Wishing on Candles

Blissfully Absent Minded

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 30/03/2005
Last Updated: 30/03/2005
Status: completed

The requested prequel to "Cravings".

Chapters

1. Author's Note

2. Wishing On Candles

1. Author's Note

Alright, this is the promised prequel to Cravings. It’s significantly longer than Cravings was, I hope reviews are related to length, longer story = more reviews???? Anyway, I just finished it about five minutes ago and I have many other things to do, mainly homework and essays, so it has not been edited and I don’t have anyone to beta it for me (if you’d like to beta for me in the future, send me an email) so, please, bear with me.

Now, enjoy and review, please, this story has been working itself out in my mind for weeks, I could use some reassurance.

2. Wishing On Candles

When I was a little girl, every birthday my parents would tell me to make a wish before I blew out my candles and, if I was a very good girl that wish might someday come true. So, I would close my eyes tight as I could, draw in the deepest breath my little lungs would hold, wish with all my heart on whatever it was that I wanted that birthday, and I would blow out all the candles. Those wishes never came true. As I grew, I came to the realization that telling me that my wishes could come true was just another way that my parents tried to keep me innocent and help me believe that there was magic in the world.

I’m twenty-two today. I learned years ago that wishing on my birthday candles was really no different than wishing on anything else, it didn’t make my wishes more likely to come true. But, tonight, when my friends put my birthday cake in front of me, alight with twenty-two dancing flames, I will close my eyes as tight as I can, draw in the deepest breath my lungs can hold, and wish with all my heart on the same thing that I’ve been secretly wishing on for the last six years. I’ve never admitted it to myself, never let the words form in my mind and certainly never told anyone else, but since my sixteenth birthday my heart has been wishing for one thing. It still hasn’t come true.

* * *

The Burrow is loud and full as it usually is on any given day, but today it’s different because today it’s all for me. Everyone gathered here, friends, family, and extended honorary family, is here to help me celebrate my birthday, to ply me with wonderful presents and wishes of birthday happiness. It never ceases to amaze me that so many people come here each year on this day and have done so since my nineteenth birthday, the first one that I celebrated outside of Hogwarts' walls, to be with me and do their best to make this day great for me. But, in all honesty, as much as I appreciate that they care about me and that they’ve taken the time from their schedules to make sure they’re here for me today, I would be just as happy, maybe even happier, if it was just me and Harry. What I wouldn’t give for Harry to look at me and see me as the woman I am rather than as his best friend, the asexual individual who has been by his side for everything since we were eleven years old. I often wonder if he’s ever seen me as a girl. I certainly see him as a man.

I’ve loved Harry for years. In one way or another I’ve loved him since I saw him on that first train trip to Hogwarts ten years ago. But, as brilliant as I am and as sensitive and in tune to other’s as I am, for what I now believe to have been years, I was completely oblivious to my feelings for the boy. It’s actually only within the past year that I realized that I was head-over-heels, I-don’t-want-to-know-what-my-life-would-be-without-him, I’d-happily-die-just-to-see-his-smile in love with him. It came as a bit of a shock when I just looked up at him over lunch one day and my heart lurched in my chest and I just wanted to cry from sheer happiness that he had survived the war and that I wouldn’t have to learn how to live without him because he would always be in my life, that I would make sure of. The realization that I was in fact in love with wasn’t that biggest shock though, no, that came when I realized that it wasn’t at all a new feeling, I had not just fallen in love with him that day at lunch, I had been in love with him for ages, I couldn’t remember ever feeling differently than I did at that I moment and I had just failed to notice it until that moment. I found it nearly impossible to believe that I had been in love with my best friend for years and never known it. I’m Hermione Granger, I’m purported to know everything. Apparently not so much.

I’ve been blowing out my candles every year, wishing for someone to love me and just complete me, as sappy as that may sound, but I never knew that I was actually wishing for Harry. I remember when I apparated to my parents’ house, crying and going on about how blind I was and how much I loved him, my mom held me and smiled knowingly. She told me that she’d know for quite some time that Harry would always be the man for me. How nice of her to share that bit of information with me.

It doesn’t matter, though. None of it really matters. I’ve come to terms with my feelings for Harry and his feelings for me. I’m his best friend and I’m happy with that if it means that I’m one of the few people whom he trust implicitly and who he allows to be close to him.

I’ve already blown out my candles this birthday. I made the same wish that I’ve been making for years, but this time I did it consciously. It was a wish both my mind and my heart made. I hope that makes a difference. Maybe my heart and mind working in tandem will bring an answer to my wish. A girl can hope.

“Harry, nice of you to finally join us.” Ron’s shout across the room to Harry who’d just entered through the back door brings me out of my thoughts. I follow Ron’s gaze and my eyes light on Harry who’s eyes are moving over the crowded room in search of someone, finally they land on me and his smile grows and makes me smile in return. A warm feelings fills me, he was looking for me. He quickly makes his way through the room and reaches down to hug me tightly.

“Happy birthday, Mione,” he whispers in my ear. “Sorry I’m a bit late.”

I smile and squeeze him tight. “That doesn’t matter. You’re here, that’s what counts.”

He pulls away and grins down at me. “Well, at any rate, happy birthday. Here you go.” He hands me a rather large and heavy package wrapped in gold with a scarlet ribbon. Harry’s a Gryffindor through and through.

“Harry, what on earth-?”

“I hope you like it,” he interrupts.

I smile up at him. “Of course I will.” I don’t tell him that I’d like anything he got me just because it’s from him.

“I can’t believe you’re twenty-two already and I’ve barely turned twenty-one. You know, I’ve always thought there was something sexy about older women,” he teases with a wink. He and Ron love to tease me about be nearly a year older than them, especially since I didn’t tell them that until our sixth year. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says again as he leans down to kiss my cheek. The box shifts in my hands and I’m forced to move or let it fall to the floor. However, when I adjust to hang onto the package, my head moves ever so slight and Harry lips miss my cheek and land on the corner of my mouth.

I never really believe that a person could actually feel like fireworks were going off in their body just from a kiss, but I certainly do now. It’s not even a kiss, just a completely accidental touch of his lips to mine but it rocks through me like a blast from a bomb. We both jolt away from each other, surprised by what that small touch made us feel. As I unconsciously raise my fingers to touch my tingling lips, I look up to catch Harry’s gaze. He looks completely shocked and confused. But, much to my delight, he also looks like he wouldn’t prefer suicide to doing it again. Not exactly the most comforting thing in the world, but it definitely rates above ‘I just kissed Hermione, now I must burn my lips to get rid of that horrible feeling.’ I, personally, feel like I could happily die right now and not regret a single thing in my life.

“Harry,” I’ve no idea what to say at this moment, but something needs to be said, we can’t stand here all night staring at each other wondering what just happened.

“I-I’m going to go… uh… go talk to Ron,” he mumbles, looking not at all sure why he has to talk to Ron, but grasping it firmly as an excuse to get away from this awkward situation. “Yeah, talk to Ron. I… I need to talk to Ron about something.”

And with that eloquently put excuse, Harry takes off like his pants are on fire. Men.

* * *

Nearly an hour later I’m sitting on the sofa chatting with Ginny. Or rather, Ginny’s chatting and I’m nodding and saying “uh huh” whenever I think she’s expecting some sort of response. I’ve been unable to focus since Harry gave me my present and accidentally kissed me. I’ve tried, really I have, I’m trying to focus on what Ginny is saying, but once I realized that she was just filling me in on the latest pointless gossip about town, I gave up and let my mind try to come up with a way of getting Harry alone so that we can talk about what happened. And, maybe, I can talk him into giving us a chance because I’m sure that what I felt when he kissed me wasn’t due only to my feelings for him; there was something more there, something from him. I’m sure of it.

I’m trembling, have been since he kissed me, not so much that anyone would notice. In fact, the only person who’s likely to notice the slight shaking of my hands has seemed to deem it necessary to keep no less than ten feet between us at all times. Normally this would bother me, it’s not like Harry to avoid me, usually he does his best to keep me occupied with conversation or secretly poking fun at everyone around us, many a pleasant evening has passed with us making each other laugh with playfully scathing comments and sarcastic remarks about those around us. Tonight, he hasn’t said a word to me since he gave me my gift. And it doesn’t bother me in the last for a few reasons: one, I really need the time to think about what happened and I can’t possibly do that with him around; two, he’s obviously as unnerved and affected by what happened as I am; three, almost every time I look at him I catch him watching me with this look of terror on his face, terror the likes of which one would have expected when he faced Voldemort, however, he wasn’t scared at all at that time, which means that he’s either terrified that he’s angered me and that I’m going to hex him if he so much as breaths in my direction or, and this is the reason I prefer, he’s terrified of what he’s feeling and he’s concerned about what this will do to our friendship. I have no intention of hexing him and what’s happened between us and what will hopefully happen in the near future will not harm our friendship in anyway. On the contrary, I rather like to think that we’ll be closer than ever… in more ways than one. So, let Harry keep his distance for now if that’s what he wants. I’ll give him the time to figure out how he feels and what he wants because, judging by the look in his eyes when I catch him staring at me, he’s just realized that the thing he’s been searching for his entire life has been within his reach since he was eleven years old. I’ll give him time to come to terms with that and if he doesn’t make a move I’ll just have to. I haven’t come to be where I am by leaving decisions in the hands of others, if you want something you just have to go after it. This is the twenty-first century; women are allowed to make the first move these days. Knowing Harry I may have to do just that, as confident and sure of himself when it comes to dealing with the big bad, he’s terrified by all things concerning women.

“Hermione?” Ginny asks beside me, giving my arm a light shake and nearly causing me to spill my drink down the front of my dress. “Hermione, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

I tear my gaze away from Harry, but don’t fail to notice that as soon as I avert my gaze he turns his attention back to me. “Of course, Ginny,” I answer politely.

She frowns at me, clearly not believing that I’ve been listening to her. “So, what do you think she should do? She really likes Harry and she thinks he likes her too. What do you think?”

I grin into my glass. I’m fairly certain that Harry is not interested in Lavender; he’s really not into girls whom all his friends have been with. “I think she should go for it. She’ll never know if she doesn’t make the move.”

Ginny looks shocked at this bit of advice. She’s a very perceptive girl; she’s known for a while how I feel about Harry. Her shock quickly disappears and a grin curves her lips. She also knows that I can’t stand Lavender Brown, never have, and that if I’m encouraging Lavender to go for Harry, she really doesn’t have a chance with him, Harry will shoot her down cold in the politest way possible. I’d love to see the look on her face. I’m a woman; it’s my God-given right to be a bitch when I think the situation calls for it. Another woman after Harry Potter more than calls for a spot of bitchiness. I love being a woman.

“Right,” Ginny draws the word out, “I’ll be sure to pass that on.”

Ginny thinks of Lavender much the same way I do. Ginny also loves being a woman.

* * *

It’s been nearly five days since my birthday party at the Burrow and the day that Harry accidentally kissed me and tonight he’s coming over for dinner. I decided that two days was plenty of time for him to figure out what he wanted to happen between us, it was more than enough time to process the kiss and what it meant for us, what he felt for me. So, two days after my twenty-second birthday, I owled him and invited him to dinner at my flat. He’s never been able to turn down an offer of a home cooked meal, especially mine, he loves my cooking, even goes so far as to say that it trumps Mrs. Weasley’s.

He arrived five minutes late. I was irrationally scared that he’d decided to blow me off, that, for some reason, he couldn’t face me and couldn’t handle the turn that our relationship may take this evening. When he did apparate into my flat, scaring me and nearly causing me to drop the bottle of wine that I was trying open, I was about ready to apparate to his flat and demand an explanation for his tardiness. But, when I saw him, standing awkwardly in my living room, holding a bouquet of white roses-my favourite flower-my feelings of fear and annoyance left me. He was there and that’s what mattered. He cared enough to come for dinner; he was willing to talk about what had happened and what might happen in the future. That mattered.

And now, here we sit at my dining table. We quit trying to find conversation; it’s just too awkward, what with the proverbial elephant in the room. Nothing has ever been awkward between us and it’s driving me mad. I realize it must be bothering him too when he carefully sets his fork down beside his plate and sighs deeply.

“What are we doing, Hermione?”

A teasing grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “We’re eating dinner, Harry.”

He frowns at me. Apparently he isn’t in the mood to be teased. “We both know that there’s more going on here than just dinner.”

All night I’ve been both dreading this moment and anticipating it with a quickened heart. I let my fork rest at the edge of my plate and carefully wipe my mouth with my linen napkin. I meet his gaze; he’s watching me, trying to seem patient while he impatiently waits for my response.

“There could be,” I tell him, “if you want it to be more. If you want, tonight could be about two friends who feel more for each other than they previously thought. It could be our chance for something great.” I don’t tell him how often, in the past couple of days, I’ve thought of just how great it could be between us. I think he’s as aware of this fire between us as I am. “Or,” I continue slowly, futilely hoping that he’ll stop me before I can tell him his other option, hoping that he’s heard all he needs to hear to make his decision. Because it is his decision, I’ve already made mine. “Or it could just be you and me having dinner together just like we have so many times before. You could leave here tonight, still my best friend, only my best friend. It’s your choice.”

The silence slowly eats away at me. Harry’s always been so impulsive in the past, always jumped right in and thought about the consequences later, but right now, in this moment in which I feel any happiness for my foreseeable future hangs, he takes his time, mulls over his options in his mind. I want to scream at him to hurry, to either break my heart and destroy my childish beliefs in birthday wishes or prove to me that some wishes can come true if we wish hard enough. I want to thank him for taking the time to think about it rather than dive right in and possible ruin our friendship should we not work out as a couple, I want to thank him for showing me how much I mean to him by taking the time to think over this huge step. But, dammit, I wish he would decide already, I wish he would ignore the consequences like he always does and just be with me for however long we’d make it.

“I haven’t wanted to be your best friend for years, Hermione.”

* * *

I wake with Harry’s warmth against my side and his hand resting on my naked thigh and my mind is instantly flooded with memories from last night. With my eyes still closed I take the time to savour this moment and remember last night in vivid detail. For years I, like many other women, have wondered how it would feel to kiss Harry Potter, whether his kisses would be gentle and tender or hard and passionate. I’ve wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him, to feel his weight on me, to look up into his wonderful eyes and see passion in them. Harry’s always been so sensitive and caring of others and I’ve always thought that he would be a tender but passionate lover, one who would put his partner’s pleasure before his own. I’m deliriously happy to now know that I was right in thinking that. I’ve never had a lover like Harry before, so selfless and passionate and tender and wild and caring. Such a perfect contradiction he is. I draw a deep breath, breathing in the smell of us that lingers in the air and in the sheets wrapped around us. I feel happy and content and sated like I never before have.

The ceiling greets me when I open my eyes, I’ve slept on my back, something I haven’t done since I slept safe and protected in my parents house before I learned about the existence of witches and wizards and before I knew of the evil of Lord Voldemort and the destiny of Harry Potter. For years I’ve slept on my side facing the door with one hand on my wand that was stored under my pillow. Not last night. Not with Harry beside me.

Thunder rumbles outside, so forcefully that it shakes the glass vases on my dresser and I realize that it must be what shook me from my slumber nearly an hour before I would normally wake. I slowly roll onto my side, careful not to dislodge Harry’s hand on my thigh nor make any movement that may rouse him. He’s lying on his back beside me, his head tilted toward me. His face looks oddly bare without his glasses. He looks much younger asleep. Relaxed and free from the guilt and worries that plague him in waking he looks peaceful and, with that beard stubble darkening his jaw, devastatingly sexy. Lightning briefly lights my room and I don’t feel the normal tingles of fear that are a remnant of my childhood. Instead, I continue to happily watch Harry sleep, study his sleeping face wishing that he could feel so at peace when awake and hoping with everything that I have that this will not be the one and only morning that I am able to wake up before him and watch him slumber.

I’m very tempted to wake him for a repeat performance of last night, but I won’t. I don’t want to lose this. For now I can believe that my mornings will always be spent like this, warm in bed with him. At this moment there are no worries about damaged friendships and crossed lines and awkward moments. Right now, it’s just us, the outside world has ceased to exist and everything is perfect. I want to savour this moment for as long as it can last before he wakes and realizes who he’s in bed with and what we’ve done and, inevitably, leaves my bed never to return to it.

I gently shuffle closer to him, moving my hand to hold his to my thigh so we don’t lose that contact. I press a soft kiss to his smooth, warm shoulder, and inhale his warm scent. He smells just like he did when we were in school, like grass, ozone, and something that I’ve never been able to identify as anything other than just Harry. The scent must be all Harry; I don’t know how he could still smell like ozone when he rarely flies through the clouds on his broom since he stopped playing Quidditch. I’ve always loved the way he smelled, something about it has always been so comforting to me, of course, it could also be the fact that it’s Harry that I find so comforting. I press another quick kiss to his shoulder and carefully lay my arm across his waist, holding him close to me, and lay my cheek on his shoulder. For now I can relax and pretend that he’s not going to wake up, freak out that we’re naked, and rush out of my bed, out of my embrace. For the next hour, I can sleep, lulled by his warmth and soft breathing and dream of many more mornings just like this one.

* * *

When I wake again I can feel his eyes on me long before I open my own. I wonder how long he’s been awake and watching me. I wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s trying to figure out a way to get out of bed without waking me or if he’s trying to think of a way to let me down gently, to tell me he thinks last night was a mistake without actually calling it a mistake. I fight my body’s instinct to tense with awareness, fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, and try to appear to be sleeping still. I take a moment to register our positions. I’m still pressed against his side with my arm across his waist and my cheek on his shoulder, holding him captive with the threat of waking should he move just the slightest bit. And Harry, he’s on his back of course, his hand is still on my thigh, a little higher than it was before, but nothing that I’m going to complain about, his other hand has moved to rest on my arm over his waist as though he’s holding me to him, afraid that I’ll move my arm if he lets go, and he’s turned his head further towards me, his nose is in my hair and I can feel each puff of breath against the top of my head. I wonder briefly if I’m not actually awake but rather have died and gone to heaven.

I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head and pull away to look at me. I sigh deeply, he knows I’m awake and now I must greet the day whatever it may bring and confront the consequences of having slept with my best friend.

I reluctantly draw away from his warmth, moving back so I can meet his gaze and mentally pulling away and preparing myself for rejection. I pull my arm from his waist and shift my thigh, causing his hand to drop away, I don’t want to be touching him for this, I don’t think I could stand to be in physical contact with him for the conversation I’m expecting. I can’t believe we’re going to do this while we’re in bed, naked.

“Good morning,” I say softly, trying to sound relaxed and confident and not scared and worried like I truly feel.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment and I’m terrified that he’s going to completely ignore the situation and just get out of bed, get dressed and walk out of my apartment.

“I’m naked,” he tells me like it’s something I wouldn’t have realized pressed against him like I was.

“Yes, you are.”

He frowns slightly and his eyes flit over my body, barely hidden by the thin sheet that I’m desperately clutching to my chest as some sort of lifeline.

“So are you.” Another brilliant observation of the blatantly obvious.

“Yes,” I whisper so softly that I’m not sure he can hear it.

He nods slowly, processing that bit of information and it’s implications. “We’ve never been naked together before.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. No, we’ve never been naked together, not for lack of wanting on my part. I choose to say nothing and instead take this time to prepare my heart and steal myself for the turn this conversation is about to take.

He’s studying me closely, his gaze like a touch as it moves over my face and down my body, taking in everything about me at the moment. I wonder if he’s aware of the power he holds over me at this moment, if he knows that he could destroy me with one sentence, one look, one action. I wonder if he knows that I feel like I’ll just die if he gets out of this bed.

He frowns again, deeper than before, and licks his lips. He looks nervous. I wonder if he thinks I’m going to make a big scene when he tells me this can never happen again.

“You’re scared.” He rolls to his side to face me and slowly reaches out his hand to my cheek, but lets it drop before he touches me. I wish he hadn’t, I could use some sort of comfort at the moment. I tug the sheet more tightly around me, cocooning myself in it. “What are you afraid of?”

I close my eyes tightly. He looks so worried and it’s just so like him to be worried about me. Harry would never do anything to purposefully hurt me. He would never harm me in anyway unless he felt he didn’t have the choice and even then he would be overcome with concern for what it would do to me. He’s an amazing man, it’s no wonder I love him.

“I’m afraid of what you’re going to say,” I answer him quietly.

“I see.”

I clench my hands in the sheet and screw my eyes shut as tightly as I can. I don’t think I can bare this. I shouldn’t have said anything; I’ve only made it harder for him to say and for me to hear. I’ve put more pressure on him, he can’t possibly be blind to me feelings now, not with the way I’m reacting, with the way my body is trembling every so slightly with the effort of restraining my emotions. I won’t cry now, not yet, I won’t make him feel worse for not returning my feelings. It’s not his fault; he can’t feel something that just isn’t there. I will wait until he’s gone to cry.

I feel the bed shift as he rolls to his back and hear him sigh deeply. “Maybe it’s best to not say anything than.”

I stifle a sob as I feel the bed shift again as he gets up. I curse myself for being so weak when I used to be so strong and once had control over my emotions. I listen as he gathers his clothes from the floor and pads to the adjoining bathroom. I hear him turn on the water and wonder if he’s actually going to take a shower, wash me from his body, before he leaves. He must have some idea of how I feel about him by now and it’s not his way, he wouldn’t rub salt in an already unbearably painful wound. I turn my face into my pillow to muffle a sob when I hear the shower head start. How can life be so cruel?

I pull my knees up to my chest and settle in for a good cry while he’s in the shower and can’t hear me when he calls to me from the bathroom. “Mione, are you coming?”

The surprise is so great that I can’t move for a moment. Surely he didn’t just invite me to join him in my shower, it must have been my imagination, some hallucination brought on my denial.

“I really could use a hand washing my back.”

I jump out of bed and almost fall when my foot gets tangled in the sheet. I frantically shake it use and run into the bathroom, nearly leaping into the shower with him. His back isn’t the only thing I plan to wash.