Someone’s planning to kidnap Hermione, and with plenty of luck and with that lovely incentive of a ransom, it might actually succeed. [No. For the last time. It isn't a death-eater who did it. Its someone quite unexpected.]
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/366/
The Kidnap of Hermione Granger
Old friend of mine,
we will never lose the time
That we shared all these years
These years
Will you make it in the end?
Through all the twists and bends,
Will you full fill your dreams?
Not as easy as it seems.
Killing Heidi, Weir
It was positively insane; the amount of reading Hermione was putting away. Prodigious, was the word that she’d have preferred to be used, but there was no denying the fact that it had started to border on the range of lunacy.
Or so said Ron.
Privately Harry had started to agree as well. He simply didn’t understand how the day could proceed with the sun outside being such a muted golden, the sky a sapphire sea with white clouds pretending to be boats, manage to be a Saturday at the same time, and co-exist with the word ‘indoors’.
“Come on… it’ll just be for an hour or so. And we’ll even let you bring that thing.”
Ron refused to call the thick tome Hermione was leafing through a book. Torture device, paper weight, rubbish, were the words that sprung more readily to mind.
But then again, the written word had never really interested Ron.
“Absolutely not!” she looked horrified, wide dark eyes opened still wider, the friendly mouth this time shaped in a surprised ‘o’.
She really looked very pretty when she did that…
Harry blinked once or twice.
“The NEWTs are in a few months! Honestly, Ron, have some self-control. And Harry,” she snapped at him, “Don’t you still have that Charms essay to complete?”
Drat. He’d forgotten about that.
Harry sat down on the sofa next to Hermione and heaved a great sigh. Ron followed suit. They alternated sighing and looking gloomy, without success, for after a few furtive glances, Harry could tell Hermione’s resolve wasn’t breaking down anytime soon.
Oh well. A Charms essay was in order.
Ron was not very happy. In fact, he was down right mad. And those were in mild terms.
He’d passed up a perfectly wonderful day to sulk on the sofa. And it hadn’t been his fault either, he thought as he glared heavily at the two figures beside him.
One was pretending to study, but he just knew it was a cover-up and she was really a double-agent for Snape and was using this thickish device to transmit information to him. Or she could be really studying, but that was ludicrous. No one could like studying that much. Could they?
And as for the other one… the one that pretended to be his best mate… had actually deserted lines and joined enemy ranks. Pooey. How very base of him.
He’d known it would be a lost cause the second Harry had begun staring at Hermione.
At this the carefully positioned lower lip nearly twitched upward in a grin. He bit his lip, trying to remain in Sulking Pose, and succeeded in a rather fearsome imitation of Crabbe’s smile instead. Oh well.
Whoever Harry thought he was kidding, he was not. Or, depending on your point of view, he actually had. Considering the main person he seemed to be trying to trick was himself.
Ron had read about this somewhere, probably in one of Mrs. Weasley’s copious editions of Witch Weekly. Self Denial or something. The witch in question had actually been named Martha and she was in love with a very ugly wizard called Edward, but Ron Weasley felt he could bloody tell that the situation at hand was the same.
He’d endured about three weeks of this Denial stuff, and had started feeling rather bored. It had been rather interesting at first, seeing the Boy Who Lived becoming the Confused Boy Who Lived, and Ron had even been surprised to find a few sparks of jealously within him.
After all, Hermione had very definitely turned out pretty. The bushy hair hadn’t exactly settled down, and the face was still just starting to become defined, but the signs were there that the transition had begun. And as any red-blooded male, Ron fully appreciated her very nice curves. But still, the starts of jealousy had condensed into amusement. It was just so fun to see Harry so confused.
As for Hermione, although he was rather sure she’d not got a crush on Harry, it was certainly possible it could happen in the near future, and make that the very near future. Just a little push in the right direction. All thanks to their brilliant pal Ron Weasley. They could thank him by naming their first son after him. Or daughter.
But now there were more pressing matters at hand. Like how Hermione was practically building a playhouse out of all her books, with History and Potions essays to fill up the chinks. Stress, he knew very well, was not good for the heart. And he did care about his friends. Hermione would have to lighten up soon, before that house came crashing down.
So he’d tried to take her out more, drag both of them along for walks and general goofing around.
And Hermione, being Hermione, had given him a glare and proceeded with ‘Good Studying Habits for Young Wizards and Witches’. It was most exasperating.
“It’s most exasperating,” Harry heard Ron comment as they went up the steps to the dorms.
Again, and once more privately, Harry agreed. Hermione’s revising had been taking a slightly maniacal turn lately. She hadn’t stepped out of Hogswart in a month.
“We need to do something about it. Something. Something something something.”
And Ron wasn’t really helping by flailing his arms in Harry’s face and looking cross.
“You. You do something. I’ve tried means and ways, but I tell you, I’m stumped.”
Harry apprehensively cleared his throat. And then again, trying to buy time.
“Erm.”
“Ah… now, if we were to force her to go.”
“Well…”
“An modus operandi!”
“I...”
“We can kidnap her! Very good!”
“I don’t…”
“Operation Kidnap. The Great Kidnap. Which do you prefer?”
“Ron…”
“Thanks Harry! Been a great help, you have! We’ll work out the details tomorrow.”
“I don’t think Hermione’s going to like this very much. Ron… Ron?”
But Ron had fallen asleep.
What, ho! I’ve always wanted to kidnap someone. Goodie. Please review, I’d really really reeaaally appreciate it. It’s only nice, okay? *Pokes your conscience*
The Kidnap of Hermione Granger
Chapter 2, Meticulous Planning
Email: faith@intoxique.net
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone’s planning to kidnap Hermione, and with plenty of luck, it might actually succeed. H/Hr
Disclaimer: Oh yes, it’s all going to be mine someday. I have plans of world domination, you see.
Author’s Note: Author’s Belgian Chocolate Rice Crispies have been pilfered. Find me a warpath to stalk on, somebody… Oh. And I’m using a canon Draco, please forgive me, I know innately he’s really hot/evil/sweet/good/a Harry lover/whatever you think him be.
How are you feeling?
What are your reasons?
Do you feel love or a lack there of?
Love is a bond without reason
A cry for connection
A light in your eyes
Love is a reason for living, a reason for trying, a reason for life
Forget the feeling
Get all your of reasons
Life is love or the lack there of
Juliana Theory, Everything
I want their CD. Buy meeeeeeeeeee
It was a very rum thing, the way magical food appeared on the table and kept refilling itself. Very rum. Especially in the mornings when one wasn’t too sure what was going on, or if your brain had been switched on yet, it was a Good Thing.
Ruminating on this slice of philosophical statement – ‘Oh!’ He registered as he reached for a slice of pie, ‘A pun.’ Harry munched slowly, chewing on both the pie and the information.
Gulping down the last dregs of milk from his glass, as well as the last pop tart, Harry’s brain switched on.
That’s right. They’d come to an agreement last night; one sided, but nonetheless an agreement, argued Ron. And Harry in his newly awake state didn’t feel like getting into an argument.
It was all well and good to whisper about it after the lights had gone out, behind the drapes, but when it came to actually executing the fine plan, it was an entirely different matter.
Damn it, you couldn’t just kidnap a girl. Could you? And if he remembered correctly, it was illegal in several countries, and… even… (Here he gave a sharp swallow of air and fear) punishable by death in certain areas…
They would have to be very crafty about this and very secretive too. Very, very secretive, since death-by-Hermione would probably be worse than death-from-Kidnapping-Hermione.
Draco, he noted, still had not gotten rid of hex-marks he’d earned duelling her. At least the last traces of the fur had gone. Poor chap had been very happily confident of his abilities to defeat a Mudblood, in fact, so much so that he’d left an opening and it was all over for Draco.
And on mentioning their fine plan… they actually didn’t have one. The gist of all Ron had said was "Kidnap her! Good! Bloody brilliant!"
He’d carelessly omitted a few finer details, such as how what and when. Unfortunate, that, but the general idea was to force Hermione to relax.
The pie was finished and he reached for the bread.
"Harry? Are you listening?"
Now his brain had switched on, it seemed to do an automatic shut down as he noticed that Hermione was sitting on the opposing side of the table.
The morning sunlight shafted through the high windows in the hall, shooting a bright arrow to her hair and illuminating it in a golden glow around her face.
Somehow in the contrast of the light and shadows her face seemed to take on an elven air, the small pointed chin, the delicately arched brows raised in question. Her eyes looked worriedly and amusedly at him, golden sparks flickering. And he loved her…
Now where did that come from?
Maybe it’s been there all along.
Harry tried his best to process this information, failing miserably. It was too early for this, and it wasn’t right, was it, to be conversing with yourself. Indignantly he gulped the bread crusts as he mentally kicked his brain, hoping to start it. It gave a little tinker, and then puttered out.
Milk. This called for more milk. He’d obviously not drunk enough. Now if only he could find the glass.
Which was in Dean’s hand, and was completely empty. Right. Kill Dean.
Professor Binns was truly a great lover of his subject, History. In fact, he occasionally got so enthralled in it; he could spend the whole lesson and the next expounding on the history of relations between Giants and Wizards. "And then Freda the Large gave a mighty ROAR (at this, so caught up was he, he’d roar as loud as a ghost could) and threw stones at Grida the Greedy, thus settling their argument and creating what Muggles know as Stonehenge"
All this was done with a great flourish and tripping over of robes. Professor Binns never had wished to return to reality, the disappointment he had faced as a young man upon the end of his loving re enactment of scenes of the past had led him to live in the past, where the only threats posed were out of books, and the dangerous dark wizards thankfully dead.
He really loved History.
Which was why it was a great pity most of his students used his curriculum time to catch up on their sleep. No small wonder, but yes, a pity indeed.
He paused for just a while to get a fresh piece of chalk, and gave the students one of his rare glances. Only Miss Granger was copying down what he was talking about. And for a change, so was Mr. Weasley.
Only Mr. Weasley, in fact was laboriously inking out a crafty plan of kidnap. Sucking his quill, he proceeded to list the necessary precautions to take.
One would of course have to make sure the victim (that is, Hermione) would be completely unaware of the events. Ron as well was only too well versed with the possible repercussions with Hermione’s knowledge. It was hard luck sometimes, having a genius for a best friend. It was also hard luck at times having a superstar for your other best friend, but that was not the issue at hand.
Secrecy had to be invoked. He’d practiced during Potions with Harry a super-secret soft whisper, just to get used to it. Of course, the fact that Snape had been casting the evil eye on them every now and then helped matters plenty.
Then of course, there had to be the place to hide the kidnapped one.
In this case, it was made harder by the fact that they not only had to spirit Hermione away to a place where she could not get away, they also had to spirit her away to a place where she could enjoy herself.
And Hermione, being the energetic and independent young witch she was, would not submit to that without a fight, in which Ron would probably end up the loser (it wasn’t he was that bad at duelling, he just didn’t like to hit a lady, he rationalised).
On the other hand if it came down to a show of brute force, he could probably overpower her, but he severely doubted she would enjoy him carting her away caveman style. And it might be a painful experience.
For both himself and her.
She might enjoy Harry carting her away though…
But bugger it; it was impossible to picture either Hermione or Harry agreeing peaceably to that plan of action.
But he’d leave the question of the how-to up to Harry, it served the boy bloody right, he was sleeping while Ron was – granted, not working, but strategising.
"Oi! Harry!" he hissed in the super-secretly soft tones.
"Mrpgh." Was the only response, unless you decided to count the very faint line of drool hanging. Glasses askew, hair more rumpled than usual, Harry was looking utterly worn out. Curse him. Ron just didn’t have the heart to rouse him.
Then there was the when of the affair. It would have to be a suitably long interval in which no one would miss Hermione. After lunch Saturday seemed a good plan.
An added plus was that Hermione would probably be too full to protest too much. Heavy too. Not good, in case the caveman operation had to take place. Ah… but before lunch, now that was an idea.
A picnic! And picnics meant sandwiches and pickles and…
Ron unconsciously licked his lips.
And no one would miss her, seeing some Hogswart students went to Hogsmeade for lunch instead.
It was lucky for them that at least one of them in the trio had common sense enough to solve two birds in one bush (Ron had a rather dubious usage of idioms). A picnic lunch and no one would notice her absence.
Then the where was easy enough – Ron knew there was a lovely nice spot near the lake under a sweet shady tree where hardly anyone went, since it was on the further side of the lake from the castle and Hogsmeade.
And being on the further end of the grounds, it was highly unlikely Hermione would be able to make a dash for it back to her books. Hermione was a clever girl, plenty of brains. Ron had absolute faith in her that she’d see the sense in remaining like the good girl she was and relaxing.
Certainly, it would make the kidnappers jobs easier. No need to bind her up and all that.
And most certainly, there was the ransom. Good kidnappings always had ransoms.
Victor Krum, perhaps? But by the time he would have received the owl with the enclosed picture of Hermione having a picnic, the day would have been done. Plus Pig probably would have half-killed himself flying that great nasty distance.
And he was very fond of Pig. As Harry was fond of Hermione, to put it lightly.
It was then that brainwave numbers 2 and 3 struck him.
He leaned gave himself a pat on the back. Which no one noticed being out of the ordinary, seeing they were either asleep, a ghost, or Hermione.
Indeed, it was lucky for his two best friends in the world that they had this marvellous pal with common sense enough to beat two birds around one bush.
I have 280 hits and 6 reviews. Now be clever and deduce. Are they equal? Be good and review if you read, please.
Author’s Note:
I sound British?
Now that’s new J
The only claim to English fame I have is that it is my first language. The only thing I do is use UK spelling. I don’t major in it, dig up rules on grammar usage, or live in England
No, in fact I live on a rather jolly tropical island in Asia. So I suppose you could do it too, if you wanted to, you know, sound British and all.
And AnimeFanatic, yes, I am ridiculous, ludicrous, and utterly absurd, there’s glory for you, as Humpty dear would say.
The Kidnap of Hermione Granger (Sorry, I kept uploading crap files)
Chapter 3, A Matter of Opinion
Email: faith@intoxique.net
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone’s planning to kidnap Hermione, and with plenty of luck, it might actually succeed. H/Hr
Disclaimer: Oh look, they’re not mine. Big surprise, eh?
Author’s Note: If you love me send me money.
Forgive me, but I’ve been spelling Hogwarts as Hogswart all along. Sorry. Am doubled over in shame
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why.
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time
Greenday, Time of Your Life
***
This part may sound a little… disturbed and disconnected, but just keep in mind, Hermione’s stressed so she isn’t thinking straight. Also she’s mistaking her instinctive feeling that they’re plotting about her for paranoia.
Hermione could sense something was up. She’d less faith in Divination than a cancer patient had in the hands of a vet, but still…
Lavender’s voice came out shrilly in her brain. “The Grim, Hermione! The Grim! I swear I saw it!”
Ugh. Too much of that pumpkin pie at lunch.
But the feeling that something distinctly odd was going on just could not be shaken off. And weird things had been going on lately. Not normal, then again, when was Hogwarts ever normal?
Harry and Ron had been acting strange as well. At least, stranger than normal. They’d gone around avoiding her at times, and when she commented on it, they’d acted like two guilty boys, with all that shuffling of feet and eyes downcast. Which they probably were, she realised, narrowing her eyes.
Oh well. It’s simply a matter of time before they mess something up and come to me for help.
Oh sure, her brain swallowed that, but her head and heart sure didn’t. It was hopeless, she realised, staring down at her parchment. She was slowly but surely turning into a mother hen.
Hey! Her brain called to the rest of her, focus, Granger, focus!
But what was the use of focusing if all she ended up writing was an account on How to Get Wizard Boys to Confess to Their Worried Friend. It was absolute slosh to try to read a lively account of the Goblin Wars when her heart kept going back to Wishing They’d Just Bloody Tell Me the Problem.
She couldn’t stand it, soon feathers were going to sprout and she’d be laying 10 eggs a day. St Mungo’s didn’t have a ornithologist specialist, did it? Or maybe she’d just move to the farm near Hogsmeade and start a production line.
She needed to get Ron and Harry and their Stupid Thing, whatever it was, out of her system, and fast.
All right, so she worried about them. Excessively. Obsessively. Whatever. The question was why, and why now? Time to analyse the suspects, she thought grimly to herself.
Subject Ron. Red haired good-natured Ron. He always talked too much when hiding something, and lately he’d been babbling like… well, Lavender. Whenever she’d tried to question him, he’d flail his arms, gesticulate wildly, infuriate her, and lead her off the subject. Add to that his suspicious new habit of actually taking down notes in class, he made for a highly suspicious case.
Subject Harry. Whenever she’d tried to corner him, he’d either rush off for Quidditch practice (hah!) or Ron would come to his rescue. He’d been staring an awful lot at her too, lately. Maybe she’d really started sprouting feathers.
Check. No, thank God. Not yet anyway.
Although he didn’t have Ron’s knack for leading her attention away from the subject, he certainly could be stubborn. He had a certain look sometimes, when he was playing Quidditch, or when solving a particularly tricky Transfiguration problem. His dark brows would slant down, and his chin would harden as he worked feverishly.
Good God, now she was obsessing over Stubborn Harry.
Oh certainly, not while there was Adorable Harry, Confused Harry and Laughing Harry to obsess over.
Very good Granger, now you’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
With an inarticulate cry of what could only be described as pure frustration, she threw both parchment and quill out of the nearest window.
“You threw, Madam?”
Seamus’s sarcastic tones floated up from the ground level as she ran down to apologise.
*
“Psst… Harry, just a feeling, but I think she can tell something’s fishy” Ron hissed conspiratorially into Harry’s ears.
Distracted, Harry stared at the Halibut on his plate, about to make an inane comment when his green eyes widened considerably and his mouth rounded, Hermione was headed his way, and for the most part she didn’t look calm.
The words Gulp it and Leg it made an appearance, but at the Gulp it, he choked as she came and casually patted him on the back. That considerably slowed him down some, as did the decidedly determined voice bent low over him.
“Have a drink of water Harry, and come with me to the Common room.”
“Quidditch Practice…?” he trailed off meekly, all the while knowing his was a lost battle.
“At night? Honestly Harry, come up with a better excuse next time.”
“Detention.”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
“Homework.”
“Made you do it all this afternoon.”
What was to be done, after that, but to follow a Hermione, who was beginning to have a maniacal grin on her face, back to the Common room. Yes, Operation Kidnap would be not a moment too soon. It was for her own good, he told himself grimly.
And just remember, no matter what she does, don’t give the game away.
He unhappily recalled from a book somewhere, that thinking was far easier than doing. Drat.
*
The following is something I did because I felt like experimenting with styles. I’m hoping it’ll add a little more humour, but that, is up to you to decide, dear reader. Its Harry’s head meshed with Alfred Hitchcock mashed up with reality. I mean fiction. Hell, you know what I mean.
“Don’t even try to pretend I don’t know what you’re up to. I do. I know all about your secret plot.”
The beautiful detective slit her eyes as she sidled up to him. The quest for the truth shone feverishly (with a touch of stress related mania) in her gold-flecked irises.
Name’s Potter, Harry Potter. And right then I could feel my resolve weakening along with my brain in a heady mix of secrets and espionage. Quickly replaced by a growing dark pit of secret horror deep in my stomach. She knew.
“You… knew?”
I tried to pass it as a casual remark, off hand, as if I knew she knew I knew she knew.
“Yes. Trying to keep a secret from me? Fat chance.” She suddenly snorted, ruining my little daydream for a second, but soon resumed the interrogation.
“As if. I know all about you. And Ron. And the illegal thing you’re doing.”
Wait. Doing. Doing, as in the present tense verb. She didn’t know a thing! She’d been bluffing all along. I admired that kind of nerve in a woman. It was a pity we were on different sides. If we’d been on the same side the possibility was mind blowing.
“We’re not doing anything illegal.” Ah… not yet at least.
“Really.”
“Really. I promise you, okay? Trust me on this one.”
I move in closer to her to stare into her eyes, add some sincerity perhaps. But me, I’ve had a thing for beautiful mysterious detectives with winding brown tresses and a good figure. Me, I get lost in her eyes…
“Okay.” Her voice breaks the little tête â tête. Is it just me or does her voice sound just a little raw?
And then my partner in crime burst in. Thank God.
“HulloHermioneHowyoudoinIneedHarryNow.”
Rescue procedure began and I was whisked off to the safe house, or rather, the boy’s dorms.
No doubt leaving an even more frustrated beauty in the wake.
*
“Listen now, Harry. We can’t put this off any longer. Scrap the plans, it happens this Saturday.”
Ron was pacing the floor enthusiastically.
“Saturday, as in tomorrow, Saturday?”
Harry cleared his throat slightly, hoping against all hopes that somehow, a magical little path would appear in the distance, in which the problem to his confusion would be solved, Hermione would ease up, and Ron wouldn’t get any more bright ideas. No path, but the door was there, very practically placed into the wall in case he needed to make a dash for it. Yes, thank God for doors.
Ron sighed. Either Harry was being dense on purpose, or he was naturally being dense to provoke him. Same, same. And besides, Ron knew his friend well enough to know he was trying to buy time.
“No, next year Saturday, of COURSE this Saturday, you git.” Here he paused dramatically before letting the bomb fall, “And what is more, old buddy, old pal, YOU are going to be the abductor…”
It took a few seconds for the penny to drop.
“I… I am? What about you?”
“I shall be preparing the… stuff. Yes. Don’t bother your little head about that. And besides. Only you could pull it off.”
“Ron. Its just grabbing her and making a dash for it. You could do it, easy.”
Ron sighed again, and tapped Harry’s temple. “Hallo, anything in there? Not very easy to grab a great girl like Hermione and run to the other side of the grounds.”
“So? Doesn’t make a difference. I’m not much stronger than you, you know, and besides. Hermione’s only about 5 feet. You could grab her as well as I could.”
Ron smiled. Dear sweet innocent Harry. It was a good, good thing clever Ron was in charge of this operation.
“Let me clue you in on some of the finer details…”
***
Hurrah sweethearts, we are nearing the final stretch. I never meant to make it so long, sorry if it does come off a bit winded. It was originally meant to be a 2 parter, but I’m not the sort of author who spits out 3000 words per chapter, you should know that by now. I’m more of a 1500 sort. Lazy, I know.
And now I shall set my pet bunny on you if you don’t review.
The Kidnap of Hermione Granger
Chapter 4, Undeniably So
Email: stars_glow@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone’s planning to kidnap Hermione, and with plenty of luck, it might actually succeed. H/Hr
Disclaimer: Oh look, they’re not mine. Big surprise, eh?
Author’s Note: Same old, same old. I’m really sorry about the Hogwarts/Hogswart thing. My mental process went, Hogsmeade, Hogswart, and the spell check agreed with me. Excuses, excuses. Oh God, I hate seeing little green and red marks so I added the lot to my dictionary. Stuff like, ‘Winky’ and ‘Butterbeer’. Finally we’ve come to the end. I'm sorry it took so long, I got very busy with a little detail called school. Thanks for being on the way, especially those who reviewed! I read every single one of them. Several times over, in fact.
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why.
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time
“You know, things would be a lot easier if I were like Ron. My life would be more laidback, more relaxing.” sighed Hermione.
“However,” she continued firmly, “I’m not. So by today, I’m going to finish all of you.”
People talked to their pets at times, even stuffed animals and the sort. Hermione, however, was addressing A Practical Guide to Transfiguration. Seamus eyed her warily, his freckled countenance viewing her with caution. Those of a lesser sort of daring had long cleared the common room. Seamus, being either extremely brave or extremely foolish, had been the only one to choose to remain. However, even he had started to view the exit with great affection.
Hermione, on the other hand, was yet oblivious to such matters. A more pressing issue was at hand.
Flipping to page 1305, she’d begun reading “And in changing an inanimate object to an animate object, extreme caution must be ensured when…” and then no less than 47 times, a pair of green eyes had floated in front of the next few words. It was trying, and her spirit felt very much aggrieved.
She’d tried closing her eyes, but the green just seemed to burn with a brighter glow. Tricking it, by faking a side-look and then very agilely darting her gaze back, nevertheless the green had simply attached itself right in front of her pupils. Harry had taught her that trick, a Quidditch trick it was. Harry…
Maybe she’d been studying too hard. They said when your eyes got tired; spots would dance in front of them. She vaguely wondered if spots included very striking bottle green ones that resembled eyes. Perhaps she’d pop off to the kitchen to converse with Dobby and Winky. An added bonus would be the food, of course. It was time for lunch anyway. So, lunch first, then kitchen, then (here she cast a dirty look at the offensive article) the book.
The green eyes seemed to nod gravely as she gave a last ditch effort to read past the infuriating first few words. With a loud sigh she slammed the book shut, climbing up on the table to place it on top of a large stack of books, which in turn gave a little wobble and toppled.
Seamus fled the room.
Ambling down the stairs, blinking a little at the change of light from the darker common room, Hermione distractedly wondered where Ron and Harry were. Perhaps they’d gone with Parvati and Lavender for lunch at Hogsmeade. Somehow this thought made her heart feel a wee dulled, as if it had temporarily been coated in flour; and her lips for some unknown cause drooped the slightest notch at the corners.
The day was glorious outside, the clouds and sky had once again gone on a riot, the grass was rippling in the slight breeze which passed through the castle and the corridor, carrying faint voices…
“Rather. Don’t you know that…”
“I tell you, he smiled at me! Me! Roger! Me! Yay!”
“Lunch! And about time too! C’mon I’ll race you down.”
“Just do it, Harry!”
Slowly she started to turn around, the last had sounded pretty near.
She never knew what hit her.
Harry and Ron had been hiding behind a corridor, waiting for Hermione to make an appearance. They’d been waiting for about twenty minutes, when they’d witnessed Seamus’s hasty escape. It had been an exceptionally uncomfortable time; they’d been hiding in a broom closet that had not exactly been empty. Also, the fact that they were two extremely active boys of seventeen odd and that one of them was six foot two had made for a very tricky situation fitting inside.
Plus Ron kept humming ‘Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,’ (it was all he knew) and frankly Harry felt Mary could go stew the lamb for all he wished.
Harry frowned faintly. Now only Hermione was left in the room. Why the hell wasn’t she out yet?
“Ron,” he started doubtfully, “what if she never comes out for lunch then, what do we do then?”
Ron was applying his eye to the keyhole. It was certainly rather freaky from the outside; a cupboard that apparently had an eye.
“Eh… Umm…
Shh! Here she comes! Get ready…”
He supposed it was because he was nervous that started his heart pounding, but due to… complications, he unhappily acceded that perhaps his diagnosis could have been less than straightforward. Matters of the heart had always been considered problematic.
It was while wondering this that Ron took advantage to shove him onto the broom.
Feeling as though it were another Harry mounting the broom, he kicked off.
Slowly Hermione opened an eye. Then the other, and hurriedly she wished she hadn’t. The pillars seemed to be chasing after her, as she flew out the front doors, and the chandelier was too close for her liking. Any second now she’d be a pancake on the floor. Her gravestone would read ‘Hermione Granger, Died on a sunny summer day, squished on the floor,’
Oh God.
She dug her fingers deeper into whatever she was holding on to as a fluffy cloud flashed by her.
Oh God oh God oh God.
The thing she was clutching gave a slight ‘oomph’, and she noticed it was actually someone. In fact, it was Harry.
Maybe she was dreaming? She ran through the facts again. Lunch, voices, chandelier, broom, cloud and Harry. It didn’t really make sense.
But then again, neither had that Philosopher’s Stone, or the Chamber of Secrets, and for off the record, Sirius himself didn’t often make sense, and definitely did not the Quidditch World Cup.
Twenty odd men chasing like maniacs after little balls in the sky? In the sky, a few thousand feet off the ground, like right now. And a few thousand men hoarsely shouting after them to do this and do that and oh for god’s sake what did he think he was doing missing that easy goal?
No, no sense at all.
Neither did Harry, not nowadays. He didn’t make sense, always making her stomach go wibble wobble, or looking particularly kissable.
Oh God. Oh God Oh God oh God.
Kissable?
Harry?
Since when had the two started going around hand in hand?
Oh God. Oh God Oh God oh God and the ground was going to smash into them and she was going to die without passing her NEWTs and she liked Harry and she was going to die.
That was the reward you got for being Harry Potter’s best friend. Unfair was an understatement.
Hermione being made prefect and Head Girl had meant many things. Especially since he, the Head Boy, didn’t have to work too hard to get the Head Girl to occasionally sneak out and save Hogwarts from an evil Lord of Darkness.
However, zooming through the atmosphere with the aforesaid Head Girl having been successfully abducted, he really thought the best side effect was that she’d had to keep short nails, being a model for responsibility and all that.
A guilty voice emphasised strongly that the Head Boy himself wasn’t acting very responsibly at the moment. He shut it sternly, reminding it that he was responsibly taking charge of the Head Girl’s sanity right then.
She had a very strong hold on his waist. He blushed, and then mentally chastised himself.
It wasn’t like this in the third year!
No, but then they’d been thirteen and he didn’t…
He didn’t really feel it had been the same awkward position.
The guilty voice revived itself, and sounding a little snide, it mentioned, ‘Oh, and of course you didn’t really feel the same awkward feelings thinking about her, right now, am I?’
The broom gave a violent wobble as Harry strangled the voice and threw it to the crocodiles. Somehow or other, it had sounded too much like a combination of Ron and Malfoy for his liking.
Oh, and the voice had been right and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but that wasn’t really the main issue.
He liked it, oh, he did, he admitted to himself. Having her without Ron or anyone else, just the two of them and this otherworldly vista of blue and white brilliance.
But maybe she didn’t like it? He didn’t mean having her up on a broom more than ten times his body height above ground level; she’d buried her head in the folds of his cloak, and he’d been suddenly very conscious on how grubby he was and wanted to go clean himself up a little; no, he meant him and her alone together without Ron.
Before he’d always assumed that it had been Ron who’d been the glue between them. Dear Ron who’d lighten her up, make her throw away her books by driving her insane enough to chuck them at him. The time during the fourth year without Ron had been boring, doing all that studying in the library with her.
She’d said later that it had been especially stressful dealing with their problems, so she’d turned to her source of answers, in other words, the library.
And he supposed she’d felt equally at a loss without Ron too.
Ron. That’s right. She liked Ron. Just look at that debacle at the Yule Ball - denial and jealousy in its finest hour. Textbook Days of Our Lives behavioural symptoms!
But up here, without books, Quidditch, work and evil Dark Lords, they were simply being. Being Harry and being Hermione.
Maybe something had shifted, maybe he had, maybe nothing had, he wasn’t sure on that just yet. But with her, he instinctively knew no matter he’d be, library or Hogsmeade, he’d love her. Through all the irritation, exasperation, stress, and yes, Dark Lords (again), he’d love her.
And she’d love Ron. And there they would be ten years down the road, stuck in a situation where either a) He’d force her to marry him and she’d die secretly pining after Ron as Ron would her, although he didn’t really think he’d do that, or b) She’d marry Ron, have him be the godfather of her brood, and he’d end up dead pining after her; also known as the situation most likely to happen.
It was only right, after all. Ron had had her heart even before Harry had realised he’d wanted it.
Damn it, it wasn’t fair that it was fair.
He’d just take the opportunity of this afternoon, and then, (here he sighed deeply, causing Hermione to wonder if, perhaps, she was clutching a little too hard) he’d give her up to happiness and Ron.
Blissful in his ignorance, Ron had been merrily setting up the picnic mat. It was a hard feat to beat Harry and his broom, but he’d managed it by telling Harry all the wrong directions. (Left at the Whomping Willow, then turn 80 degrees south and then the same north after about 5 feet, then head back to the Whomping Willow…)
One Butterbeer, three chicken sandwiches, and a good helping of potato salad having settled conveniently in his stomach, (the mat was too full, he justified) Ron stepped back and admired his work. Perfect. Good food, (just don’t tell Hermione the house elves made it), a perfectly beautiful arrangement and a pretty cloud cover. He felt very, very, proud of himself.
Now all it needed was Harry and Hermione.
He gave a little whoop of glee as he sighted the broom far off, and ducked into the well-located clump of bushes. Then rushed out again. Surely they wouldn’t miss some, well, most, of the apple pie.
All in all, it was a very bumpy landing, partly because Harry was nervous, and also because Hermione had finally managed to get her mouth open to yell into his ear at her impeding doom.
They skittered to a halt, and Hermione rolled off into a quivering heap on the ground. Still uncertain if maybe they’d died and gone to heaven, she opened her eyes.
It was an exceptionally pretty spot, and if it weren’t a secret spot too, at that, it would be swarming with lovey-dovey couples.
Close by was a river leading to the lake, with a willow tree leaning and dipping its blue-green leaves into the blue-green water. Bushes and young trees clustered around, secluding it from the rest of the world. And there was a picnic.
Unconsciously, her tummy gave a rumble, jerking her back to the practical, comfortingly more familiar side of the world.
"Shall we?" she sat, and waited for Harry to do the same.
He stared suspiciously at her.
"You're not... angry, are you?"
Wide-eyed with surprise, she turned to glance at him.
"Should I be?"
"Oh. I figured since... ohwellnevermind" shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he decided to let the matter rest. Let sleeping dragons lie and all that.
His hands and feet seemed larger than normal as he awkwardly placed his broom beside the blanket and sat beside her. Put them on his lap. No, by the side. Or why not one on the lap, and another by his side? Giving a deep mental sigh, he picked up a piece of pie, focusing on simply eating.
The bushes gave an exasperated sigh, but no one noticed.
Hermione, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. Partially confused, eventually confuddled, she'd given up on Logic and given in to Instinct. Which was telling her, why, this was perfectly logical and natural. To be sitting here, eating a fine spread in a secluded spot, Harry Potter by her side.
Harry had taken her on a picnic.
That had been the single phrase that bubbled into her (currently befuddled) head. The next thought, was How very sweet!
She liked Harry. Very much. And suddenly with the unnatural natural greenery, and with the hazy sun filtering through the overhanging broughs, a quiet click could be heard in the depths of her mind.
Meanwhile, the bushes harboured a sulking Ron. Bother to set both your friends up, and they don't do a thing.
"Harry?" Harry stopped furiously focusing on his food, and abruptly looked up.
"Yes?" a squeak came out, and he turned profusely red.
Smiling a little, Hermione held his hand as she said "Thanks."
His first instinct was to Withdraw and Retreat, Withdraw and Retreat. He opened his mouth to say, oh no, it was all Ron's idea, you should be thanking him instead.
But with the contact, another quiet click could be heard, this time within Harry's head.
He gave her a wide grin instead.
And with that a quiet understanding passed between them. They both knew something had happened, neither was entirely clear on what, but they got the feeling they weren't supposed to anyway. They'd cross that bridge when it came.
Meanwhile, they'd revel in the bliss of fuzzy warmness.
"Shall we go back?"
Harry helped Hermione up as she brushed the crumbs off her robes.
And they walked back, hand in hand.
If one listened carefully, a quiet grumbling of a Discontent Fellow who Deserved to be Discontent could be heard.
"Hell. Give 'em a pretty picnic, perfect settings, and not one single kiss to be seen. It's enough to drive any sidekick to an early grave."
Thoughtfully, he knocked on the trunk of the bush. Just to be safe.
____________________________________________Author's Last Word In
I'm sorry. That was very anti climatic. But have you heard? I'm not very good at writing romance, although I do love reading it. It just didn't seem natural to me to make 'em kiss and stuff and say "She's been there all along, and I just realised she's my true love." You see, in keeping with all the symptoms I've made them portray so far - they have a mutual crush on each other. Not love, but like Hermione said, in very much like. So I've kept it there.
A crush, do keep in mind, can die off, or travel further into something deeper. This isn't a deep fic at all. No. It is an outlet of excess fluffy clouds in my head. If you're looking for something of a more serious and deeper nature, you could always go to my other fic, Broken Pieces.