Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed this fic so far!
The rating for this fic has been increased to PG-13 for this chapter and may go up to R for the next.
Dialogue is not my forte, and in this chapter, I finally gave up trying to force it.
Enjoy!
For Goldy- thanks for all the support!
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The Reasons for Dating
Chapter 4: Desire
He could never explain exactly why the moment happened.
It shouldn't have happened. At least not then. Why did it happen that evening and not any other evening? Shouldn't there have been something different about an evening when something so momentous occurred? But there wasn't. It was just another of the big family dinners at the Burrow, which Mrs. Weasley insisted on holding every month now that all her children had moved out of the house. It was, she said, the only way she could keep up with everything that happened in their daily lives. (And woe be it to anyone who missed one of those dinners for anything less than life-threatening reasons…) It was just another of those dinners.
They were eating outside, as they always did, weather permitting. There was as much food as usual (Mrs. Weasley outdid herself for these dinners); the conversation was as lively as always (then again, no meal-time conversation with Fred and George present was ever calm) and he was, as usual, talking to Mr. Weasley about various things which had been going on in the Ministry lately (the head of Magical Maintenance had been somehow offended by the head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and so the weather outside the Ministry had been a daily curiosity, with one day of blizzards followed by a week of thunderstorms, followed by one sunny day, followed by three days of a hurricane) while also bantering with Ron, the twins and Bill.
He was sitting across from Hermione. He had only seen her once since the day of the Quidditch match more than a week ago. Once but that had been enough to at least put to rest one worry. "David Lawson is very nice, Harry, and you're right we got along very well, surprisingly well," she'd responded to his commenting on how well she and Lawson had gotten along (trying desperately not to sound displeased about it). "I think we'll end up being very good friends. But, Harry, I'm not going to date David Lawson or anyone else no matter how nice they are unless I really want to, and right now, I'm happy as I am. Don't worry about me." Which had spared him the need to try to sabotage Lawson's cause without making Hermione suspicious-and that, given how well she had always been able to understand him, was nearly impossible anyway. He'd been able to simply breathe a sigh of relief and move on.
He never knew what strange coincidence of timing or plan of fate made him look up at precisely that instant. He couldn't remember hearing any particular sound which would have made him look up. But he did. And ridiculous as it seemed, his life was changed forever because of that one look, that one fleeting moment. It was one of those moments all the rest of life can't undo.
Hermione was smiling as she talked to Ginny about their plans to go shopping in Diagon Alley soon. A dab of the ice cream they were eating for dessert stayed on her lip and she licked it off before continuing to eat her ice cream.
And he stared, involuntarily and irresistibly fascinated. He didn't know what it was about that moment and that smallest of movements (he was sure he must have seen her lick her lips a hundred times before) but somehow it was only now, seeing her tongue come out to lick off that one drop of ice cream, when he reacted this way. With a flare of something hot, primitive, inside him. A flare of desire.
He didn't understand it but he couldn't deny it. There had been something so very sensual about seeing her tongue lick her lip like that, even if she didn't mean the action to be so. He reacted instinctively, automatically, his entire body clenching with lust, a pool of molten heat settling in the pit of his stomach.
And so he stared. She looked up and met his eyes. Maybe she could read his feelings in his eyes as she usually was able to read his thoughts but her eyes met his and held. And then, unmistakably, she blushed. Hotly and her gaze faltered beneath his as she looked away, trying to regain the thread of her conversation with Ginny.
His heart leaped involuntarily. He knew he'd seen her blush before; he was even almost positive her eyes had faltered and she'd been unable to meet his eyes before, for other reasons. But tonight- tonight that one brief meeting of gazes and changing color of her cheeks seemed imbued with abnormal significance.
The sound of Mr. Weasley's conversation with Bill, the twins' laughter, all the usual noises of a happy family dinner, faded until all he was aware of was a vague buzzing in his ears, drowned out by the sudden thumping of his heart. The world simply ceased to exist for that one moment; there was no one and nothing in it except for himself and Hermione.
Hermione who was still studiously avoiding his gaze (or so it seemed to him) as she chatted with Ginny. Hermione, with her brown hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail, her face devoid of make-up, who was, he was suddenly convinced, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen or ever would see.
Hermione, who had been his best friend for so long he couldn't imagine his life without her by his side… Hermione, whom he wanted to kiss, to touch as he explored the body he'd never before really thought of. Hermione, whom he wanted with a simple, yet powerful and age-old need he'd never even dreamed of feeling for Hermione before…
"Don't you think so, Harry?" The sound of Ron's voice jerked him back to attention and the knowledge that he'd just been asked a question and he had absolutely no idea what it was or what Ron had been talking about.
"Oh, er, yes," he said quickly, devoutly hoping he hadn't just agreed to something like his admiration and respect for Snape (although, admittedly, given that this was Ron, that particular possibility wasn't at all likely).
At any rate, Ron seemed to find his answer completely normal and he breathed a small sigh of relief, making up his mind to curtail any more thoughts on Hermione until later when he was alone and not here, surrounded by people.
He could ignore Hermione- or at least ignore the desire he felt for her and any other troubling thoughts about her- for a few hours, surely. She was his best friend; she was his platonic best friend. And maybe if he kept on repeating that steadying thought, he could forget the jolt of sheer lust he'd felt for her…
It didn't work. Oh he managed to keep up with the rest of the conversation (even if he didn't contribute much) despite his straying eyes and attention every once in a while. But always, he was aware of her. He seemed to have developed a sixth sense that told him what she was doing at all times even when he wasn't looking at her. He knew when she smiled, heard every laugh, every word she spoke, knew when she looked at him (and resisting the urge to look at her and meet her eyes nearly killed him). Had he thought defeating Voldemort was hard? That had been positively easy when compared to the task of trying to keep his mind from wandering to Hermione every other minute. Or so he discovered that evening.
He knew Ron was giving him curious looks because he was acting so absent and preoccupied but at the moment, it didn't concern him.
And it was with a feeling of intense relief that he finally said his goodbyes to the Weasleys, accepting Mrs. Weasley's customary motherly hug and kiss on the cheek and Mr. Weasley's smile and hand-shake. He hugged Ginny goodbye as he usually did (noting that she was also casting odd glances his way but dismissing it.) For then it was time to say goodbye to Hermione and he looked at her fully for the first time in what felt like hours (but was really only about an hour and half) and felt again the sudden desire to kiss her. (How had he never noticed before what a lovely mouth she had? And had her skin always looked so smooth and tempting?)
He didn't give in to his impulse. Thankfully. He only managed something approaching his usual grin and said lightly, "I'll see you around, Hermione" and gave her a quick, scrupulously platonic, hug, keeping as much distance between their bodies as possible and letting go as quickly as he could. That way he wouldn't act on his insane impulse to kiss her or hold her in a less-than-platonic way. (He was rapidly beginning to hate the word platonic.)
She favored him with her usual smile (since when did her smile have the power to make his heart beat faster?) but only said, "See you, Harry."
For the first time in his memory, he was glad to leave the Burrow, having escaped as soon as he possibly could without arousing suspicion. He was so distracted by his unprecedented reaction to Hermione that, as he reflected later, it was really a miracle he hadn't splinched himself on Apparating back to his flat.
He headed straight for the sitting room and his favorite armchair, sitting back with a brief sigh.
Harry wasn't overly given to self-analysis but his reaction to Hermione tonight jarred him into it. What had happened tonight anyway?
He had only happened to glance up and see Hermione lick her lip, a perfectly mundane action. And he'd reacted with a flash of sheer lust. That had subsided somewhat-after an entire evening spent trying to ignore it-but had subsided leaving behind an insidious attraction that heightened his senses to a nearly uncomfortable level. He'd positively tingled every time he felt her eyes on him.
But his physical reaction to her wasn't what terrified him. Merlin knew he'd felt lust before-for Lilah Harte, Carolyn Bridgeton, and Viola Stirling most recently. He tried to picture them in his mind- Lilah with her wide, sensuous mouth, Carolyn and her figure to rival a Greek goddess (as he'd thought in a fit of lust-induced madness on first meeting her), Viola with the exotic contrast of her pale, pale skin (made paler with liberal applications of make-up) and black hair-and failed. Their images kept on being blurred, nudged aside, and replaced with images of Hermione-Hermione smiling at him, laughing at something Fred had said, hugging Mrs. Weasley, taking a drink of butterbeer… (Was the sight of a woman drinking from a glass bottle always so sensual or was it just the sight of Hermione drinking from a bottle that suddenly made him think about what her lips would feel like on his mouth, his skin, his-he cut his thoughts off abruptly. He would not think about that.) Okay, so maybe the strength of his physical reaction to Hermione did scare him a little.
She was his best friend, for Merlin's sake! He should not be thinking such things about her.
And that, after all, was what scared him.
She was his best friend. So he knew that he couldn't just dismiss his reaction to her nearness as simple lust. It was more than that, complicated by his other, more innocent feelings for Hermione-affection, loyalty, protectiveness…
And sitting there in the darkness of his flat (not having bothered to turn on the lights), Harry realized he'd been wrong.
He did want to date Hermione. He did want to be more than just her friend.
He'd never seriously considered dating Hermione before, had dismissed Ron's suggestion of it as rank insanity. But suddenly, he realized, there was nothing he wanted more.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
He could already see it happening-the initial happiness followed by the disillusionment and then the disagreements and then the loss of interest… It had happened before; he quite simply got bored with the witches he'd dated before. Once the first flush of heat was gone and he realized that there had been very little feeling beyond that, he got bored.
And then there was always the problem that they didn't know and couldn't understand the scars he still had, invisible though they might be, from his last few years at Hogwarts. He remembered the way Carolyn had asked, with wide-eyed curiosity, "What was it like, facing him? Were you scared?" He had realized, chillingly, that she felt only curiosity and some awe as well; there was no sympathy, no real understanding at all. She was looking for tales of heroic grandeur. (He had a sudden mental image of himself astride a rearing horse, with a cape billowing behind him, brandishing his wand threateningly at Voldemort and almost laughed at the absurdity of it.) She wasn't really interested in the reality of it; what would she know of the death, the darkness, the loss of his godfather, his mentor, and his friends? He'd answered tersely, "It was dark and cold and yes, it was terrifying," in a tone that closed the conversation permanently, before changing the subject. That moment had sounded the death knell of his relationship with Carolyn.
Then again, none of those usual problems were issues with Hermione. She wouldn't bore him; he already knew her so well and she still managed to surprise him at times. And perhaps most importantly, she knew what it had been like, knew of the unseen scars he still carried, and understood. She'd been there with him up until the very end when he'd had to face Voldemort alone; she'd always been there beside him.
But the idea of moving their relationship beyond what it was now, a comfortable, dependable friendship, sent bolts of pure nervousness and something very like panic shooting through him.
If they did begin dating and it ended for any reason, that would be the end of their friendship too.
They could never go back to being just friends.
It was a risk. Could he risk losing Hermione's friendship? Dared he risk it?
He didn't know-but even as he thought it, something stronger than his finely-honed instinct to avoid trouble emerged, and conquered all his vacillation. Perhaps it was the Gryffindor in him that refused to be put off by risks; perhaps it was simply his own heart telling him this was too important, too strong an emotion, not to act on it. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't simply ignore this desire for Hermione, mixed up with all his other confused feelings for her, and hope it would go away. Whatever the risk, he had to act.
He cared about Hermione, not to mention being attracted to her (and part of him still couldn't believe he was). He wanted to be not just Hermione's friend but her boyfriend and yes, her lover.
He wanted her.
Now he needed to decide how to tell her that…