Just a Kiss

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Shocker, huh?

A/N: Wow. This was meant to be something completely different. It was supposed to be something really angsty, really full of tension and stuff, but turned out as fluff/angst, so I would very much appreciate your feedback, whether it’s good or bad. Hope you enjoy!

***

It was a nice day outside. A quiet breeze, a warm sun, the soft chirping of the birds…one of those ideal summer days he, Ron and Hermione used to spend outside, under the comfortable shade of a tree, talking or studying. It was one of those days when the Hogwarts Grounds used to be packed full of laughing and gossiping students, all carefree and oblivious to anything more serious than their end-of-term exams.

One of those days…when, sitting with his friends, he used to think about Ginny and the War, rather than about whatever Ron or Hermione were saying. When he used to think that he loved her, and that he couldn’t live without her…when, naively, he used to think she was ‘the one’. And, looking back on that now, it wasn’t really that he hadn’t felt anything for her—he had. It was just that what he felt hadn’t been what he’d thought.

But such memories seemed to belong to a different universe now; a life he had never really known or experienced. A life that was now so far away, and he knew he would never be able to get it back. Not after this…not after all that was happening. After living through such a horrible and difficult time, he couldn’t imagine seeing the world the way he used to. After seeing the things he had, experiencing the things he had…it was simply impossible to go back to living a normal, carefree life.

At this thought, a low, sour laugh escaped his lips. His life hadn’t ever been normal. Normal was…normal was knowing your parents, going to school being just like everyone else, not having a madman out to murder you since you were born…

He sighed heavily. And what told him he would be able to live on after the War, anyway? What told him that he wouldn’t die, that Voldemort wouldn’t triumph over his efforts to save everyone and everything he had ever known? What told him that Dumbledore and Sirius and his parents didn’t die for nothing? How could he know no one else he cared for would die? How could he still have faith, after all the horrible things that told him things could only go downhill from this?

How could he know that things would be okay? How could he actually believe it?

He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe, firmly, that things would work out and that he, Ron and Hermione would live after all of this. That all of this, the War and the deaths…it would be just a bad memory.

He felt so alone in this. So horribly closed off from everyone else, condemned to this fate. Before, it was somewhat bearable; he had Dumbledore, Sirius, Ginny with him…a happier Ron, a more relaxed Hermione…

The ominous threat of Voldemort had always been there, but it had never loomed over them so brightly, so terribly, threatening everything and everyone they knew and loved. Before, it had always been something that could happen, but it had always seemed so far away from them…as if the moment of the War and the deaths would never come, and would remain a mere risk for all of eternity.

But now…it was here. And there was no stopping all the things that were happening.

And Harry just wanted for all of it to be over…for everything to be back to normal.

This thought seemed to rouse him from his stupor. Blinking, Harry was brought back to Grimmauld Place, and the memory of what had brought him to this state flashed before him. Hermione’s face danced before him, her face tear-stricken, eyes brimming with tears…she spoke a choked whisper, mumbling something about Ron and a fight…he said something…and they just stood there, for a while, talking and holding each other…

But then her face was coming closer. She looked into his eyes, fear and confusion evident, before they flickered to a close. He could remember feeling her breath on his face as she closed the distance and her lips came in contact with his…

He could remember the epiphany as he felt her lips on his…he could remember feeling an inexplicable happiness and longing fire up inside him, as he processed what was happening. He could remember understanding, from the moment she closed the distance between them, what he felt.

He could remember realizing that he loved her.

Later, as he lay in his bed, he questioned what had happened. Had it all been a mad rush of emotions? Something sudden and…mistaken? Had she just been transferring her feelings for Ron unto him? Had he been locked up in this house so long, deprived of the company of anyone else, that he had been desperate for the kind of contact he hadn’t had since Ginny?

No.

That wasn’t it.

It couldn’t be.

And he knew, because he hadn’t ever felt anything remotely close to what he felt as he kissed Hermione.

It had been a feeling of…knowing. As if he had been unconsciously asking himself a question and had finally found an answer for it. And it had just felt right; like there was nothing else in the world he was better destined for doing.

Kissing Ginny hadn’t ever been like that. It had been led, mostly, by the thought that she was very pretty. Never had he thought, during those kisses with her, that she might be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It had always been a spur-of-the-moment, hormonal sort of thing.

But with Hermione…

With Hermione he felt something…extraordinary. An urge to never let her go, to protect her in his arms forever. A realization that no one had ever been able to give him what she had; that no one had ever been able to understand him, to help and guide him like she had. No one had ever stood by his side so resolutely, even when he was being completely intransigent and downright stupid.

And no one had ever believed in him, no matter what, like she did…

And, as he kissed her that night, he had realized that there was no one else in the world he would rather be with.

So it should be simple now, right?

Wrong. It was even more complicated. Now, he was aware of what he felt. He knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her and Ron and ignore the dull longing for her welling up inside him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her cry and not feel like strangling Ron. He knew he wouldn’t be able to spend time with her and ignore the urge to kiss her softly again, to tell her what he felt…

Oh, how he wished it could all just go back to normal…

“Harry?”

Her voice came from behind him, soft as a whisper. It had a slightly tentative note to it, as if she wasn’t completely sure of what to say. He turned, looking at her. The sunlight was in her eyes, so that she was squinting up at him with those brown eyes of hers. Her hair, messy as ever, was haphazardly piled on top of her head, and Harry vaguely noted the quill tucked behind her ear as a reminder of Luna.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly, clearing his throat and attempting a reassuring half-grin, “I just needed some air.”

But Hermione continued to look up at him worriedly, biting her lip, “Of course,” she said, her voice wavering, “I—I suppose so. The house is rather stuffy sometimes, isn’t it?”

“At least it keeps us safe,” he mumbled, looking out the window again for a moment and sighing.

“Yes, of course. It’s still the best place to stay until Godric’s Hollow is fixed up again,” she said. Harry couldn’t see her properly, as he was still looking out the window, but he could imagine her biting her lip, wondering how she could say what she wanted to.

”We should be back there around next week, maybe.”

“Probably. I don’t think there was much spell damage.”

“Yeah. Moody still wanted to check for other traps, though. Said they might have enchanted it with some Dark spell,” Harry said absentmindedly. His mind wasn’t really into this, and he knew that she wasn’t thinking about this, either. They both wanted an answer to the same question, but didn’t know how to get it. They both wanted to know whether this was real, whether they would ignore it and go back to normal, or take a chance and plunge into the unknown…

There was silence for a moment, before the sound of soft footsteps reached Harry. At Hermione’s soft touch on his shoulder, he turned, looking at her properly for the first time in two days. He noted the vague shadows under her eyes, the tired look she had, and he had to fight off and impulse to kiss her; to bring back some happiness into her worried eyes.

“Harry,” she said, her voice choked and low, “I-we need to talk about it. Ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away.”

He held her gaze, mulling it all over in his head. He didn’t want it to go away. To be honest, the kiss had been just about the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time. It wasn’t that he wished it hadn’t happened…it was just that, he was so confused about everything. He knew perfectly well what he wanted, but he just wasn’t sure if it was what he should do.

“I don’t want it to go away, Hermione…”

She blinked once, apparently surprised, before nodding, “Then why have you been avoiding me for the past two days? You can’t expect…you can’t expect to sort this out yourself, Harry.”

“What I want to sort out,” Harry said, trying his best not to say the wrong thing, “It’s not something I could discuss with anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I feel about all of this. I’m just confused about what I want.”

He knew, just as the words left his mouth, that he had said the wrong thing.

“Oh.”

Silence descended its icy hand upon them. Hermione held his gaze, and he watched, in slow motion, as her eyes reddened and silent tears began to pour from them. He watched as she bit her lip and angrily wiped her eyes, attempting to stop the tears from falling. And he watched, his throat constricted, as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb and she began to cry harder than ever, pulling away from him slightly.

He said a lot of things as she cried. He apologized over and over, tried to explain what he had meant, and cursed a few times, not knowing what to do and feeling quite worried. He held her as she sobbed, patting her head and pouring his heart out to her in a mad rush of words. And she just cried, her sobs growing quieter with every word he said.

“…I guess—I guess what I mean by all of this—oh, God, please…don’t cry, Hermione—is that I felt different with you. I always have. Ginny…well, I fancied her, but it wasn’t anything like…like what I feel for you—”

She looked up at him so fast that he almost jumped. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, suspicion clouding the hope that still lived inside them.

“And what,” she said, her voice very low and deliberate, “is it that you feel for me?”

Harry closed his eyes, letting out a breath. The answer to such a question was simple, in theory. He knew why he hadn’t broken their kiss, why he hadn’t told her that couldn’t happen. He knew why he had been avoiding her after it happened.

He knew why, his whole life, he had always been able to talk to her about anything; why he had always protected her first and foremost; why he had always followed her advice…why he meant so much to him…

Yes, the answer was simple. It was saying it that was tricky.

“I…”

Her lips were a thin line now…

“I…lo…”

Her frame seemed to stiffen even more, if possible…

“I—I love you.”

It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off him, suddenly…for a moment, he managed to forget about the War and everything else that was going on. All the deaths, the disappearances…they all slipped from his mind as he watched her pale face grow bright pink. Her eyes filled with tears again, though he was pretty sure those were happy tears…

Her hand grasped for his, holding it tightly in hers. She lowered her gaze to their hands, watching them, and looked back up at him, her face serene and radiating happiness.

“So do I.”

There was a pause, then—

“It may sound odd. I don’t blame you, of course. I’ll bet you think I’ve been crying about Ron all this time, haven’t you?”

Harry frowned, “You—you haven’t?”

Hermione shook her head sadly, “Not quite.”

-- FLASHBACK

“Still hasn’t come down, has he?” said Ron. He was leaning against the cold stone wall, a worried look crossing his pale features. His eyes were slightly widened in concern as he looked at Hermione. He still looked like he always did—clothes disheveled, messy hair—but she knew he wasn’t alright. None of them were, really. Not in these times.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head, “No,” she said softly, her voice slightly muffled, “And he hasn’t spoken to anyone since the attack last night.”

Squinting at her in the dim candlelight, Ron said, “Hermione, are you…are you alright?”

Hermione managed to narrow her eyes, “No. I won’t be alright until all of this is finished, Ron. I…I hate this. I miss Harry.”

“Come on. He hasn’t been up there that long,” Ron said, smiling weakly, in an attempt to bring some light into the situation.

Hermione didn’t appreciate it much. She locked her eyes on his now, her attention fully on him, and glared, “Don’t. Don’t toy with the situation. You know he hasn’t been the same since he ran into Malfoy in Knockturn Alley. You know he’s keeping something from us. You know something is wrong with him!”

“Yes, Hermione, I do! You’re not the only one who’s worried, you know!” Ron said, raising his voice, “But neither of us can do anything right now—”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, Ron,” Hermione snarled, narrowing her eyes, “Of course we can. We’re his friends! We’re the only ones he’ll probably accede to talk to about whatever’s bothering him!”

“But he won’t! It’s not like I haven’t tried getting anything out of him!”

“You talk about it like it’s a game!” Hermione exclaimed, waving her arms over her head, “It isn’t, Ron! That’s our best friend suffering up there for God-knows-what, and you’re giving up after trying to get it out of him!”

“Dammit, Hermione, you’re not the only one who cares about Harry, okay?” Ron yelled, his face going red from anger, “Stop criticizing me and what I do! Just—stop, will you?”

“I’m not! I’m just—I’m worried…” Hermione mumbled, suddenly feeling horrible for what she had said. Tears blurred her vision now, but she tried her best to keep them at bay for a few more moments, “I’m sorry…” she whispered, before turning on her heel and dashing upstairs, leaving Ron with his arm outstretched, staring after her.

-- END FLASHBACK

As Hermione finished recounting her fight with Ron, Harry felt a lump rise in his throat, “So you…you’ve been crying because…you’ve been worried. About me.”

She nodded, “Yes. My feelings for Ron are, most definitely, of friendship only, Harry. And he knows that.”

“But—”

“It’s only a matter of time before the reasons run out not to, Harry,” Hermione said, a small grin playing on her lips, “You might as well take the chance now.”

Hesitating for a moment, Harry took her hands in his, “Only if you’ll take it with me,” he whispered, “And you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I’m sure, Harry.”

And with that, her face began to come closer…so much closer…

The faint scent of her perfume was lost in him as her lips came in contact with his. It was soft, quick, more hesitant than anything else, but it was enough. It was all they needed, really, because what they had went beyond kisses and caresses. Their relationship went beyond that to the point that they loved each other before they even knew what loving really meant, before they even considered the idea of being together.

A kiss was just that. A promise, maybe. A reassurance.

But they didn’t need promises and reassurances anymore. They were sure now.

More certain than ever.

-- FIN