A/N: Here you are - the last portion. It hasn't been beta-ed (which is a completely odd word to try and spell, by the bye) because honestly, I'm in a rush to get everything up by Friday.
So. It may not be perfect, but I've tried. Really. Stop looking at me like that. :)
~*~*~
Five days. One hundred twenty hours. Seven thousand, two hundred minutes. Four hundred, thirty-two thousand seconds since he'd uncovered Hermione's secret, and he was no further ahead than before.
She wasn't making things any easier for him, that was for certain. Really, he wasn't asking for much. A simple "Harry, I've been taking advantage of you, will you ever be able to forgive me?" would do, but no - that was, apparently, too difficult. Instead, it was "Harry, have you finished your Transfiguration essay?" or "Harry, have you seen my library book?" Never an apology, never a confession.
He'd given up trying to avoid her. Mostly. Certain situations, he'd come to learn, were impossible to escape - meals and classes being the primary. Others, however, were completely out of the ordinary, and should have been easy enough to get out of.
It was February. Nearly Valentine's Day. And that meant a Hogsmeade weekend.
Which was fine. The castle would be as good as empty, so he could stay behind and…read a book, or…something.
He'd been planning on it, anyway. Hermione would be out, and there'd be less risk of distraction. Maybe he'd even get next week's Potions essay finished.
That had been the general idea, and it could have proceeded without flaw…if Ron had kept his mouth shut.
But, Ron was Ron and (as a general rule) that meant that rarely, if ever, did he think through what he wanted to say before blurting it out. If he had, perhaps the issue of Harry's attendance on the trip would have been sidestepped completely.
"You're not telling me you'd rather stay here with a pile of library books - thinking about Snape - than come to Hogsmeade, are you?" he'd asked the night before over the chessboard.
"Actually…yeah." Harry'd answered.
"Hermione's taken your mind over completely." Ron had muttered, furrowing his brown and sliding a rook forward.
He had absolutely no idea.
"I…er…no she hasn't. I'm just…behind. You know. And McGonagall'll have a kneazle if I fail Potions after she practically hexed Snape to get me in…"
Ron had shrugged. "Better you than me, mate. Voluntarily subjecting yourself to two extra years - I'd say you've gone nutters." If he only knew how close that statement came to the truth.
Ron's knight had crushed Harry's last pawn, throwing the remains across the table. "Besides, this is our seventh year; no-one but Hermione ever actually does anything. They want us to go to the village and fill up on sweets. Check."
Only Hermione does anything… She'd likely stay behind to study, wouldn't she? And if he was the only one left in the tower, and he was doing schoolwork, then she'd undoubtedly talk to him, and try to get him to prep for N.E.W.T.s, and they'd be alone, and -
"I'll go, Ron."
Ron had looked up and grinned. "Excellent."
There. He'd taken care of that.
"Hey, Hermione!" Harry's head had snapped to attention. Wha -?
She was in the far corner, poring over notes. "Hmm?"
"You going to Hogsmeade with us, tomorrow?"
She'd glanced up and met his eye.
No, no, no, please say no…
"I suppose so."
Ron had turned back to the game and smirked.
The bloody git.
"Checkmate."
Indeed.
~*~*~
So now the three of them were about the head for the village. Hermione was upstairs doing who knew what, and he was slumped in a corner of the sofa wishing he could become invisible.
…He had an invisibility cloak. Hunh. Now that was an idea.
But, no. He couldn't. She was expecting him to be there, and if he wasn't she'd be suspicious, and that was the last thing he needed. He could use the chance to look for the ring, couldn't he?
Maybe all wasn't lost.
That was what he would concentrate on. If he found the ring, he could confront her.
Or…perhaps he could skip the awkwardness and sneak it away somehow. It'd stop working if she didn't have it…wouldn't it?
The portrait hole swung open and Ron stepped into the room. "Is she not finished yet?" He stood at the bottom of the stairwell, careful not to touch it. "Hermione! Chivvy along! Honeydukes is waiting!"
There were muffled footsteps before her voice came floating down the stairs. "Your stomach can wait for once, Ron."
"Chocolate isn't something you leave off." He muttered.
"It's an absolute nightmare for your teeth, anyway," she called, the tapping drawing nearer. "I'm surprised they haven't fallen out, already." She appeared in the doorway, wrapping a scarf round her neck. Harry tried focusing on her hands, but they were moving too fast, and she was too far away, and he couldn't quite see…
She pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of her robes and slipped them on.
Oh, honestly. That was going just a bit overboard, wasn't it? The weather wasn't so bad; there was only snow on the ground, a few icicles hanging from the roof…
…And the odd student in the Hospital Wing for frostbite. But really. If they were too thick to remember simple warming charms, they didn't belong outdoors in the first place.
"C'mon, Harry," Ron called from across the room, "Hermione wants to get to Honeydukes as soon as possible."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just go, Ron."
~*~*~
The chill in the air was rather biting, he noticed as they stepped through the front doors and onto the grounds. And perhaps the snow was a bit deeper than a `thin layer' usually was. But the icicles weren't great in number or size.
Er…save the occasional one thicker than his arm. But those were few and far between, anyway. He had to have taken at least five steps since passing the last one.
They made it to the village relatively unscathed, Ron and Hermione bickering about something no-one cared about and Harry avoiding eye contact with the latter of the two. Ron dragged them into Honeydukes the moment they stepped through the gates (Harry wasn't complaining) and proceeded to fill his pockets with sweets within the first minute.
Hermione left with only a bag of Sugar Quills, one of which Ron nicked before she'd had a chance to walk out the door.
"Gnah! Hermione, these are repulsive! They don't taste like sugar at all!"
"They're sugarless, Ron. Of course." She said simply, striding ahead.
Sugar Quills. Without sugar. Only Hermione would find something like that in Honeydukes.
"Sugarle -" he gaped at her. "You're mad."
She ignored him, stepping into Scrivenshaft's, instead. "I need ink, and Harry, you should get a new quill."
But then what would be his excuse for coming into classes late?
~*~*~
They spent twice as much time in Scrivenshaft's as they had in Honeydukes.
"Where to, next?" Ron asked as they stepped back onto the street nearly an hour later. "Madame Puddifoot's, Harry? I hear they have brilliant decorations this time of year."
Ha. Ha. That hadn't even been his fault.
He muttered something of the like and Ron shrugged, shoving a handful of Bertie Bott's into his mouth. "That's what they all say. Regardless, I'm starving," - was there any occasion that he wasn't? - "let's go somewhere, at least. Looking at parchment for years works up an appetite."
Hermione suggested the Three Broomsticks, and Harry couldn't help feeling relieved. The atmosphere was familiar and comforting. Not to mention inexorably absent of cherubs and fairies.
It was warm and inviting inside; a huge fire going in the hearth, the sound of voices and laughter reverberating off the walls. Surely it was far too warm for a person - say, Hermione, for lack of a better example - to wear various overgarments including, but certainly not limited to, gloves.
They ambled in, passing an ancient warlock in the corner plucking at…some sort of musical contraption.
"It's a harpsichord," Hermione announced as they headed toward a table in the back. "Invented in the 1300s. They're a sort of keyboard instrument, but with strings to change the pitch of the notes. Originally there were two types, a larger one that takes a winged form, and a smaller, square or pentagonal shape."
Ron shook his head. "And how do you know this?"
"I read." She stated simply.
That was the understatement of the century.
She sat in the closest chair and Harry all but ran to the spot opposite. There was absolutely no way he was sitting next to her. Ever again.
Except…he had a clear view from this angle. If she made the slightest movement - any movement, at all - he'd see it. That could prove distracting. If he traded seats with Ron he'd be closer in proximity to her, and though it'd take more of an effort for him to see her chewing on the fourth fingernail of her right hand, it'd be harder to ignore the nearness. Merlin knew if her leg accidentally brushed his under the table…
Perhaps he'd be better off moving to that empty stool across the way…
She unwound the scarf, shrugged off her cloak, and hung them on the back of her chair, but left the gloves on.
What the bloody hell was that about? There was no logic in it; absolutely no logic whatsoever. Come into a room, take off your gloves. Leave a room, put them back on. Honestly. Where was the confusing bit?
She toyed with the tip of a finger on one, loosening it before pulling it back on. Slid a finger under the elastic band of the glove on the other hand, tugging gently as if to take it off…and stopped.
They ordered when Madame Rosmerta stopped by and Harry stalled, grateful for an opportunity to put his mind on something else for a moment, before settling for butterbeer as the other two had.
They made small talk, Ron and Hermione getting into a brief argument over the importance of libraries, or something equally insignificant, until their drinks came. Harry unscrewed the top from his and looked up to find Hermione having trouble with hers. The gloves made her fingers thick and uncoordinated, and she couldn't get a proper grip on the lid.
Under normal circumstances, he would have offered to open it for her.
Nothing was normal, anymore.
Ron was inattentive, lost as he was in muttered conversation with himself. (The phrase "precious Hogwarts, a History" seemed to occur multiple times.)
So Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye, instead, as she grew more and more impatient, finally taking the gloves off and throwing them to the table in frustration, exposing -
Where was it?!
There had to be a ring; he could feel it as clearly as ever, if not more so. Why else would his heart be racing? Why else would his face grow hot whenever she tossed two words in his direction? Why else was she still so damned unnerving?!
"Hermione?"
A rather familiar-looking bloke was standing at the edge of their table. Probably some Ravenclaw pansy she'd met in the library.
She looked over. "Oh. Hello, Kenneth."
He was looking at her expectantly, almost as though he were about to ask her something… "Would you like to -"
The pub was suddenly far too warm for Harry's liking.
"We were just leaving."
Hermione's head snapped up and Kenneth blinked in surprise, appearing as though he'd only just noticed Harry's presence. "Oh. Well. All right, then -"
Ron raised an eyebrow. "But we just got -"
Harry scooted his chair back and stood, flinging a handful of Sickles and Knuts onto the table. An odd sort of sensation was stirring in his chest and he charged for the door, dragging Hermione along. Heads were turning in their direction, eyes tracking their progress, more than a few puzzled looks thrown their way.
Tomorrow's edition of the Daily Prophet would certainly prove interesting. There'd likely be a picture, perhaps with the caption `Boy Who Lived' Becomes `Jealous Best Friend'.
Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Jealousy.
Brilliant. Precisely what he needed.
Embarrassing headlines were the least of his worries, he realized as they stumbled out into the snow, door slamming behind them. Hermione whirled about, glaring daggers at him. If looks could kill…hers rivaled a bloody Basilisk`s.
"What. Do you think. You're. Doing?!" She hissed.
Harry cowered instinctively. "But - he was -"
"Stop," she broke in. "I don't want to hear it."
Well that made absolutely no sense. She'd asked him a question, for Merlin's sake, and he was trying to answer it, just as she did everyday in Potions, and Transfiguration, and Charms, and History of Ma -
"I'm going back to Hogwarts." She spat, turning on her heel. "Don't you dare try to follow me." She stalked off in the direction of the castle, muttering to herself.
Harry turned slowly, chancing a glimpse at Ron. He stood, dumbstruck, jaw nearly scraping the ground.
A few moments of shocked silence passed before he recovered, biting a Chocolate Frog to occupy the time. "So…erm…you want to stop in at Zonko's?"
~*~*~
Things hadn't gone very well.
Judging from the way she hadn't so much as glanced at him for the remainder of the day, Hermione was probably rather angry with him. She'd eaten dinner at Lavender and Parvati's end of the table, as well, a place she generally avoided, too mature for their `meaningless quibble.'
The outlook was bleak.
Ron was observing from afar - an unusual action on his part - perhaps enjoying the fact that Hermione was frustrated with someone else for a change, and Harry was in the proverbial doghouse, a sheet of parchment spread across the table in front of him. Hopefully it would transform itself into his Charms essay before midnight. He dipped a quill into his inkwell, letting it hover over the blank expanse.
She was on the opposite end of the common room, reading and ignoring his overall existence.
Well. That was nice for her, wasn't it? Really, he didn't even know why he was taking any notice of it; he wasn't supposed to want to talk to her, anyway.
He was supposed to be doing the avoiding. She was supposed to try to get him to open up, anyway, and…
Dean came bounding down from their dorm, taking the seat next to her on the sofa.
Harry was inwardly pleased. It was common knowledge that whenever Hermione was within twenty feet of anything with words printed on it, conversation was strictly limited.
He waited for her to move to one of the squashy armchairs. To tell Dean to leave her alone like she usually did with Ron. To scoot down a bit - he was nearly touching her!
She smiled, gesturing to the book in her lap.
Well that would teach him a lesson. Sitting there like th -
Wait. Smiled?! She'd smiled?! What would come next? Giggling?
Dean was grinning back, pointing at a page and making some comment.
An odd sort of heat rushed through his veins. His face was flushed. His mind was racing, but at the same time, oddly blank. There were so many thoughts - too many thoughts - flitting about his head, that he couldn't grasp any one in particular.
He scrawled furiously at the parchment in front of him, ink coming out in bursts as he pressed down harder and harder, blotting the page. He didn't know what he was writing; didn't care.
The last time he'd talked to Hermione about a book had been when she'd said that he and Ron needed to read them more often, and that had been more of a scolding than a conversation, really.
And Dean didn't like reading anyway, did he? So why was he over there, laughing? And why was Hermione buying it?
Wearer lures any person desired…
But she couldn't desire him. He…his eyes were too close together. And…his shoe was untied. He preferred football to Quidditch, for Merlin's sake! And Hermione adored Quidditch, no matter how much she pretended to be enthralled in those books of hers during games.
Besides, he snored almost as loudly as Ron in his sleep. (Though Harry supposed Hermione wouldn't know that - or care, for that matter.)
And why would Dean want her? He must've been under a spell.
She was…too smart. Always thinking she knew what was best.
Which was entirely wrong. She didn't always know what was right for him. Like the time that… no, he'd taken her advice then, and everything had gone all right. Or when - no, she'd stopped him, and he would've died if she hadn't.
But what about that time she'd promised him he'd love tripe? He'd hated it, hadn't he?
Exactly.
Then she had that habit of twirling strands of hair around her index finger when she was thinking, which was incredibly distracting when someone was trying to pay attention in Transfiguration.
And there was the annoying way she wrinkled her nose whenever she couldn't figure out an answer on her Arithmancy assignments, and -
Always caught him when he stared.
Dean was still talking, and she had the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, but she kept glancing at him from across the room, catching his eye briefly before turning away. He wouldn't look up until this essay was finished, he wouldn't look up until this essay was finished, he wouldn't -
There was writing on it.
Hmm. There were a few words strewn at random across the parchment. Had he managed to pen something coherent?
Ring.
Book.
Ink.
Bloke.
Dean.
There were rather a lot of ink splatters near the last one, and…he'd snapped off the tip of his quill. (Again.)
…It was a list.
But…he'd sworn off lists. Said he'd do something drastic if he found himself composing one.
He hadn't actually meant it, though; he knew that.
So why was he standing? And why were his feet carrying him across the room?
Back, back, go back. Please go back…
They weren't listening to him.
He was standing in front of Hermione. And she was regarding him oddly. And he didn't know what to do. His mouth was open, but no sound was coming out.
Say something. Anything. For Merlin's sake!
"Er…"
Something else.
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right?"
So now she cared? Now she wasn't angry? Now she wanted to know how he was feeling?!
Well. Maybe he didn't feel like talking.
"…Never mind."
So there.
Except she was looking extremely confused, and Dean appeared as though he were fighting back a laugh, and he was just standing there…
He left through the portrait hole.
Which was completely Gryffindor-esque and not to be considered fleeing in the slightest.
Now if he could only find somewhere to hide…
Tap, tap, tap.
There were footsteps.
He stopped. They stopped.
It was really rather dark in the corridors this time of night, wasn't it? There were faint patches of moonlight falling across the floor every few yards, but the torches that were usually lit had gone out.
Luckily, he wasn't afraid of the dark. Not at all.
The footsteps started again. But…that wasn't right. He was supposed to walk, and they were supposed to start up. Then he would stop, and they would stop. Then he'd start again -
Whoever was attached to the feet cleared her throat from behind and he froze. Of all people to be following him…
"Did you have something you wanted to say, Harry?"
Yes, in fact. When someone leaves a room and says `never mind,' they'd probably like to be left alone…
"I thought you were mad at me."
Hermione sniffed, suddenly defensive. "Kenneth's a perfectly nice boy; he only wanted to say hello -"
"He wanted to dance with you!" Harry screeched.
She looked thoughtful. "Well, that's just silly - I don't dance. How can you be so sure?"
"He…er…" It would've been nice if he'd prepared an answer for this ahead of time. "He - he had the dancing sort of look in his eye."
"Oh, really?" Her mouth twitched. "And what, exactly, does that look like?"
Right. She wasn't going to get him to show her The Look. "It's just…you know. There. And it doesn't matter, anyway."
She frowned. "Doesn't it?"
"No." Stop talking, walk away. Stop talking, walk away. Stop talk-
She shifted, the moonlight reflecting off of her neck.
"Harry, I don't understand why -"
Off her neck?! That wasn't normal…
"And you just -"
It was a gold chain.
"-he isn't-"
…With a ring attached?!
"-and I -"
Granted, the ring wasn't necessarily visible - the chain scooped below the collar of her robes - but… Could it be? Was it even possible?
He leaned forward a bit (not too much, but a bit) peering down at the necklace. Just a little closer…he could almost see it…
"What`re you doing?!"
He jumped, head snapping up. Wow. Okay. Too close. Much too close.
"Ring," was the muttered reply as he moved hastily backward.
For a person who was keeping secrets, she seemed awfully confused. "Ring?"
So she was going to play it that way, was she?
"The one on your necklace."
And there was the nose-wrinkle. "I don't…" she tugged at the chain and showed him the small sapphire pendant attached. "My parents bought it for my birthday. I've been wearing it since September…"
"But…but…" he sputtered. "Where is it, then?"
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Where's what?"
"THE RING!" He all but yelled, causing her to flinch in surprise. "I know you have it; you must have it - I don't know why else -"
"Harry."
"What?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
All right, Potter. Take it down a few notches. Deep breaths. One, two. Inhale, exhale…
"The ring -"
"-What ring?"
"The one you were taking notes on. I…er…happened to glance at them…by chance…accidentally…"
Her expression cleared slightly. "Oh. That ring."
"Yes, that ring." As if she didn't know.
"Well, you don't have to get so stroppy with me," she huffed.
"Well, you didn't have to lie to me, but you did, didn't you?" he snapped.
And again with the nose. "Lie to you? I haven't lied to you once in the entire time I've known you, Harry Potter."
He opened his mouth. She cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. "Except for that incident with the Time Turner, and that didn't count, anyway. McGonagall made me swear."
"But I saw it in the book -" he floundered.
"We're doing a unit on Ancient Egypt in my Magical Cultures class. I've got a ten foot essay due next month."
Next month? Could she never wait for - No, that wasn't the point.
"But…er…the ink! Since when do you use pink quill ink?"
"Since mine ran out last week and I had to borrow Parvati's," she countered. "I hate the color pink; I bought plain black in Hogsmeade, today, remember?"
Oh, yeah.
"And what about that bloke in the Three Broomsticks, hmm? Kenneth? He was `drawn to you', wasn't he?"
It was dark, but was that a blush that tinged her cheeks?
"If you must know, he's my Arithmancy partner. We sit at the same table in the library, every so often." - Aha! - "He's rather clingy, actually."
"…And Dean?"
"De…" she trailed off, looking puzzled. "Dean?!"
And now she was laughing. Honestly. He didn't see anything remotely funny about the situation.
"Oh, Harry, you can't be serious. Dean and me? He's having trouble with History of Magic - I've been helping him study."
"How can History of Magic be so funny?"
"He's been confusing Quinton the Quiet with Boris the Boisterous, which is rather amusing when you consider how completely different they were, and take into account that Quinton's wife -"
"So you don't have the ring?" he interrupted.
"No, of course not," she said, startled. "Harry, we had to research the process for transfiguring a human into a hippopotamus last month; it doesn't mean I came back to the common room and did it."
"Right."
But what did that mean? There wasn't a ring, there never had been, so how was he supposed to explain this `fancying' bit?
"Why are you so interested?" she asked curiously.
"Because I…you -" he clamped his mouth shut. No-one ever had to know if he kept it to himself. "Nothing."
"Harry."
"What?"
"Spit it out."
"Maybe I don't want to." He said stubbornly.
Brilliant. Now he was Harry, the Belligerent Two-Year-Old.
"You do." Quite sure of herself, wasn't she?
"I don't." All right, this was getting ridiculous. He was one step away from crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip in a pout.
"Harry…" Her tone was warning.
"Fine!" Why couldn't she give up once in awhile? "Merlin, Hermione, you'll never leave me alone, will you? You're…everywhere."
There. Just leave it at that. No details.
"And…" she prompted.
`And,' nothing. She wouldn't get anything else out of him. He was Harry Potter, The Brick Wall. He-Who-Would-Not-Crack-Under-Pressure. Yes, that was good.
"I -"
Harry "The Rock" Potter.
"I can't -"
The Unbreakable…er…dammit…
"I can't concentrate when I'm around you!"
Well, so much for that.
"Gods, Hermione, you don't understand. You sit there and I stare. You ask a question and I can't even pay attention to what you're saying - much less formulate an answer - because I'm too distracted by the way your hair's curling, or the flecks of gold in your eyes! I avoid places I know you'll be so I can control my thoughts for one minute; I do my work ahead of time just to have something else to focus on… It's driving me insane. You're always there, and I thought it was the ring's fault, but now there isn't one, and I can't stop it - I don't know how to stop it - and I don't know why -"
He broke off, breathing hard. Hermione was gaping at him. Perhaps if he wasn't drowning in regret he'd be able to better appreciate the fact that he'd finally rendered her speechless.
"I - I don't…" she stuttered.
Well this was exactly what he'd hoped for. To make a fool of himself and then be rejected on top of it.
Excellent.
He needed a way to get out of it; a way to go back. Some way…any way…
"April Fools!"
Er…
She seemed to come back to herself, a bit. "Harry, it's February."
Why couldn't his mouth keep shut in matters like these?
"Is it really?"
"Mm-hmm." she nodded, smirking slightly.
Wait - where'd the shocked expression gone? He`d liked that look - it made him feel safer, somehow, less vulnerable.
"Well… I suppose we'll just leave this conversation for a few more months then, shall we?"
"Or we could have it now," she said, stepping into the shadows. But this way it was too dark; he couldn't see clearly enough to judge her reactions.
"Er…listen, Hermione…" he stammered, searching for an escape. Blast it all; thinking fast wasn't his strong suit. "I didn't mean it." …Much.
"I think you did." Her voice came from somewhere in front of him.
"Nuh-uh," he protested feebly. "You can't read my mind. I took Legilimency by myself, remember? Me. Not. You."
"Well, then, by all means, tell me what I'm thinking. You can, can't you?"
"Of course I can. You're thinking…er…that is to say…treacle tart?"
He felt her shift somewhere nearby. "Not even close."
Where was she? One minute the voice came from his right, the next from the left…
He reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand. "Lum -"
No light appeared. Because he'd never gotten a chance to finish the spell. Because…because…there was something covering his mouth. And it wasn't a hand, and it certainly wasn't a bite of treacle tart. It was…another mouth?!
But why would - who would - he'd been sure Hermione was the only one around…
That couldn't mean…
And yet, it did. She was gripping his arms, pressing her lips to his, and he stood there, like an idiot.
It wasn't wet at all; in fact, it was rather nice. So why couldn't he move?
Hermione was kissing him. Hermione was kissing him. And the only thought passing through his mind was that this must be how it felt to be Petrified.
Do something. Do. Something, his mind shrieked. Funny how that voice always seemed to sound like hers. Bit kinky, actually.
She pulled away. All right, well. You've botched that one up. Say something, then.
"What was that for?"
Oh, honestly.
Her tone was businesslike. "It's obvious, isn't it?"
"Er…"
He could picture the eye roll that inevitably followed. "You fancy me."
"No I don't!" was the indignant reply. Why, exactly, he was so taken aback that she`d said it aloud, he didn't know.
"You always were a terrible liar…" she mused.
Was he? "I…"
"Stop."
"Why?"
"You're making excuses."
No he wasn't. "No I'm not-"
"You are."
"But… I…" he faltered.
"Harry."
"What?"
"It's okay."
"How can it be -"
"Because I…er…" she paused, sounding, for the first time, the slightest bit unsure. "I…Ifancyyoutoo."
Oh, how the tables had turned. "I'm sorry, what? You'll have to say that again - I couldn't quite understand."
She sighed exasperatedly. "I. Fancy. You. Too. There - are you happy?"
Wait just one moment. He'd been beating himself up for fancying Hermione for how long, now? And the entire time - the entire bleeding time - she'd fancied him back. He'd felt awkward. He'd fumbled over his words. He'd let her distract him; let her take over his thoughts - his entire mind - and what had she been putting up with?
Absolutely. Nothing.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, at all.
And furthermore - furthermore - she'd taken his chance to kiss her. She'd done it first, caught him completely off-guard, and rendered him helpless. His first kiss with Hermione, and he…hadn't kissed Hermione.
Which made him rather angry. For the past fortnight, thoughts of doing just that had consumed him.
But she was standing in front of him. Having just admitted to fancying him. Having kissed him. And he was doing nothing about it.
She'd always given him second chances, before. Could this situation really be so different?
"I don't - you don't - you can't -"
"I do."
"You do?" It'd be nice if a bit of the shock would stay out of his voice. Honestly; did he need to make it any clearer that it was unusual for girls to fancy him?
"I do."
"Why?"
She laughed lightly, and he was instantly reminded just who he was talking to. Of course Hermione already knew that things like this rarely occurred where he was concerned. "For a lot of reasons. Because I knew you'd be embarrassed if I told you; that you'd find it hard to believe that someone - anyone - could ever have feelings for you. Because when you say what you're thinking, I know you're telling the truth. Because - for Merlin knows what reason - you see something other than a bookworm when you look at me. Because you're so much more than `The Famous Harry Potter…'"
He groped blindly in the dark, hand finally coming in contact with her arm. She gasped in surprise. Making a sudden decision, he leaned forward, using the soft sound as a reference point, and hoping to find a place in the general vicinity of her mouth.
His lips landed on her cheek.
She tilted her chin, turning towards him.
And this time, when he kissed her, he didn't feel Petrified in the least.
~*~*~
There are moments when a life can take unexpected turns. Moments when one is lured into a false sense of security. Moments when, blinded by an unfounded feeling of comfort, a person is caught completely and utterly unaware by unforeseen developments.
Developments that change the way a person thinks. That change the way a person feels. Developments that, if that person is Harry Potter, can change a life forever.
Because really, who wants to live by a schedule? Who wants to go through the same routine every morning, in the same way, over and over again?
Not Harry.
No, he'd rather wake up with everyone else. Participate in the usual mad dash to breakfast. Sit next to a certain someone.
He'd rather complete his schoolwork on time if he wishes, and leave it off if he doesn't. Go to Hogsmeade without worrying who he might run into. Sneak out of the common room under the cover of his invisibility cloak for the Room of Requirement when he so desires…
That's all to say, he'd much rather have Hermione.
Because sometimes, it's the little things - the small surprises - that bring out the best in life.
~*~*~
A/N: `Yay,' you say, `it's finally over!'
Which is really rather rude. *sniffs*
Honestly, I'm bothered by the fact that although I managed to draw a chapter out to fourteen pages over the standard five…it still feels as though I've rushed.
…Anyone have a wall I can bang my head against? I'll only use it for a second (or ten).
Meanwhile…about that Harry "The Rock" Potter bit? *blushes* It came out. What can I say? And I mean, yeah, I had that `What the [blank] have I written?!' moment, but…it passed. And the nickname stayed. Shoot me if you will…
Thank you all again for the lovely reviews. I've nothing interesting going on in my life as of…ever, really, and they add a bright spot in my day.
And people say cheesy lines don't work. *scoffs*
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