All Because You Kissed Me Good Night

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I’m just playing with her world. The poem at the end is by Sandy Rolstan and isn’t mine either.

A/N: Enjoy and please review!

All Because You Kissed Me Good Night

He was too close to her.

She couldn’t concentrate on the page in front of her. She was too conscious of him sitting next to her, his elbow occasionally bumping into hers as he wrote. She could smell him, the unique smell that was Harry, a mixture of soap, sweat, the fresh air, and the indefinable scent that was uniquely his. If she looked just a little to her left, she could see him, frowning slightly in concentration as he grasped his quill, writing in his slightly slanted scrawl, as familiar to her as the emerald-green eyes behind his round glasses, or the way his hair stuck up in all directions.

She couldn’t seem to stop watching him. He was the same Harry that she had known for 6 years now, her best friend. But somehow in the past few months, he’d also become the single biggest distraction she had.

She closed her eyes in frustration, letting out a sigh. What was it with her lately? Why couldn’t she seem to think about anything but Harry? Why was she always wanting to look at him when he was around, be with him when he wasn’t around? Since when did Harry’s slightly lopsided grin make her insides go fluttery and her knees go weak?

Actually, she knew what her problem was. Its name was Harry James Potter, 16 years old, her best friend and the guy she just happened to be in love with. Not to mention that he was cute, charming, funny, sweet, smart, and had what must be the brightest pair of green eyes ever to grace a human face.

“Hermione, what’s wrong? You tired?”

His voice broke the silence in the library and interrupted her musings about him.

She opened her eyes to find him studying her with concern on his face.

She forced a smile. “No, no, just resting my eyes for a bit. Actually, I think I’m going to get some air. I’ll be back soon.”

He made a motion as if he was going to get up too, but she stopped him. “No, you and Ron stay here, keep my spot. I’m just going to step outside for a few minutes, okay?”

She forced another grin at both Harry and Ron who were looking at her oddly before hurrying out of the library.

She hurriedly grabbed her cloak from her room before rushing out of the front doors, heading towards her favorite spot by the lake.

It was a cool, clear night. The moon was nearly full; she glanced up at it, suddenly reminded of Professor Lupin. She knew he was involved with the Order of the Phoenix, working closely with Headmaster Dumbledore, Sirius and Mr. Weasley and others to gather support against Voldemort. She shivered at the name, a harsh reminder that Harry was still in danger.

Harry. To the rest of the Wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived and a hero. To her, just Harry, her friend and one of the most important people in her world.

She thought of Voldemort and his repeated attempts to kill Harry, knew that it wasn’t over yet, that Harry was inwardly expecting something terrible to happen. And she looked up at the moon, shining so brightly, and silently renewed a promise she had made to herself and to Harry years ago. She would do whatever she could, whatever she had to do, to help Harry and keep him safe.

In the library still, Harry frowned at Hermione’s retreating back before returning his attention to his Potions textbook. They had a 3 foot long essay due in Potions the next day and he had yet to finish his second roll of parchment. He could just hear Snape’s scathing voice if he failed to complete and turn in the assignment, and inwardly groaned. Snape’s loathing for him hadn’t lessened in any way. If anything, it seemed to have gotten worse.

He frowned as he stared at his Potions textbook again, even as the words seemed to blur in front of his eyes. He hated Potions. He was still amazed that Snape hadn’t yet failed him, although he suspected that it was due, at least in part, to Dumbledore’s intervention.

Ron stifled a grin as he watched Hermione leave the library as if being chased by one of Hagrid’s latest “pets” before turning to watch Harry as he painstakingly wrote another sentence in his Potions essay. He suspected that Hermione had feelings for Harry, having watched as Hermione had continued glancing at Harry for the past hour and more since they had started to do their work in the library. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought about his growing belief that Hermione liked Harry as more than just a friend. Did he himself still like Hermione in that way? He didn’t think so. Not after the debacle that had been their attempt at dating last year. And yet, the knowledge that Hermione felt differently about Harry than she did for him made him feel distinctly odd.

Of course, he reflected, whatever Hermione’s feelings for Harry were, it was clear that Harry was oblivious to it. Not that he blamed Harry. He had enough on his plate, what with Snape, O.W.L.’s and Voldemort to worry about. And yet he wondered…

“How’s the essay going, Harry?” he asked, not because he really wanted to know but to break the silence.

Harry looked up, looking relieved for the distraction, and made a face. “Not very well. Snape’s going to have fun marking this one up, I can tell.”

Ron returned the look. “As if that git wouldn’t have had fun taking points off anyway. Any idea what’s up with Hermione? She never just runs out of the library like that. You and I do, but not Hermione.”

Harry turned to look at the door again, as if expecting to see Hermione there, before shrugging. “Not a clue.” He looked over at Ron’s parchment that had even less written on it than Harry’s did. “You’re stuck too, huh?”

Ron grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, well, you know I hate Potions.”

Harry grinned back and Ron took the opportunity to change the subject. “You know, Harry, I think Hermione likes you.”

Harry blinked. “Well, yeah, I should hope she does; we’ve been friends for so long.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry’s determined obliviousness. “No, mate, I mean, I think she likes you as more than just a friend.”

Harry looked as stunned as if Ron had suddenly announced his engagement to Snape. “What? No, I don’t think so. We’re just friends like we’ve always been. You know that.” And besides, he added mentally, I don’t like her like that.

Did he? Harry looked back down at his parchment blankly, not seeing his own handwriting but seeing Hermione’s face, her warm brown eyes, the bushy hair that irritated her so much, the straight nose, the full lips… He pulled himself up short. Her lips?! Since when had he noticed her lips? She was his best friend, nothing more. Wasn’t she?

Ron looked back down at his parchment to hide his grin, remembering something he’d read by Shakespeare, one of the few wizard authors who managed to write and be accepted by the Muggle world as well as the wizarding. Methinks he does protest too much, he thought and smirked to himself. Oh this was going to be amusing.

Later that night, Hermione couldn’t sleep.

She had finally returned to the library to find Ron had dozed off over his Potions essay, had rolled her eyes before poking him awake while Harry looked on with a smirk. She had finished up her own essay for Potions, half a foot longer than it needed to be, then helped Harry finish his own essay. And he had grinned his thanks at her, his usual Harry grin that always made her feel like her insides were turning into mush.

It had worked even back in third year. She remembered Harry showing up in the middle of Honeydukes and asking whether she was going to turn him in for using his Invisibility Cloak, grinning. The grin never failed. And she had blushed and finally managed to stammer, “Oh – of course not – but honestly, Harry –” She had been relieved when Ron, dear Ron, so oblivious about some things (thank goodness), had dragged Harry away to show him the variety of sweets. It had allowed her some time to compose herself again.

She turned over in her bed restlessly, willing herself to stop thinking about Harry, stop wondering whether Harry felt the same way she did whenever they touched by accident, stop wondering what it would feel like to kiss Harry…

She sat straight up in bed. This wasn’t working. She needed to distract herself, do something…

Making a quick decision, she decided to head down to the Common Room, grabbing a book on her way. Hopefully she’d be able to read herself into feeling sleepy.

This determination lasted until she set foot inside the Common Room to be stopped short by the sight of a very familiar head of untidy black hair. And for once in the entire time she’d known him, she wasn’t happy to see him.

“Harry, what are you doing down here? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

He started a little and turned to look at her. “Oh, Hermione, it’s you,” was all he said.

She frowned slightly. He didn’t sound surprised that it was her.

She joined him on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her in her habitual position. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to come down and read to make myself sleepy,” she explained, tilting her head giving him a curious look.

He half-smiled at her. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

“No nightmares, I hope.”

“No, nothing like that, just couldn’t sleep.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t been able to sleep because he’d been wondering whether what Ron had said was true. Did Hermione really like him as more than a friend? And how did he feel about her? He had found himself remembering all the things she’d done for him over the years, the little habits of hers that he knew so well and somehow found endearing, the way she would nibble her quill when she was concentrating in class, the look on her face when she answered questions in class, the way her eyes lit up when she found some useful or interesting information in a book. All the things that made Hermione who she was. And all the things that made him- what? Like her? Care about her? Love her, even? He didn’t know anymore. And it had thrown him off-balance, as if he’d suddenly lost his grip on his broom.

Hermione studied Harry thoughtfully. His green eyes looked distant, as if his mind were far away. Thankfully, he didn’t look troubled, sad or angry, just oddly thoughtful and a little confused.

And then he blinked and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, before looking at her again and chuckling a little.

“What is it, Harry?”

He grinned at her. “I was just thinking about when I first saw you on the train first year, and how little you’ve changed since then even with all that’s happened.”

She smiled. “Poor Neville. He was so distraught about losing Trevor. And then when I first saw you and Ron…” She leaned her head back on the sofa, studying him with a teasing smile curling up the corners of her lips. “I was rather disappointed when I first saw you, you know, Harry.”

He looked surprised. “Disappointed? Why?”

“Oh, because I had read so much about you, I guess I was expecting some mythic heroic figure and then you were this skinny boy with broken glasses and a scar, just a normal boy.” She grinned at him companionably as Harry laughed. “But then I got to know you and I realized that even if you didn’t necessarily look the part, you were still every bit of a hero inside. Just Harry.”

He smirked. “Just Harry, yes, that’s me. Just Harry. Plain old boring Harry Potter.”

She playfully swiped his arm. “You’re not boring! You’re just normal, a normal nice guy.”

He sobered. “Right, a normal guy who just happens to have the worst Dark wizard in several centuries out to get him.”

She sighed. “Oh, Harry, don’t think like that. Remember what Hagrid said at the end of fourth year, ‘What’s coming will come, and we’ll have to meet it when it does.’” She put a hand on his arm. “And you will meet it, Harry, and Ron and I will be right there with you when you do.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm, an odd expression on his face, before looking back up to meet her concerned expression. “I know. Thanks, Hermione.”

She smiled at him. “Anytime.”

A yawn broke the comfortable silence that fell as Hermione suddenly realized how late it was getting and they had classes to go to the next morning.

She stood up as Harry did the same, stretching as he did so. “We’d better get some sleep, Harry.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said but he didn’t move, just watched her as she stretched a little.

She put a friendly arm around his waist, firmly ignoring the heat that seemed to sizzle between them as she did so, and half-dragged, half-pushed him with her to the two staircases leading up to the dormitories where he’d go his way and she’d go hers.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said before turning to go when he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned back to look at him curiously. He looked as if he’d just realized something incredibly important, his green eyes oddly shining as he looked at her and before she knew what was happening, he had pulled her close and kissed her.

Her eyes closed and her brain seemed to shut down as she leaned into him, her hands moving from his arms to his shoulders, finally getting tangled in his hair. And all she could think was, At last.

The world was spinning, or had stopped entirely, or had just disappeared, ceased to exist. There was just her and Harry, his lips burning hers, sending sizzling heat all the way down to her toes, his hands on her back seeming to brand her as his.

She was his, she knew now, deep in her heart. She would always be his. He had claimed her forever with this one kiss.

They broke apart breathing hard, staring at each other as if they’d never seen each other before.

“Wow,” was all Harry said finally.

She blushed before smiling at him, not caring that her heart was in her eyes, and kissed him quickly again, before turning to run up the stairs to her room, leaving him to stare after her almost dazedly, before turning slowly and making his own way to his own room where he flopped back onto his bed to stare at the ceiling and relive the kiss over and over again until his eyes finally grew heavy and he fell asleep, still dreaming of Hermione, his best friend, his more-than-friend, the girl he loved.

I climbed the door and opened the stairs,
Said my pajamas and put on my prayers,
Then turned off the bed and crawled into the light--
All because you kissed me good night

-from All Because You Kissed Me Good Night,
by Sandy Rolstan

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the first part! This is for Romulus Lupin, whose comment on the first part spawned the plot bunny that became this continuation!

Enjoy and as always, please review!!

A Kiss to Say Good Morning

Hermione woke up feeling surprisingly rested and lay in bed smiling to herself for a few minutes, thinking of Harry, of his kiss the night before. Harry… Maybe she’d imagined it but she could swear that he had been a better kisser than she had imagined. She blushed at the thought of him, suddenly nervous as to how she would face him again, how he would react to seeing her after the sudden change in their relationship the night before.

She dawdled uncharacteristically while getting ready for breakfast that day, taking extra time with her still bushy hair, brushing it more thoroughly than usual. She laughed at herself softly as she tried to tame her hair. Harry wouldn’t notice, would he? He never really seemed to care how she looked. It was one of the things that made her so comfortable around him, that he always seemed more interested in her as a person than as just a pretty girl. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection. She wasn’t pretty. Her hair was just a plain brown and bushy; her eyes as plain a brown, all very boring.

She smiled suddenly at the word, reminded of the conversation she and Harry had had. Boring. No, no one would ever call Harry boring. Harry…

Harry had kissed her last night. She smiled at her reflection, reconciled to her brown hair and eyes. Harry had kissed her, and for now that was enough.

She looked at the clock, suddenly realizing she had better hurry down to the Great Hall to get breakfast.

Ron had the distinct feeling that Harry wasn’t listening to him.

Harry was absently buttering a slice of toast, his eyes restlessly flicking back and forth over the Great Hall as if he was looking for someone or waiting for something. He looked tense, nervous, in a way that Ron hadn’t seen since 3^rd year before the Quidditch House Cup.

“… and so I told the twins that I was planning to ask Trelawney to marry me tomorrow,” Ron finished, watching Harry for his reaction.

Harry didn’t react, just nodded, mumbling something like, “Mm hmm.”

Ron rolled his eyes before reaching over and waving a hand in front of Harry’s face, causing him to start backwards, blinking. “Harry, have you even heard a word I’ve been saying?”

Harry flushed and looked sheepish. “Er, well, not really…” I was thinking about Hermione. Where is she? And how should I act when I see her? And…

Ron shook his head and tossed a roll of bread at Harry’s head. “Wake up, Potter. Where is your brain this morning?”

Harry caught the roll instinctively, his Seeker instincts coming into play.

“Speaking of where things are,” Ron continued casually, “where’s Hermione this morning? She’s usually down here before us for breakfast.”

Harry jumped as if he’d been poked hard. “Hermione, um, I don’t know. I, er, haven’t seen her. That is, not since last night –” Harry shut his mouth, looking as if he very much wanted to hit himself.

Ron’s ears perked up. “You saw Hermione last night? When? Did you two do anything?” He wiggled his brows suggestively, watching in amusement as Harry promptly turned scarlet to his ears before saying quickly, “No! I mean, no, just, um, just when we left the library yesterday.”

Ron stifled a grin. Harry was such fun to tease. His face tended to react to everything, or if his expression didn’t, his eyes did.

But then he took pity on his best friend, changing the subject. “So, you’re coming to the Quidditch match today, right?”

Harry frowned a little. “We don’t have a Quidditch match today. It’s next week.”

“Haha, Potter, I know when our next match is. I meant the Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match; that’s today, remember?”

“Oh, right, yeah, sure.”

“I hope Ravenclaw manages to flatten Slytherin. They’ve gotten a lot better; that new Keeper of theirs, what’s-his-name, has really helped jumpstart the Ravenclaw team this year. I heard Cho Chang’s going to be replaced with that really smart one, you know, the one that answers almost as many questions in class as Hermione does, the Bennet girl, Melanie, I think her name is…”

And Harry wasn’t listening to him again, having suddenly sucked in a sharp breath before blushing again and then staring fixedly at his plate as if his piece of half-eaten toast was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Ron twisted around, wondering what had gotten Harry acting so oddly.

It was Hermione, carrying her usual bagful of books but looking somewhat hesitant too.

Ron glanced between Harry, still studying his toast with a concentration he’d never seen Harry give to any assignment ever, to Hermione looking at Harry’s down-turned head and looking positively unsure of herself. Oh now this was very interesting…

“Morning, Hermione,” he said cheerfully.

“Hi, Ron.” She hesitated, looking again at Harry, before faltering, “Morning, Harry.”

“Morning,” Harry mumbled to his plate, only looking up briefly at Hermione before quickly looking down again. He wasn’t going to stare at her. He wasn’t. So what if he had suddenly realized less than 12 hours ago that he was in love with her? So what if she was looking prettier than he could ever remember seeing her? So what if all he could see when he closed his eyes was her face?

Hermione poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice, reaching for a roll with her other hand. Ron studied her curiously. Was she… she was. Hermione was blushing and continuing to steal glances at Harry across the table.

What had happened last night that had Harry and Hermione acting so strangely?

Ron cleared his throat loudly, causing both Harry and Hermione to jump. “So, Harry,” he said pointedly, “about what I told you yesterday while we were in the library, what do you think now?” And if that less-than-subtle jab didn’t work, he was going to lock them up in the nearest broom closet, he thought.

Harry flushed again. “Er, um, I…” he stammered, entirely nonplussed by Ron’s sudden question and less-than-subtle curiosity.

Should I tell Ron? On one hand, it’s not like I’m ashamed of how I feel. On the other hand, this is too new to me. To us. On the other hand, does Hermione want people to know? But then Ron isn’t just people; he’s our best friend. And wait a second, did I just think I had three hands? Harry bit back the laughter rising in his throat before realizing something.

There was no going back now. He and Hermione had crossed the line of platonic friendship and Ron already seemed to know it. What good would denying it be when it was bound to come out sooner or later? Moreover, he didn’t want to deny it. He was proud of loving Hermione, proud that she apparently returned his feelings.

He looked up and met Ron’s eyes steadily. “You were right.”

Ron’s eyes widened a little. He hadn’t been expecting Harry to admit it so openly.

Hermione glanced at the two of them curiously. “And what are you two talking about?”

They both turned to look at her, Harry opening his mouth before closing it again, while Ron suddenly seemed to remember he had forgotten something back in Gryffindor Tower and leaped up to get it. He shot Harry a smirk before leaving as if being chased by giant spiders again.

Once outside the Great Hall, Ron stopped abruptly, turning to watch Harry and Hermione sitting across from each other at one end of the Gryffindor table.

Left alone, Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry. “Well, what were you and Ron talking about?”

Harry glanced around, noting with relief that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen and then seeing a flash of red hair lurking at the open doors to the Great Hall. He stifled a grin. He had known Ron would be watching. He looked at Hermione again, to find her still watching him with the most adorable expression of curiosity mixed with a little exasperation at his evasiveness. At the sight of her face, some strange feeling of exhilaration bubbled up in his chest, very like what he’d felt last night before falling asleep. This was Hermione, the girl he loved, and for once he wasn’t uncertain about what he was feeling or what he wanted to do.

He got up, moving to sit next to her.

She looked surprised and opened her mouth to ask a question, but before she could, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.

He sat back and smiled at her. “Good morning,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I was acting like a prat earlier.”

She returned the smile, not saying anything, and he caught his breath as he finally, fully realized that Hermione didn’t just like him, she loved him.

It was a gift. An awe-inspiring, incredibly precious gift. She had already given him her unconditional trust, unconditional friendship and now this. There really were no words.

He reached over and took her hand in his, where it rested on the table, giving it a gentle pressure. And for that moment, everything was perfect.

He looked up to find Headmaster Dumbledore observing him and Hermione, and as his eyes met Dumbledore’s, Dumbledore silently raised his goblet in a toast, the usual twinkle in his blue eyes, the trace of an approving smile on his face.

And outside the Great Hall, Ron stifled a whoop of glee as he watched his two best friends smiling at each other, already looking forward to seeing both their faces when he returned to say, in true best friend fashion, “I told you so.”