Scenario #599

cheering charm

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 31/03/2005
Last Updated: 31/03/2005
Status: completed

(Part 4 of the Tragic Little Hero universe, but may be read as a standalone story.) "Hermione was prattling on about something. He’d gotten adept at tuning her out, for which he felt monumentally guilty. His mind usually wandered to Quidditch or maybe to what he would eat at the next meal. Sometimes, he couldn’t help himself, it wandered to Voldemort. Tonight, however, it wandered into new, uncharted and completely terrifying territory. All he could think about was kissing her."

Chapters

1. Scenario #599

1. Scenario #599

Author’s Note: This is the final vignette for the TLH universe. To read the other three vignettes click on their titles below:

Part 1 - Tragic Little Hero

Part 2 - The Unasked Question

Part 3 - Affection

Scenario #599

by cheering charm

Hermione was prattling on about something. He’d gotten adept at tuning her out, for which he felt monumentally guilty. His mind usually wandered to Quidditch or maybe to what he would eat at the next meal. Sometimes, he couldn’t help himself, it wandered to Voldemort. Tonight, however, it wandered into new, uncharted and completely terrifying territory.

All he could think about was kissing her.

Harry had no idea where the thought came from. He’d never thought of it before. At least he would never admit that he’d thought of it before. His insistent denial of the idea’s existence was the only thing that kept him from going spare for the last few weeks.

He grabbed her arm and said, “Hermione, wait.”

“You don’t agree, do you?” she said, concern written all over her face. “I was afraid of that,” she lamented.

She took a deep breath and Harry knew that she was about to launch into a diatribe again on whatever it was she’d been talking about since they left the library.

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” He stopped and looked around the abandoned corridor, hoping the right thing to say would be written on cue-cards somewhere nearby.

“Yes?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in question.

His jaw opened and closed as if controlled by a ventriloquist – a mute ventriloquist. Apparently his vocal chords knew that he really didn’t want to ask his best friend the question sprinting around his mind.

Can I kiss you?

He thought for a moment that the words had indeed tumbled out when her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay, Harry?” she said, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” he managed to croak, and for the first time in over a year, he didn’t feel the least bit guilty for lying to Hermione.

“Are you sure? Now you look pale as a ghost,” she said, flipping her hand over and placing her palm on his forehead, then his cheek. “You don’t feel like you have a fever. Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey,” she finished.

He’d never instigated a kiss in his entire life. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to and now was the perfect opportunity. No one was around. He took a deep breath, leaned forward and placed his lips on hers.

Harry was shocked into inaction by the fact that he’d actually done it. It took a moment or two for Harry to realise that she hadn’t moved either. He pulled back from her quickly, the realisation that she didn’t want him to kiss her feeling like a punch to the stomach. He looked down at his feet, which suddenly began shuffling in place and mumbled, “Sorry,” just as a gaggle of fourth year Ravenclaws rounded the corner. He and Hermione turned and walked the remainder of the way to Gryffindor Tower in silence.

The next morning, Harry woke from a fitful sleep, dressed and made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast with Ron. A quick glance told him that Hermione wasn’t at breakfast, and he heaved a great sigh of relief. He knew their friendship was ruined and it was his fault. He should have never done it. Now the question was how to fix it.

He’d decided that, chances were, Hermione would act like nothing had happened. That’s what had happened when she and Ron had fought after the Yule Ball. Of course, this was a bit more than that. But still. He counted on Hermione’s maturity to carry them through this awkward period. He’d follow her lead.

She came into the Great Hall and sat down next to him, greeting him and Ron without a glance. Normally, that wouldn’t even register with Harry. Today, everything she did registered with him, although he was doing his best to not look directly at her.

“Hermione, aren’t you going to eat?” Ron asked, his mouth full of potatoes.

“I don’t feel like eating right now,” she replied.

“Why?” Ron said, the idea that anyone could pass up Hogwarts food unfathomable to him.

“I feel a bit queasy,” Hermione said, placing her hand on her stomach.

Ron leaned back a bit from the table. “You aren’t going to hurl, are you?”

“No, Ron. I’m not going to hurl,” she said with forced patience. “Hi, Neville,” Hermione said, a tone of warmth in her voice for him that hadn’t been there for Harry or Ron.

Jealousy flared up inside Harry. He saw how it was. She still liked Neville.

“Hi,” Neville said, moving to sit on the other side of Hermione between her and Ginny. Hermione scooted closer to Harry to make room. Her leg touched his and his jealousy was replaced with…what? He wasn’t sure.

“Harry, could you move down a bit,” she said, looking at the gaping space beside him on the bench.

“Sure,” he said, moving to his right. He stared into his plate and stabbed his chipolata.

“Thanks,” she said, scooting close enough to him that their legs were touching again. Harry paused as he was readying to stab his sausage again, waiting for her to adjust her position so that their legs weren’t touching.

She didn’t. But she didn’t look at him either. Not that he looked at her. He was focused on keeping his leg pressed against hers, a small part of his mind wondering what, if anything, this meant.

It obviously meant nothing, he thought that night, sitting in the common room and staring into the fire instead of working on Potions homework. She hadn’t looked him in the eye all day. In fact, she’d done her best to ignore him completely. And that was a feat since she was in all of his classes and they sat together in each one.

She hadn’t eaten all day either, which was cause for alarm in Ron’s eyes.

“You should go see Madam Pomfrey,” Ron said at dinner when she placed her hand on her stomach and grimaced for the umpteenth time that day.

“I’m fine, Ron,” she snapped.

“Obviously, you’re not,” he retorted. “You haven’t eaten all day and you keep looking like you’ve just eaten a lemon.”

“Would you just drop it?”

“Why even come to dinner if you aren’t going to eat?” he said.

“Fine. I’ll go then.”

They found her in the common room doing homework and joined her without a word. Thirty minutes passed when Ron perked up. “What’s that?”

“What?” Harry said, looking up from the homework he was pretending to do.

“That noise?” he said, looking around.

“I don’t hear anything,” Harry said, looking back at his parchment and thinking about Scenario #598 on how Hermione was going to tell him that they should just be friends.

A few minutes passed. “That!” Ron said, looking at Hermione, who was ignoring him. His eyes narrowed. “That was your stomach growling,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes. It was,” Ron said, sitting up. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Ron said, with a look of triumph on his face.

“Ron, would you please drop it?” Hermione replied.

“If you are hungry, why aren’t you eating?”

“I never said I wasn’t hungry,” Hermione replied looking at her book.

“Then, why…”

“RON!” Hermione yelled, and everyone turned to look at her. She lowered her voice and spoke through gritted teeth. “If you don’t drop it I’m going to turn you into a toad.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ron said.

“Try me,” she said with a challenging stare.

“Fine, starve to death. See if I care,” Ron said.

“Hermione, are you ready to go?” Ginny said, coming up and sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“Ready to go?” Hermione said.

“To the library. You were going to help me with Charms.”

“Oh, right,” she replied, glancing in Harry’s direction for the first time that night. She looked at her watch and sighed. “Sure,” she said, shoving her books into her bag. She stood and shouldered her bag. “Will you two be up when I get back?” she asked, looking at Harry. He shrugged and looked down.

Ron replied, “Depends on what Seamus is cooking up over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of a knot of boys that were clearly conspiring to do something.

“Then, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, walking out the portrait hole with Ginny. Harry refused to look up at her retreating back.

The common room emptied bit by bit. Ron finally had enough of homework, and headed off to the sixth year dorm. Harry stayed by the fire, accomplishing nothing, but determined to wait until Hermione returned. He knew what was coming and he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible so they could return to how things were before the kiss.

He’d positioned himself so that his back was to the portrait hole but he knew when she walked in anyway. Something in the air changed. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and his stomach plummeted to his toes. He felt as if he was getting ready to face a firing squad.

“You’re still up.”

It was a statement, not a question. Harry thought it was tinged with remorse. She dropped down on the opposite side of the sofa and began removing her books from her bag. Harry studiously ignored her, concentrating on the book that was propped on his legs. They sat in silence, appearing to everyone in the common room like two friends studying together as they did every night.

“Harry,” she started.

“Hermione, it’s okay,” Harry interrupted. “You don’t have to say it. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it. You still like Neville. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” He said all of this very fast, in an undertone, staring at his book.

“Oh,” was all she said in reply.

He wanted to run away from his mortification, but was rooted to the sofa through some external force. The minutes ticked by, one by one. He sat up, getting ready to pack it in for the night when he heard a small sniff. He looked at Hermione for the first time since she’d returned from the library. She was curled into the nook of the far end of the sofa, her feet tucked under her bum. She was resting her head in her left hand, shielding her eyes as if she were concentrating on the open book in her lap. She covered her mouth with her other hand and sniffed again.

Harry put his book aside and leaned over to her. “Why are you crying?” he whispered.

“I’m not,” she said in a high pitched voice, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Harry said. “I just...I wanted to get it over with. I thought I’d make it easier on you so you wouldn’t have to say it.” He plopped back against the sofa and turned to stare into the fire. “I’ve messed things up all the way around,” he mumbled.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” she said in a tiny voice. She sniffed loudly and closed her book and began putting her books in her bag.

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, grabbing her arm. “What were you going to say?” he asked.

She looked at him, her eyes rimmed with red. “I hadn’t exactly figured that out yet. But not that.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not daring to hope. Instead, he tried to give her another way out. “I just thought…you haven’t been able to look at me all day. So I figured I’d upset you last night.”

“You didn’t upset me. You did, but in a good way,” she said, finding something very interesting about her fingers. “I’ve been afraid to look at you today because…” She paused and cleared her throat. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop. And then everyone would know.”

Something exploded in his chest and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “So, it was okay? For me to kiss you?” he whispered.

When she looked at him and nodded, he saw that her cheeks were flaming red. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you back,” she whispered, looking around at the other occupants of the common room.

“I took you by surprise,” Harry said.

“We got interrupted before I could,” she offered.

“Bloody Ravenclaws,” Harry said, giddy with excitement. She hadn’t professed undying love, but at the very least, he knew she hadn’t been completely disgusted by his kiss.

Hermione looked at him and held his gaze for the first time that day. His heart clenched when he saw in her eyes that the feelings he had for her weren’t one sided.

“’Night, Harry!” Colin Creevey called from the stairs, breaking their connection.

“Night, Colin,” Harry said in a tight voice.

When he turned back to Hermione she had retreated to her book. He watched her for a moment before picking his book bag up. He hefted it up onto the sofa. Instead of placing it in the expanse of sofa between them, he moved closer to Hermione and put his book bag between himself and the arm. Hermione swung her feet out from under her bum and propped them on the edge of the table, slouching down into the cushions of the sofa and inching closer to him. She nestled the spine of her book between her legs and continued to read.

Harry followed her lead, picking up the first book he laid his hands on, propping his feet on the table beside hers and laying his book across his legs. He watched her right hand as it toyed with the edge of the page she was about to turn. She would rub the page between her thumb and forefinger while the other hand either played with her hair or pulled on her lip in thought.

“Your book’s upside down,” she whispered.

“Sorry?” he said, watching her fingers pull at her lip.

“Your book. It’s upside down.”

“Oh. Right,” he replied, righting his Defense Against the Dark Arts book.

She turned the page. Harry knew this was his chance. He had about 30 seconds before she would grab the next page and begin fiddling. He moved his left hand up to the corner of his book, reaching out to touch her hand with his pinky and ring finger. After a minute or so of him running his fingers across the back of her hand, she dropped her hand to the cushion between them. Harry’s hand followed suit, covering hers. She intertwined her fingers in his and gave his hand a long squeeze. Harry’s stomach did a somersault. They spent the next thirty minutes this way, running their thumbs around each other’s hands. At one point, they were thumb wrestling then taking turns tickling each other’s palm.

They never took their eyes off of their books, but they didn’t read a word.

He and Hermione watched the back of the last Gryffindor retreat up the stairs to the dormitories. “Are we alone?” he whispered, craning his neck to look around the room.

“I think so,” Hermione said in an unusually high voice. She cleared her throat and looked around. “Yes,” she said, her normal voice returning.

“Finally,” he said, closing his book with one hand and moving it off his lap. He pulled their joined hands from their hiding place between their laps and placed them on his thigh. He rubbed her hand between his while she leaned forward to move her book to the floor. When she leaned back and turned toward him, his lips were on hers immediately.

It was the kiss he wanted to give her last night: soft, tender and warm. He felt her lips reluctantly leave his as he pulled away. She smiled at him and said, “You like to take me by surprise, don’t you?”

“I have to do it before I lose my nerve,” Harry said, returning her smile.

“At least this time I kissed you back.”

He nodded. “Yes, you did.”

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her again. He was tempted to run his tongue along her lips, but refrained. His first real kissing experience wasn’t his favourite memory and he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been his fault. Instead he moved his lips to kiss along Hermione’s jaw and to her ear. He blew softly into her ear and nipped her earlobe.

“That tickles,” she said, bending her head to the side.

“That’s the idea,” he replied. He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and smiled at her. He was still holding her hand, rubbing his thumb along her forefinger. “Are you feeling better?”

“I feel…great,” she said, leaning her head back against the sofa and returning his smile. “I’m not going to be able to look at you tomorrow either,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m sure I’ll get a goofy grin on my face like this,” she said, pointing to her face.

“Where’s the harm in that?”

“Don’t you think we should keep our goofy grins to ourselves for the time being?”

He nodded. “Probably. At least tomorrow I’ll know the reason you aren’t looking at me.”

“True.”

“And I’ll have tomorrow night to look forward to.”

“What’s tomorrow night?”

“Probably the next time I’ll get to be alone with you.”

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “Right.”

Harry should have felt bad for the depressed look on Hermione’s face, but all he could feel was joy. Someone he cared about was anxious to spend time alone with him. Him! And Hermione! He pushed away the disappointment that it had taken them this long to reach this point, that it had taken him as long as it had to open his eyes, and instead he focused on the girl in front of him.

“Hiya,” he said, waving his hand in front of her eyes. “Remember me?”

She snapped out of it and looked at him. “No, who are you again?”

“Haha,” he said. “You’re so fu…”

Her lips cut him off, not that he was complaining. He shivered when he felt her hands cup his face and her mouth opened, just a fraction, and her tongue touched his. He smiled when he realised that, if asked to describe this kiss to anyone, ‘wet’ would not be the first word to come to his mind. Wonderful was more accurate.

She pulled back. “What? Why are you smiling?” she asked. He grinned at the look on her face. Her eyes were unfocused, her hair, which his hands had been running through, was bushing out even more than usual, and her lips were puffy and glistening.

“Cause I’m happy,” he said, pulling her back to him.

And he was. For the first time in his life, Harry Potter was anticipating his future and allowing himself to dream, if only for a little while, about a future full of love.

Author’s Note: This is the final vignette for the TLH universe. Thanks for reading!