Awareness

Title: Awareness

Author: Caalan

Rating: PG

Warning: None

Summary: Awareness: A realization or knowledge of something, especially something generally not apparent or obvious. A late-night conversation after the Yule Ball.

Note: Written for my friend, Jill, on her birthday, because she loves H/Hr and knows what it means to be aware of someone.

Harry's eyes popped open from a sound sleep. There hadn't been a nightmare or even a dream for that matter, so what had caused him to wake? It was probably a combination of an over-anticipated event turning so anti-climatic and the fact that his arse was still numb from sitting so much tonight. The Yule Ball was not something he wanted to experience again. He decided a late night stroll might help.

As soon as he stepped outside of the boys dorm, he heard laughter. Who else was up? He recognized that laugh. It was no lilting lady-like giggle, but a full-bodied guffaw that inspired grins. Hermione.

Intrigued now, he crept slowly forward to spy what had her chortling. He eased around the staircase just enough to see what was going on. There she was in her sleeveless cotton nightgown, bare feet, and her hair free from its confines put upon it for the ball. She was dancing in the firelight from the great hearth with someone quite short who happened to be wearing a top hat. Harry blinked slowly, thinking perhaps it was a dream after all.

She was spinning quickly, her head thrown back in delight, her hair flying behind her. Was it a trick of the light or was she actually glowing? Harry looked closely, from the mass of curls down to her toes trying to discern if the light was coming from behind her or within. He tore his gaze from her when her partner finally spoke.

“Dobby thanks Harry Potter's girlfriend for teaching. Winky wanted so much to dance. Now Dobby can treats her.”

Hermione looked down at the house elf, amusement evident in her smile. “You're welcome, Dobby. You shouldn't worry. Winky is probably very appreciative of your company, whether you are dancing or not.”

Dobby began to shake his head vehemently, knocking the top hat off so that his ears flopped out. “Dobby begs to differ, miss. Dances should be danced.”

Hermione stared over Dobby into the fire, her head tilting slightly in her reverie. Softly, she said, “Believe me, Dobby. Sometimes it's just the fact that you are noticed that makes all the difference in the world, dances or not.”

Dobby stood looking confused at the shift in her mood, his protuberant eyes widened even further when he scanned the room and realized Harry had been watching. He began to ramble apologetically.

“I'm sorry, Harry Potter sir. Dobby did not mean to wake you. Dobby was cleaning and found Harry Potter's girl looking sad. She asked about Dobby's hat, sir, and I told her I would have worn it to the Ball if I'd known how to dance, and she was teaching….”

”It's all right, Dobby.” He bent down to put a calming hand on Dobby's shoulder, all the while looking at Hermione, her earlier expressions of laughter now replaced by one of guarded sadness. “Everyone needs to learn to dance.”

Silence fell among them and Dobby's eyes shifted slowly from Hermione to Harry, as a grin spread across his face. “Dobby has early work. Please forgive Dobby for leaving so quickly, Harry Potter sir.” And with a CRACK, the elf disappeared.

Harry stood, wondering whether he should just go to bed or talk to Hermione. She didn't look as if she was going to offer any conversation, nor did she look as if she wanted to listen. He knew she didn't have a good time tonight, either. Or rather, she had been having a good time before Ron accused her of fraternizing with the enemy. Harry held out his hand to her, he hoped he could at least bring back a smile if not the soulful laughter from before.

“Hermione, would you like to dance?”

She looked at his outstretched hand and then for a long moment she watched his face, the sadness never wavering. “Really, Harry, it's late. We should just get some sleep.” She turned to go.

“I notice you, Hermione.”

Hermione stopped and turned back, watching him intently. Finally she said, “The events of this week aren't in agreement with that statement, Harry.”

Harry sighed. “Okay, so perhaps “notice” isn't the right word. I know that Ron messed up…I messed up. We know you are a girl, Hermione.”

“It's not a brilliant deduction, Harry.” That stood awkwardly together, shifting their weight. They each turned to face the fire as if speaking of such things was too hard to do while facing each other. “You certainly didn't acknowledge it tonight.”

Harry was quiet, trying to figure out exactly how to say what he felt. He heard her sigh and again she turned to leave. He heard his own voice, low and quiet.

“I'm aware of you.”

“Aware.” She repeated the word, trying it out, and turned toward him once more.

“Yes. I know I don't comment on your dress…or your hair,” he stammered, “b-but I am aware of you.” She shook her head in confusion and he struggled on. “I recognized you by your laugh tonight.”

She smiled softly and he was encouraged. “I can tell if it is you entering the room by your footfalls, and even whether you are excited, sad, or angry by how they sound. I know that your eyes change color, like now…when you are sad, they are deep and dark.”

Her expression shifted slowly to one of wonder and he pressed on. “When you are mischievous or are learning something fascinating, they get these flecks of green in them and when you are excited and happy they turn a bit golden. When you are feeling confident, you will pull your hair back or twist a braid and when you aren't, you leave it around you like a shield.”

The silence exaggerated the popping and crackling coming from the fire, Harry stumbled on, trying to fill the void. When had they gotten so close?

“When you are quietly reading, I know exactly when you've found an interesting fact to quote to us later; your eyes crinkle and you let go of the tiniest of grins.” He reached for her hand, “I know that sometimes your hand aches from writing so much.” He gently massaged her fingers, instinctively taking extra care of the callous caused by her favorite quill.

Hermione's eyes widened further and her mouth slowly opened in amazement and suddenly Harry couldn't stop staring and the words kept coming. “I know that you don't wear perfume but there is something…it's not like all the other girls. You smell like ink and parchment, and wonderful ancient books, and vanilla and lavender, and something else that I don't know what to call it other than You.”

He stopped suddenly, realizing that though her expression of wonder was still there, her eyes were filled with tears and now her lip was trembling slightly.

He reached up to wipe a tear as it fell and whispered. “And now, your heart is racing…I can see it just there.” He gently touched her neck, right above her collar bone. “I'm always aware of you, Hermione.”

She blinked slowly and then abruptly flung her arms around him, squeezing tightly, and Harry was suddenly very aware of her bare arms and bare feet and wild hair and her soft cheek against his. He pulled back slowly, wanting to be sure that she was no longer sad, and in her eyes he saw a new color, soft and velvet, warm and inviting. He kissed her. Tender and unsure at first, and then she made that sound…the satisfied hum she always makes when she's found something to tuck away and treasure. He pulled her tight against him, running his free hand up her spine to her neck, finally tangling his fingers with her hair, her kiss now open and inviting and enticingly rhythmic.

Their kisses became less frantic and blended slowly with hugs and caresses until they were silently swaying together in front of the dying fire. Hermione pulled away, keeping hold of Harry's hand for just a moment. “Thanks for the dance, Harry.” She walked slowly toward the stairs, stopping once to look over her shoulder at him, her hand pressed to her lips.

He watched her go and turned to gaze into the embers. He touched his own lips, still warm from her kisses, and was now very aware that Hermione liked a hint of mint with her cocoa. He smiled to himself, thinking he could finish his walk…to the kitchens…for a cup of cocoa with mint.

The End

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