I'm Going to Ask You

Greetings all. It’s been awhile (a LONG while) since I posted something of my own, away from the wonderful world of MLS.

This is a short one-shot that would NOT leave my head until I wrote it down. So here it is. No plot, nothing but good old fashioned Harry/Hermione fluff. Reviews are always welcome. Hope you enjoy this one.

Disclaimer: It’s all JKR’s…

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I’m Going to Ask You

The warm spring breeze blew over the lake, rustling the new leaves in the tree above her. She inhaled deeply; the smell of spring was in the air. It was her favorite time of the year. This time, however, was bittersweet. This was the last spring she would ever spend near this lake. The last time she would see, albeit from a distance, the Whomping Willow blossom. The last spring she would ever spend at Hogwarts.

Hermione frowned as she put her head back against the tree and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe seven years had gone by so quickly. It made her sad to think of leaving this place she called home for 10 months of the year. She sighed and opened her eyes. Looking back down at the book in her lap, she set off reading again. Soon the world around her was shut out as she lost herself in its pages.

“Whatcha reading?” a deep voice said from beside her.

Hermione gasped and she looked up, startled to see Harry sitting beside her. “My goodness, Harry. You startled me!”

He grinned. “Sorry,” he said, again trying to see what she was reading. She showed him the cover of the book, 1,001 Uses for Horntoad Scales. “Huh,” Harry grunted. “Snape’s essay?” She nodded.

“You know, Mione,” Harry said, skipping a rock into the lake, “that’s not due for another three weeks?”

“I know.”

“And NEWTs aren’t until June.” She nodded.

Harry looked at her and grinned. What does he have to do that?

Because he knows how it affects you.

Oh, don’t be silly. He does not. Of course he doesn’t. He couldn’t know.

“Something the matter?” he asked quietly.

She blinked a couple of times and looked away. “No, of course not.” Harry grinned, knowing exactly what was wrong.

They had fallen in love.

It had been easy—at least for him. And it had happened so gradually over the past few years that he didn’t even notice it until the other night in the common room. He had come down from his dorm to finish up some homework when he saw she had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the fire. He had knelt down beside her to tuck her hair behind her ear when she had mumbled a soft “love you, Harry”.

He had been so shocked by what he had heard, he literally fell over…right on his bum. He had sat there staring blankly at her when the realization hit him—he was in love with her. The stomach twisting, the nervous babbling, the inability to concentrate, the perpetual stupid grin on his face…it suddenly all made sense.

He finally understood what all the strange feelings he had been having meant. He had suddenly become aware that she had occupied his every waking moment for as far back as he could remember and, as recently as a few night ago, his dreams as well. And through those dreams, Harry had come to realize that she was having the same thoughts and feelings about him. He hadn’t intentionally intruded on her dreams, but her emotions were so in tune to his it was virtually impossible not to have done so.

Harry reached down and picked up a twig lying at the foot of the tree and held it in his open palm. He held his other hand over it and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, a perfect red rose lay in his palm.

Hermione’s mouth hung open in awe. For weeks after the final battle, Harry had begun to exhibit extraordinary powers—powers that even Dumbledore didn’t know he possessed. And his new “hobby” of wandless magic was very impressive to say the least.

He took the rose and held it out to her, grinning as she slowly reached for it. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, then looked up at him.

“Just like you,” he said seriously, his eyes never leaving hers.

She blushed wildly and looked away, stuffing her nose into the flower. Harry reached forward and took her other hand, lacing his fingers through hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her head whipped around and she looked down at their hands, then up into his face—which was suddenly much too close.

“Harry….”

“Shhh,” he whispered, moving ever closer. She could feel his warm breath on her face. She felt goose bumps run screaming down her arms and back. She was trembling all over. “I’m going to ask you something,” he said, his voice quiet, almost inaudible.

She just stared at him. This is not good. He is much too close!

Is he?

Yes.

He’s going to ask you if you love him.

He is not!

Wanna bet?

“Do you love me?” he asked with more confidence in his voice than she had ever heard.

Told you so!

Shut up!

Hermione swallowed. So are you going to tell him?

No.

And why not?

Because, because…

“Yes,” she mouthed soundlessly, on a breath.

Harry smiled.