was right about one thing at least; it was Harry, but he was without a girl by his side, nor did he present me with that heart melting grin that he always gave me when I saw him.

All I got was the most naked, most perplexing expression I have ever seen on that normally strong face. He stood there in the snow, looking frightened and desperate and shocked and completely lost... yet empowered all at the same time. “Harry?” I said, starting to panic. That expression was one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever seen, and it scared me to think about what might've happened to cause Harry to wear it.

He did not respond, but simply staggered forward and crushed me in a hug that drew the air from my lungs.

His embrace was urgent, almost panicky. He gripped me as if I were what was tacking him onto this earth. I raised my arms slowly, embracing him back, completely thrown for a loop. He had never hugged me like this before.

I was almost pushed to the edge when his chest began shaking in suppressed sobs and warm liquid stained my neck.

It must have been Courtney.

My emotions ranged from relief to shock to elation to anger to extreme concern, and I did the only thing I could do, standing there at in the cold threshold of the flat, and comforted him. I stroked his back and ran my fingers lazily through his hair, shushing and muttering syllables of comfort into his ear. “Shhh, Harry… it's oka-“

I never got further, for I found that his lips were in the way. My eyes snapped open until I thought they might very well fall out. I mean, do you blame me? Here he was, my best friend and confidante, my partner in crime, the love of my life, who, until quite recently, I believed to have harbored no such feelings for me, and whom I had found just moments before on my doorstep like a lost puppy, and had suddenly embraced me as if I was the last person in the world, sobbing as if he had just lost everything he had and, while we were both still out in the frigid air of Christmas morning for any passerby to stop and have a big, steamy gawk, he was kissing me. And not just kissing me… it was more like his attempt to pour his soul right into my mouth. Somehow that synopsis was a bit much for my poor logical brain to take.

However, the initial shock ceased as I realized that it wasn't cold anymore.

I closed my popping eyes as he pressed himself against me and kissed me so soundly, so passionately that I thought I might just be the one combusting. I gasped in pleasant surprise as I kissed him back, attempting to come to equal planes of emotion as he was in. My hands came to his face and to the back of his head, willing him closer as we practically unhinged our jaws and swallowed each other whole right there on the doorstep. His hands roamed over my back as his hot tears fell upon my own face. I was drunk with what was happening. It was crazy and unreasonable and all the things that I despised, but for once I wasn't asking questions. His skin, almost as hot as my own, felt like heaven as my fingertips roamed, his hair was soft and just as unruly as I had always known, and he tasted so good… he tasted so right.

He tore his lips away, breathing heavily, and my previous delirium evaporated and was instantly replaced by a horrible, paralyzing fear that gripped my heart with a steely fist. The icy wind now filled my lungs instead of the warmth of his nearness. I was now shaking with the knowledge that he would back away, shaking his head as if he had just committed a terrible crime and run.

But he didn't.

He stayed, his hands upon my hips, forehead pressed against mine, tears still silently flowing down his reddened cheeks. “I... am so stupid.” He said slowly and deliberately.

Well… that was certainly the last thing I expected. What a romantic.

I couldn't have cared less. He wasn't running.

“Why?” I surprised myself at my ability to form a verbal response. At the moment my body and mind were simply hanging limply from threads. All I wanted to do was kiss him again. I was right… he wasn't a bad kisser.

He nuzzled me a bit. My heart melted at his tenderness. “For not realizing that she wasn't you,” He said in a low voice.

I looked into his eyes. I wasn't daring to believe it. “She wasn't you.” He whispered again, his voice shaking. He was so overcome with emotion that tears were starting to spill from his wonderful bottle-green eyes again.

I found myself crying too.

The one gaping hole in my life was finally being filled; something that I feared would never happen.

I couldn't stop myself. Nothing I could say seemed adequate.

I was kssing him with more ardor than I ever thought I possessed.

I was laughing. I was crying. I was kissing him. He was kissing me. I was insane. But it was okay because he was insane too. We were hugging each other so tightly I could've sworn I heard my ribs groaning in protest. He was swinging me about like a kid with a new teddy bear, only he was crying with joy. We were both laughing like maniacs. I could see a couple of Christmas pedestrians, no doubt on their way to the homes of family, stop and either smile at us or shake their heads.

I hardly noticed.

“I love you, Harry,” I said into his ear, without really knowing that I had even said it. He stopped and put me down slowly, laughter dying in his throat. Uh-oh… great, Granger! You scared him off! My rather annoying inner conscious screamed at me. I didn't need it to tell me that. My heart was gripped with that steely fist once again. He looked at me with such an intense gaze I thought that my eyes might burst into flame at any given moment. “You… you do?” He asked. He looked scared.

I nodded numbly. “Always have,” Something about the flicker of fear through the shine of unbelievable hope in his eyes was comforting, but somehow didn't really register with my brain. Now just get on with it. Make it quick and painless… go on… I'll understand…

He crushed me to him again. Merlin! Would he ever stop surprising me like that?

In all honesty, I wished he never would.

I shakily raised my arms to embrace him back. “I love you Hermione.”

My insides evaporated, my heart was pushed to my throat, my brain was like a bird tied to a tether.

This couldn't be happening…

Just moments before, I had been poking some sausages around in a saucepan, gloomily hoping that they may burst into flame and the house would burn down and take me with it, just so I wouldn't have to meet my love of my life's love of his life.

And now he had turned up on my threshold, plain as could be and was confessing his love for me, probably only hours after breaking up with his girlfriend of 11 months.

I grabbed him a kissed him again. It was my only way to make sure that this was real and not some insane, torturous dream.

This kiss was not an all-consuming, jaw unhinging, fiery bombshell of passion as the first one had been. It was intense, slow, and full of emotion, as if we were trying to evoke all that we felt for each other in this one gesture. It had my knees wobbling hopelessly.

Oh yeah, it was real.

If only he knew how long I had been waiting for this. To kiss him like this. To utter those three words and have him utter them back with no trace of doubt in his voice. To embrace him and run my fingers through his hair, thinking nothing but `mine'. To be able to snog him senseless in the doorway, for it was to be our doorway in a very short time. There was no way he wasn't moving in after this.

We had finally achieved the stability that we had always longed for.

“What the bloody hell? Hermione! Now you're the one burning breakfast!” I heard Ron's voice as if he were talking through water. I also heard his foot steps.

I heard, but did not care.

“Hermio- holy bloody hell!” I heard his curse, and it dimly registered in my mind what a shock it must've been for him to see his two best friends snogging shamelessly in the doorway, letting the cold winter air waft right in like an invited guest and have an abandoned breakfast probably now up in flames in the kitchen.

Once again, it registered, but I did not care and neither, it seemed, did Harry.

“Harry?! Hermione?!” Okay so that woke me up… a little.

“Bleeding Christ! Let him breathe, Hermione!” Alright. I was awake at the vaguely familiar words, and I reluctantly pulled away from Harry, smiling broadly. I couldn't help but giggle at the hopelessly silly grin that graced his face. It certainly was becoming on him.

“Now would someone, please explain what is going on here?” Ron asked, closing the door as I pulled Harry into the house. It might sound a bit Cro Magnon of me, but all I really wanted to do was rip his clothes off right there in the foyer. I looked back at Ron, who was looking as if he might just explode at any second.

Harry shook his head, laughing quietly. “Courtney wasn't Hermione,” He said simply, nodding as if he were agreeing on something.

Ron paused, as if waiting for the punch line. “Uh-huh…” he said slowly. He looked at Harry as if waiting for something more. I wished he would hurry it up already. “That's it?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

Ron sighed, shaking his head, as if classifying us as hopeless cases. “Ah… well that was certainly enlightening. About damn time you realized that.”

And with that he turned and loped down the hall to remedy the smoking kitchen, muttering to himself about famous wizards and the women who love them.

I turned to Harry, feeling as if I might just float away at any second. I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest as he let his arms fall about me. I reveled in the fact that simply that I could do this. I sighed contentedly. “Well that certainly was interesting wasn't it?”

He laughed. “I wouldn't change it for the world.”

I looked up at him, smiling. “Me either.”

Before I knew it we were kissing again, over my shoulder. This…this was what had been so long in the making, what I could never seem to achieve.

My stability.

“…We'll rest easy
I've suffered a swift defeat
I'll endure countless repeats
The gift of memory is an awful curse
And with age it gets much worse…
But I won't mind…

I won't mind…”
-- Death Cab for Cutie Stability

~~~

Author's Notes: This is actually semi-auto biography of my own experiences with a certain boy, but I shan't go into detail about such things. The only thing I must tell you before I get peppered with sympathetic reviews, is that my ordeal is not nearly as painful as I described above and is only a crush, not a love, and the flash-backs are based upon things that have happened, but the end is only the way me - and probably everyone else in such a situation - would have wanted. Pure fantasy on my part.

I really like writing Hermione's perspective.

And thanks to Skeeter for reading this through and all of her wonderful support. ;D And to my new iPod for re-awakening my long dead muse.

Thanks for reading and review!

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