Hate To Say I Told You So

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Title: Hate To Say I Told You So

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

Spoiler Alert: Default to Books 1-5.

Summary: Harry thought that he would swoon. He wasn't even sure what swooning was, but he was fairly certain that he was about to do it.

Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Author's Notes: I was dared, practically, to write a bit of fluff. (RONIN10 put me up to this. Blame him. He knows full well I can’t write fluff. >.< ) As I am not good at this sort of thing, and as I’ve done this free-form while I work, I must tell you that this could well be absolute pants. O.o Yes, it’s one-shot pants-like fluff. Run for zee hills.

Footnotes In Reverse: ¹"Melodrama coming from you is about as natural as an oral bowel movement," is a Randall Graves (Jeff Anderson) quote from the film Clerks (1994) by Kevin Smith

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HATE TO SAY I TOLD YOU SO

[] OR, SO I TURNED AROUND AND SAID...

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It was just...one of those things.

One of those bells, that now and then rings...no, no, no.

One of those things that smacks you in the back of the head when and where you least expect it. Not that he necessarily expected to get smacked in the head, but after living with the Dursley's, he had developed a sort of sixth sense when it came to Dudley's ham-fist headed for him.

But this...Harry Potter had no idea of. None. Not in anyway did he think that this could ever happen.

Honestly, he hadn't ever really felt this way before. Well, Cho Chang didn't count. That was juvenile. That was sophomoric. That was...a bloody disaster.

It wasn't right at any point along the way. She was a sweet girl, a little on the blubbery side, but it was a total disaster.

And what happened with Cedric...

He dragged his mind away from that particular remembrance and attempted to concentrate on the problem at hand.

He had a crush.

On a girl.

On a girl who was a friend.


I've got a bloody crush on Hermione Granger.


Harry felt like putting his head in his hands and disappearing into the floorboards.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He couldn't have a crush on her. It was impossible. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen.

She was his friend. She was sweet. And smart. And funny...and adorable and charming and nice and thoughtful and caring and tender and sexy --


Where in the bloody hell did that one come from?

Face it, Potter, he heard the voice in his head say, You fancy Hermione and you've got it pretty bad by the sound of it.

Oh, stuff it.

Hmm, too close to the truth, eh? I thought as much. What are you doing to do about it?

Do about what?

About your crush, you ignorant git. How thick are you?


"Shut it," Harry moaned, cradling his head in his hands.

But what was he going to do about it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After much internal debate with the Stupid Voice, and after many pirated bottles of Butterbeer and many mugs of coffee, Harry finally felt as though he had developed a plan of attack. He would come at his problem thusly:

1) Drink more Butterbeer;
2) Develop false courage (he should have been sorted into Slytherin after all);
3) Tell Hermione point blank that he fancied her and didn't expect her to return those feelings in kind and wouldn't be at all put out if she indeed didn't fancy him since they were friends and he was fully expecting and understanding if she only wanted them to remain friends and to continue their very close platonic relationship and it didn't make any mind to him as he just wanted to remain honest and open with her and that he would always just love her as a friend and don't worry about the crush, it would go away soon;
4) Promptly jump off the Astronomy Tower. Without a broom.

Harry seriously considered skipping Step Three altogether.

He couldn't tell Hermione that he...liked her. Liked liked her. What did that mean, anyway? That was a very girlish term. Like like. Imparting special meaning to a word by repeating it. "Do you like him or just like like him?" What was that? At any rate, he just couldn't tell Hermione that he had a crush on her. That was an awful term in and of itself. It was full of empty promises and broken dreams. It was violent. Not pleasant. Crush. As if he would squish her.

He did want to.

Just envelope her in a tremendous great hug and squish, but not squish squish.

"Oh, bugger all..." Harry reached for another mug of coffee and attempted to drown himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

All right, then. This is it. I am going to tell her. I am going to tell Hermione that I fancy her.


It was the morning. Breakfast. He walked into the Great Hall, attempting to look casual, normal. Unfettered by the fear that had his insides twisted into a sort of fleshy Gideon's Knot.


That was just disgusting.

I know. I don't feel at all well now...

Steady on, Potter. She's just there.


Harry concentrated on not turning green or pink or red or white and sat down at the table directly across from Hermione. He had waited long enough for most of the students to have dissipated from the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table was practically empty.

"Oi, Harry, what took you, mate?" asked Ron Weasley, his best friend. By the looks of it Ron had been eating for a while and was just now finishing up.


I've spent the last half hour in the loo tossing my cookies, as they say. What have you been up to?


"I just didn't feel so well this morning, so I slept in a bit," he lied.

Hermione immediately made a cooing sound of sympathy and reached across the table to touch him on the forearm. "Harry, are you feeling any better now?" she asked.


...I love the sound of her voice.

You are besotted, Potter.

I thought I told you to shut it.

Oh. Right. So you did.


"Harry?"

Oh. OH. "Oh, um, erm, sorry, Hermione. I am a little better. A touch light headed, I think."

"Are you running a fever?" Hermione half stood from her seat and placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

Harry thought that he would swoon. He wasn't even sure what swooning was, but he was fairly certain that he was about to do it.

"I don't think so," he murmured weakly.

Hermione frowned at him, biting her lip as she did so. I do so love when you do that, he thought. She slowly sat down, looking at him with concern. "You seem a bit warm. Perhaps you should see Madame Pomfrey?"

Harry nodded quickly, almost too quickly. "I'm sure I'll be okay. Once I've had some breakfast, that is."

Ron downed the last of his pumpkin juice and stood. "Well, just take it easy for a bit, mate. I'm off to get in some practise. Don't worry about it," he said to Harry's apologetic look, "We've the pitch booked all morning, so when you are feeling up to it, just come over." Ron grabbed an apple and headed out of the Great Hall.

That left Harry alone at the table with Hermione.


Well, here you are, Potter, your grand moment.

You are NOT helping.

I'm sorry, I was supposed to be helping?


"I still think that you should see Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said to him, the hint of a frown on her face.

Harry felt his heart seize at the fact that she was so concerned for him.

"I'll be all right, Hermione."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

She didn't appear to be convinced, but she also didn't seem as though she would fight him. "Okay, then. I'm off to the Library."

Harry felt a stab of panic. The Library? No, that was fine, it would be empty, being a Saturday. Only the true swotters like Hermione would be in there. That would probably be better. "I'll come with you," he offered.

"But, Harry, you haven't eaten!"

He quickly poured a draught of pumpkin juice and downed it in a single gulp. "There. Breakfast."

"Honestly, Harry..."

"I'm fine. Really. So, to the Library then?" She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't argue. Harry was grateful for that; he could never really hold his own against Hermione in an argument at any rate. He walked next to her, attempting to maintain a normal distance between himself and Hermione. He wanted to be close to her, but didn't want to be closer than usual.


This is stupid.

This is YOUR plan, remember. Are you going to do this thing or not?

I'm doing it, I'm doing it. Just don't stop me when I go to jump from the Astronomy Tower.


By the time that Harry had worked up the necessary courage, they had almost reached the Library. He slowed his pace, and Hermione naturally followed. She always did that. Walked right alongside him. That was comforting to him, that she was always just right there.

"Hermione?" he asked softly.

"What is it, Harry?"


Merlin, I do love that voice.

Steady...


"I...I have something...I'd like to say to you."

"What's that?"

"IthinkIfancyyou."

Hermione stopped suddenly, causing Harry to stumble a few steps ahead. She blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

Harry swallowed down an all-consuming blush and mumbled, "IsaidthatIthinkIfancyyou."

She blinked again, and Harry thought that the look that was slowing creeping across her face was one of...shock.


I am headed for the Astronomy Tower RIGHT NOW.

Will you just wait a bloody minute? Dammit, Potter, melodrama coming from you is as natural as an oral bowel movement¹.

WHAT?!?! WHAT IN THE BLOODY BUGGERING BOLLOCKS DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!?! WILL. YOU. JUST. SHUT IT!


There was a sharp intake of breath, and Harry realised that Hermione had gasped. "You..." she began softly, "...think you...fancy me?" He couldn't quite read the look on her face.

"I...yeah...I do," he said, looking down at the stone floor. He felt his throat tighten and he thought that he would be sick on the spot.

"You're sure?" she asked in the same soft voice.

"Yeah," he mumbled, still looking at the floor. A thought struck him, one about how nice it would be for the floor to swallow him whole.

"Harry, I..." She paused, looking away briefly. He had raised his head enough to just see her from the edge of his periphery. She looked to the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling, everywhere...save for him.


Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT. She doesn't fancy me. She doesn't. Oh, Merlin, she doesn't feel the same. I knew it. I KNEW IT. Astronomy Tower, here I come.


"It's okay, Hermione," he heard himself say, "I know that you don't feel the same about me. It's okay. I don't want this to change our friendship." To his ears, it didn't even sound like his voice. "I just didn't want to lie to you. I'm sorry if I've caught you off your guard." He clenched his hands into fists and spun around on one foot and started to walk away.

He was sent off balance, in more ways than one, by one Hermione Jane Granger.

She had reached out and taken him by the wrist, spinning back around to face her. He wobbled and pitched forward into her, colliding with Hermione. In a defiance of Muggle physics they somehow remained standing.

"I'm sorry," they said in unison, looking into one another's eyes.

They both turned away from one another, and then Hermione said, "Don't walk away, Harry."

At that point, the words just came tumbling out. "I messed up, Hermione. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry, Harry."

"Why not? I was stupid to think that this wouldn't change our friendship. I've gone and ruined everything..."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes -- " and at this he was stopped when Hermione placed a finger tip to his lips.

A soft, slender fingertip to his lips.

A fingertip that slowly, agonizingly, deliberately, began tracing the outline of his lips. He thought he was going to do that swooning thing again.

"Sometimes you can be quite silly, Harry," she whispered to him.

"Huh?" he said in return.


Good one, Potter.

Why don't YOU jump off the Astronomy Tower.


"You can be very silly, Harry," she said, continuing to trace her finger along his lips. "Why would you think that telling me how you feel would ruin our friendship?"

"Because," Harry began, and then realised that it was very difficult for him to speak, let alone think, with Hermione touching his lips. He gently took her hand in his and held it. "Because," he said again, "you don't feel the same about me."

She stared up at him, a strange look in her brown eyes. Harry thought the look to be one of defiance. "Why do you say that?"

He felt his heart start the ascent from his chest to his throat. "Well, you don't."

She titled her head at him. "What if I did?"

His heart had quickly made its way to his throat and was now making its way into his mouth. "Then...I would be the happiest person in the world, Hermione."

It was then that she smiled at him, a warm, tender, generous smile. It lit up her entire face, making her radiant, making her eyes sparkle. It was seeing her smile, like this, that first made Harry fancy her.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I fancy you as well." She stood on the tips of her toes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

He was stunned. Thrilled, but stunned. "What for?" he asked stupidly.

"For liking me. For being brave enough to tell me that you like me." She laughed then, giving his hand a squeeze. "For just being you."

Hermione laughed again at the bemused look on his face as she held onto Harry's hand, leading him toward the Library.


Sometimes someone will do something so perfect and so simple that it fits perfectly into the small of your heart, warming you completely. This is what Hermione does for me. This is why I fancy her so. This is why I think I could love her. Merlin, I really could love this girl.

∞