It was hours before Hermione returned to the Common Room, her face very pale and her hair mussed with bits of twig and leaves sticking out of it.
Harry had been sitting on the couch, on his own, the knitting, bag, and books Hermione had left in the Great Hall piled neatly on the cushion next to him. His mind was both blank and buzzing--Luna had said what she had to get a rise out of Hermione, to best her, of course. There was no truth to it, there couldn't be, Harry was sure of that. What Harry wasn't sure of was why the thought of it indeed not being true was making him feel the way it was.
Hermione's feelings for him was honestly never something Harry had given a lot of thought to.
She was his best friend and of course she cared about him, and he cared about her, and they both cared about Ron. That's always been the way it was, the truth. But...Harry always thought about her in the terms of caring, was the thing. She cared about him, he cared about her, they all cared about each other.
...As much as the word 'love' and its importance had been thrown around since the end of their fifth year, Harry, to his amazement, had never thought about his friends (Hermione, specifically) in terms of love. Did...he love her? ...Of course he did. He loved both of his friends. And so she probably loved him. ...Yes, of course she did. Harry shifted, sighing and putting his head on the back of the couch. "In love" is how Luna had put it. Hermione couldn't be in love with him. Of course not, that was a preposterous thought, as Hermione would say. But...was he in love with her?
The thing was, now that he was thinking about it...He just might be.
Harry slapped a hand to his forehead at that thought. I...am SUCH a prat, he mentally screamed at himself, his eyes wide behind his glasses. How was it that he had never entertained the idea? ...Bloody hell, why hadn't anyone mentioned this to him before? Someone should have told him, dammit!
He sat like that for a very long time, silent and slightly hysterical. It was only when Hermione showed up, the fire very low, that he sat up straight to look at her. Standing near the Portrait Hole, she was staring back at Harry, eyes slightly pink--she'd been crying, he could tell, and the bits of twig in her hair meant she'd gone back into the forest to visit Grawp and Hagrid, who'd all but pitched a tent to live out by his brother these days.
Harry had asked Hermione to please, please not go through the forest alone, and usually she listened. But when he saw her standing there looking at him, he couldn't be mad, and it wasn't murderous Centaurs or talking spiders he was worried about this time. His mind calmed down despite itself--a little too much, actually, it was going alarmingly blank-- and he sat stalk-still as Hermione took a breath, seeming to gear herself up for something.
A few more moments passed, and Harry was about to open his mouth when Hermione was suddenly next to him, shoving her carefully folded books and scarf to the ground and putting her hands on either side of his face. Seconds felt like hours as Hermione, looking very frightened and near tears again, put her legs on the cushion beside his, coming down to his level and studying him.
The seconds suddenly sped back up again as Hermione closed the distance between their mouths.
At first he had been too shocked to respond, and he could feel Hermione's lips stiffen in panic and start to let his go. The buzzing finally returning to his brain, he quickly grabbed her around the middle (perhaps a bit too hard as Hermione let out an "omph!") and pressed her against his chest. He seemed to have knocked the air out of her, but wasn't about to let go--despite the rather panicky feeling that was twirling around in his stomach.
Hermione took in a few short gasps of air, her face still very close to his. Her breath puffed against his lips, and she was staring at him through his glasses. He could feel her heart pounding--almost as hard as his own--through their clothes.
Hermione finally spoke before she had fully gotten her wind, fingers still on both of Harry's hot cheeks. She looked as confused as Harry felt--but he could tell by her eyes that she was very sure about something.
"The--the House-Elves want to be free, Harry."
He caught her lips in his again, something both new and familiar springing free between them as they held onto each other.
At some point during the night, the fire went out. Harry's glasses got bent. Dobby the House-Elf came and went, gleefully wrapping the long green scarf around and around his thin neck, Hermione's knitting needles trailing on the floor behind him. Harry and Hermione didn't notice once.
Happy being free.
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