Real
He now knows he loves her; he's never been surer of anything in his life. It had taken him six months to realise what the strange new feelings meant, but he'd figured it out on his own in the end. He just hasn't done anything about it yet, although he's decided to at least tell her tonight.
He's the talking and walking definition of stressed at the moment as he hastily makes his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, having just completed another draining lesson in Occlumency. The image of Snape's smirking face after successfully penetrating his mind and viewing even more private memories than usual is still fresh in his memory. He simply could not focus tonight, or any other night for that matter. She's on his mind all day, every day; he's a lovesick fool and it drives him mad.
It's funny, in a strange way, how it had taken an action as drastic as her going on strike to help him grasp just how much he needs her in his life. He no longer takes her for granted or ignores the voice inside his head that speaks in her tone. Well, except for when it tells him to confess to her. He's not exactly sure why he hasn't come clean; he knows how difficult it is to keep anything a secret from her and figures she probably has a good idea of what's going on in his frustrated mind. He's a bit scared of the possibility of rejection, although he has more than enough faith that their friendship would not sever purely because of that. It's the idea of her loving him back that frightens him more than anything; he doesn't know how to handle love, he's never had any experience to know any better.
"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say the password?"
The Fat Lady's rude tone surprises him; he didn't even notice he'd reached the Common Room so quickly. He stands quietly for a moment before answering, fully aware of her presence just through the portrait hole. His stomach lurches and he feels the palms of his hands begin to sweat as he firmly clenches them and mutters, "Gillyweed." The painting swings open and he climbs through the hole only to come face to face with -
"Hermione!" he exclaims, not expecting to meet her right at the entrance. He usually prepares before speaking to her these days; he convinces himself that she's still his best friend despite the attraction he feels. "Where are you going?" Half of him wants her to leave the room and allow his heart rate to even out once again, but the other half desperately craves her presence and loves the adrenaline rush he feels whenever she's nearby.
"I was going out to look for you, Harry. You haven't returned this late in quite a while," Hermione replies, peering worriedly up at him.
"How was Snape?" Ron asks, walking over from one of the armchairs by the fire.
"Same as always," Harry answers quickly, happy for the chance to direct his attention onto someone other than Hermione.
Ron nods and says, "Thought as much. She," he gestures absently toward Hermione, "seems to believe he's been treating you differently lately. Says you come back looking even more distressed than usual." Harry's eyes widen in surprise and his gaze snaps back to a slightly blushing Hermione.
"It is true," she says, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "You've been acting differently around me - us - lately, and, well, I figured it might be something about your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape or if there's a different reason…" Her voice trails off as her gaze meets his, and Harry panics in the few seconds of silence, wondering if she's finally figured it out.
"He just said Snape is the same as he's always been, Hermione; there's no need to read into things so much," Ron says with a roll of his eyes. Hermione shoots him an angry glare and opens her mouth to reply but Ron addresses Harry before she has the chance. "You look as though you need some fun, mate. Up for a game of Exploding Snap?"
"Yeah, sure," he replies gratefully and follows Ron over to a group of chairs. To both his pleasure and dismay, Hermione sits in the seat next to him and watches as he and Ron play; although watching as Ron plays Exploding Snap and Harry stares at her out of the corner of his eye is a more accurate description of the situation.
After receiving six burns in differing degrees of severity, Harry decides he's had more than enough Exploding Snap for one evening. He stands without speaking and moves over to the empty couch, from where he watches Ron attempt to goad Hermione into a game. It takes him several minutes of vehement arguing, to Harry's slight amusement, but she eventually rolls her eyes and occupies Harry's abandoned armchair.
As Harry turns from watching her laughing and concentrating demeanour and focuses on the raging fire instead, he realises he has absolutely no idea how he's going to tell her. He doesn't want to scare her by professing undying love right away, yet he doesn't want her thinking it's just another meaningless and fleeting crush that he'll get over in time. He does not allow himself to contemplate her possible responses in this moment; it's hard enough working up the courage to tell her without thinking of potential rejection. Just as he's considering forgetting about the whole thing for another night, he hears a loud bang from Ron and Hermione's general vicinity and twists around to see an extremely miffed looking Hermione examining her newly-scorched left forearm as Ron attempts to stifle his laughter.
"I just knew I shouldn't have agreed to play this game!" she harshly spits. "And stop laughing, Ron! How would you like me to give you a burn on your arm?"
"Hermione, I've been playing this game for at least ten years now," he manages to reply through his mirth. "I've already burnt everything there is to burn!"
Hermione scowls at Ron and mutters something Harry can't hear before making her way over to the couch and crossly sitting uncomfortably close to him. Ron, still chuckling, picks up the deck of cards and wanders over to where Seamus and Dean are sitting. Harry's leg is shaking uncontrollably and he feels physically ill to his stomach with sheer anxiety as Hermione shifts closer to him.
"You would think," she begins, not facing Harry but staring into the fire, "that he'd be a bit more mature at sixteen than he was at eleven." Harry merely nods in response, unable to formulate a decent or coherent reply when she's just crossed her legs in his direction. "What kind of person laughs when their best friend's just burnt herself?" She turns her head and he suddenly finds his face mere centimetres away from hers and their hot breath mingling in the warm Common Room air before she quickly turns away again, blushing.
"Ron?" Harry supplies in a voice most unlike his own. He clears his throat shifts his weight around on the couch.
"What?" she asks, completely nonplussed.
Harry clears his throat again and repeats, "Ron would laugh. You asked what kind of person would-"
"Oh, right," she interrupts. "Ron. Yes." She sounds extremely flustered, Harry notices, and it gives him heart. He allows himself, for the first time in ages, to hope that she could possibly feel the same attraction he's felt. Stealing a quick glance, he sees her lower lip is caught between her teeth and her brow is furrowed, creating a small crease in her forehead that he can't help but find endearing. He groans and puts his head in his hands, silently berating himself for becoming such a sap. A hand comes into contact with his shoulder causing him to jump to his feet as though he'd been burnt again by the exploding cards.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asks, taken aback by his jumpiness.
"Nothing," he murmurs, backing away as she stands and steps toward him. "Well - something is wrong - no, not wrong. Something is - is not really right. Actually, it is right; at least I think it's right if you think-"
"Harry!" she cuts his rambling off and stares incredulously at him as he furiously reddens under her intense gaze. "What's going on with you? You've been acting so strangely lately, and I have absolutely no clue as to why-"
"Let's take a walk. Now."
"I - okay," she replies, still watching him with that questioning look upon her face. He casts a quick look in Ron's direction before turning and leading the way out of the Common Room, Hermione right behind him.
The walk through the corridors is the most awkward time he's ever had with Hermione; the silence only broken by the echoing sound of their footsteps as they stride in time with one another. The sight of the giant entrance doors to the castle is nothing short of immensely welcoming and they hastily slip into the cool April air.
The setting sun casts long shadows onto the lawn from their bodies as they swiftly make their way down the grassy slopes of the grounds towards the lake. Harry attributes their speed to the amount of nerves he's feeling, he is meant to be leading her after all. They reach the smooth surface of the lake in record time and stop as one to catch their breath. It was more of a jog than a walk, Harry thinks as he wills his breathing to even out and his heart to stay inside of his chest instead of attempting to escape through his throat. He stares out into the distance, considering all of the possible ways to let her know how he feels.
As a decent idea finally comes to mind, she says his name and the sound of her voice distracts him enough to lose the thought.
"Harry?" she says again, a hint of worry in her tone. "You're making me nervous; can you please just speak to me?" He takes a good look at her, and for the first time in six months knows what to say.
"I'm confused, Hermione." It's the complete and honest truth, he knows, although her expression suggests he's succeeded in confusing her as well. "And you're the one who's confusing me."
"What have I done to confuse you?" she asks, eyebrows raised and mouth open in surprise.
"Well, you're just - er - making things strange for me. In a good way, though," he hastily adds seeing the hurt look she's sporting.
"I'm strange in a good way?" Hermione questions and places her hands on her hips.
"No! You make things strange. For me. Wait, no, don't get upset." He's messing this up even more than he thought was possible and feels as though his insides are ready to shrivel up in shame.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Harry, but I don't very much appreciate-"
"I think I love you," he desperately says. She silently stares at him and he continues speaking, figuring it's all out on the table now. "I've felt this way for - well, for months now." He digs his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers and takes a deep, steadying breath. "I sort of expected you to know, but I'm pretty sure you're surprised right now," he says, letting out a nervous sort of laugh. "I didn't mean to scare you or anything and I don't expect you to tell me you love me but-"
He's cut off as she leans into him and presses her lips to his in a quick, tentative kiss. She pulls away, eyes wide and face flushed, bottom lip held between her teeth again.
"it'd be nice if you did," Harry finishes weakly and raises a disbelieving hand to trace his lips.
She beams up at him and he smiles hesitantly, a mixed feeling of hope and extreme pleasure coursing through his body.
"Harry," she whispers as her arms slowly encircle his neck and she takes a tiny step closer until her lips are a fraction of a centimetre away from his, "I do."
He presses his mouth to hers this time, and as he revels in the first kiss he's ever initiated, he's no longer afraid of what it's like to be loved by someone.
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Author's notes: So, there you have it; this story is now complete. I hope you enjoyed the sequel as much as the first part; please leave a review!
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