Chapter 4: Dare # 420
The year we turned fifteen was one of the most complicated times of our lives. Not only did we, as many clichéd a quote often say, experienced the "pangs of adolescence," but other moments, peculiar and unique to us and us alone (since I'm Harry Bloody Potter) further exacerbated the situation. Case in point, Sirius Black, the Veil, & the rebirth- a bloody mystery novel to innocent ears today. Nevertheless, the point was that it was a period of confusion. We were kids and yet we were no longer children. We were innocent and yet we spoke of murder and dreamt of betrayal. We were one thing, and yet we were another. We were friends, the best of friends, and we were, as we later on learned, much more than friends. It was incomprehensible at that time, but when we tried to push that line, that one line that divided friends from something much more, we experienced this particular feeling, this particular something, and it would haunt us again and again and again.
In fact, it would haunt us forever. It would haunt us, engulf us, destroy us, and then redeem us. It would keep us together and tear us apart. And on the final day, when everything would end, and the world, as we know it, would reach its pinnacle and give up on us, it would redeem us once again.
And then we would laugh. And cry. And we would realize that it's over and we're together. Forever.
But before all that, before all the destruction and eventual redemption, there was that slow walk. That slow walk to the peak, that slow flirtation, that slow dance of mating that started innocently enough.
We would flirt with incomprehensible things that would later on slap us back on our faces because we were unsatisfied. But of course we never saw it that way, at the time. All we thought about was that we were young and we were curious.
It was brief. It was nothing particularly special. But we were marked forever afterwards.
We crossed the line.
And when you cross the line, you take your whole life with you. No buts. You take your whole life with you like an excess baggage and a necessity at the same time.
That was the consequence.
But you ask me the question, and I tell you no - no, I do not regret it.
I never, once in my life, regretted it. I cannot answer for her of course, but in my book, I never once regretted it or anything else for the matter.
Except of course the fact that I never told her sooner.
*******
She stares at him with the most perplexed gaze, a cross between nervousness and curiosity. And he notices this, he notices this because every two minutes or so, her eyes will inch towards his face, for the briefest of all seconds, before it returns to her favorite book: Hogwarts, A History. He ignores it at first, he pretends to busy himself with his Divination homework, but after the fiftieth time, he breaks the silence.
"What?" He asks, with a hint of annoyance. She looks at him with confusion and then guilt. He waits for her to answer, but she just wrinkles her forehead and continues with her reading.
He notices her eyes are not moving.
She's testing his patience, that's for sure. He's not in the friendliest of all moods at the moment, everyone still considers him a raging lunatic while the vilest of all their professors has taken a particular interest in him. He's just come back from detention and he's not particularly happy about that.
"What is it, Hermione?" He asks again, anger building up rapidly inside him. She notices this and she gives a sigh.
"Nothing, I was just thinking," she replies as a finger caresses the middle parting of her book.
He gives out a snort. She looks at him with that same perplexed gaze again.
"I wouldn't call that thinking," he replies sarcastically. She bites the bottom of her lip. He continues,
"It's one thing for those bloody Ravenclaws to gawk, but it's completely different when it's your supposed best friend doing it. Just tell me it to me straight, I know you think that I'm such a bloody lunatic."
And with that, he throws a quill on the floor. It rolls towards her.
It was `their' quill.
She bends down, and picks it up. She notices that her hands are shaking. She stares at it for a brief second while her friend tries to calm himself down.
And then she takes a deep breath.
She looks at him again, painstakingly with a straight face, and asks him,
"Have you ever been kissed?"
That completely catches him off guard. He struggles for an answer for a few seconds, before he turns completely silent.
She can feel her cheeks burning, and for a second, regrets asking the question. But then she hears him give a sigh, and says,
"No. Not in that way."
She nods her head. And then she picks up her book again, and opens it. She pretends to read but he can feel his gaze. Her heart is still beating rapidly.
"Is that it?" He asks, curtly, after a lengthy and very much uncomfortable silence.
She pretends not to hear him, but he stares at her with such intensity. She closes her book, closes her eyes, and blocks out everything around her for one brief moment, and when she finally opens her eyes, determination fills her.
"No, that's not it," she finally replies. She waits for him to retort, to say anything, but he doesn't. So she continues,
"The other night, Parvati and Lavander were talking about kissing. Honestly, it was really shallow. But then they asked me if I've kissed anyone, and I told them that…"
She stops. For some reason, she finds it difficult to admit that she's never been kissed. And she knows the reason why. The reason is because she's the best in everything and yet, in situations such as these, she was clueless.
Harry nods his head, in understanding. He doesn't really know what to say. These conversations strike an uncomfortable chord in him.
Finally, after another period of silence, she shrugs her shoulders and returns to her readings. But she can't concentrate. She can't concentrate because the quill, `their' quill, is glistening against the fire.
She picks it up, and the feeling intensifies even more. She glances at her friend again, and notices that he's looking at the quill too.
"When was the last time we dared each other?" He asks in all seriousness. He feels off, and he's thinking that maybe, just maybe, a dare might help lighten up the situation. Like they did before. He cannot help but remember the thought of Hermione writing and sending a love letter to Sirius (and Sirius' subsequent reaction: oh bloody hell, I didn't know I still have it, but Hermione dear, I'm too old for you, I'll be on my rocker and then you'll leave me!) on a dare.
That brings a smile on his face and she notices this.
"What are you smiling at?" She asks, with an expression of bemusement. He shakes his head but the smile intensifies.
"Oh honestly, Harry, it's that love letter from last month isn't it???" She asks, crossly. He nods his head and she throws the quill at him. He catches it immediately.
"Seeker reflexes," he boasts as she rolls her eyes.
"You should dare me," he continues as he plays with the quill between his two fingers.
He waits for her to reply, to retort, but she doesn't. So he looks at her, and when he does, the expression on her face surprises him. She looks at him with that same perplexed gaze, but this time, there's something else quite incomprehensible to him. And when she notices that he's staring at her, she immediately looks down, her cheeks burning.
"What is it?" He asks, in confusion.
She just shakes her head and stares at the floor below her.
"I don't believe you," he states quietly. The cackle of the fire, he notices, is much louder this time.
She gives a sigh, she closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, she says,
"It's stupid."
He waits for her to continue, but she doesn't. So he asks,
"What is?"
She takes a deep breath again, and she says,
"Give me the quill." He hands it to her, an expression of confusion, bemusement, and expectancy on his face.
When she takes it, she holds it in her hands for a few seconds, and then finally, she says,
"I dare you to kiss me."
He looks at her, first blankly, unable to comprehend what he just heard. But then it registers, and a look of shock envelopes his face. He notices that she's all red in the face.
"You don't have to," she says hurriedly, embarrassment evident in her voice.
"You want me to kiss you?" He asks, with a bit of confusion, but expectancy thick on his voice.
She looks down, and then nods her head.
"Well, if I do that, it's going to be our first kiss…" He continues.
She nods her head again. She can hear his heart beating and he can hear hers.
"You don't have to do it," she says again. But he does not hear her. He says,
"Do you want me to be your first kiss?"
This time, she looks at him, really looks at him. This time, she sees a boy with the same vulnerability, and the same nervousness. That gives her courage. She looks at him in the eye, and says,
"Yes, I want you to be my first kiss."
He swallows hard, and then nods his head.
"This, this won't ruin anything right?" He asks. She gives a small smile, and replies,
"It's only a kiss between two curious friends, Harry."
He nods his head, and then he says,
"OK."
This time, she's shaking again.
"We're still friends Harry, aren't we? I mean, after we do this…"
"You said that yourself," he replies.
She nods her head.
"All right, we'll only do this briefly. Just a couple of seconds and that's it, just to get a feel of it, you know," she explains, in between gulps.
He nods his head.
"OK, let's count to three," he suggests.
"One," she states.
They move closer.
"Two," he replies.
They slowly close the gap between them until their noses are touching. They gaze into each other's eyes.
A couple of seconds pass by.
"Say it," he tells her.
"No, you say it," she replies.
"Come on, just say the number," he commands.
"You say it," she commands back.
"Hermione!"
"Harry!"
"Just say it!"
"Oh honestly, Harry, it's just a number!"
"Then why don't you say it???"
Immediately, they both pull back. She crosses her arms and he shakes his head.
"That went well," she retorts.
He gives out a snort, and then says,
"Bloody hell, it was just a number!"
"Then why don't you say it then?"
"All right, three. Happy?"
She rolls her eyes, and mutters,
"Now you say it."
"Oh, why don't you say it then?" He asks, competitively. She gazes at him with a challenging expression, and says,
"Three."
Immediately, he presses his lips against hers, and, for eternity or for ten seconds, they sit there, not moving.
And then they break apart, both unable to look at each other.
They remain silent for the longest of all moments, but then she decides to break the silence, and says,
"Oh honestly, it's not that special."
He nods in agreement.
"It felt funny," he replies. She bursts into a giggle, and he finds himself laughing along with her.
"Well, now we experienced our first kiss," she says.
"We're late though, relative to other people. I bet you those first years have gone to third base already, we have something to beat!" He says teasingly. She erupts in greater laughter.
"Hah, we're not doing that!" She retorts finally.
"Oh, you'll see," he retorts back.
And with that, they gathered their things, and returned to their rooms, amidst the sounds of each other's laughter.
*******
That was our first kiss. It was innocent, really innocent. But that night, while I twisted and turned in bed, I could not help but replay that moment again and again in my mind. It was not like I liked her "that" way during that particular stage of our lives (or maybe I did, but that would lead to another far-reaching argument), but that kiss certainly brought a new consciousness in me. It was unexplainable, it was incomprehensible, but it was there.
We never talked about it again, although, we both thought about it. I know I did, and I know she did. I knew she did because when I told Ron and her about my kiss with Cho, the reaction was that of discomfort, not of indifference, and definitely not of curiosity. And when I stated that I was probably a "terrible kisser," her reply reaffirmed the truth to me.
Ron's suspicions that night really had a basis of truth in it. Only, we decided not to talk about it.
We decided to forget it.
But we couldn't.
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