Very Fanciable, Indeed

Disclaimer – NOT MINE. I do not own Harry, and unfortunately, that means I cannot keep him tied up in my bedroom or make any money off him…so I shan’t attempt to do so, and thus, there’s nothing much for you to gain by suing me.

Very Fanciable, Indeed

The news was outrageous. For the first time in Hogwarts history, a Sadie Hawkins Ball was to be held. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that it was only being held to help the students forget about Voldemort’s dark deeds for the time being, and he soon realized that nobody particularly cared why it was happening. It simply was, and that was enough to cause absolute chaos.

Hermione had colored almost violently when she heard the news, but Ron was thrilled.

“Do you know what this means?” he’d said to Harry. “We get to sit back and let them come to us!”

Hermione had regained her composure by then and promptly quipped, “You’re assuming a girl will actually ask you, Ron.”

Although Harry had always thought Ron fancied Hermione a bit, he suddenly suspected that Hermione didn’t return the feeling. Surely she wouldn’t make an insult like that if she meant to prove it wrong. Why, Hermione hated being wrong!

He wondered then why she’d blushed quite so much at the news…what was she embarrassed about if not Ron?

His wonderings were cut short, however, by a flock of girls that had appeared out of thin air behind him, one of which was tapping his shoulder insistently.

“Will you go to the Ball with one of us…any of us?” the blonde girl asked. Harry would have guessed she was a fourth year or so.

“Or you could go with all of us…we’d settle for that,” said a redhead behind her who looked even younger. Harry glanced at Hermione, mentally pleading her for help. She offered him nothing, so he turned back to the crowd.

“Um, look, I’m really flattered, and I’m sure you’d all be wonderful dates, but I…um…I –“

“He already has a date,” Hermione said, sounding extremely exasperated – and more with him than any of the girls. Harry, however, was not going to look the gift horse in the mouth.

“Right. I already have a date. I’m really sorry.”

The girls walked away dejected after that, and Harry turned gratefully to Hermione.

“Thanks for that,” he said. “I’d never have thought that one up on my own.”

“No problem,” she said, so insincerely that Harry began to wonder if he hadn’t accidentally done something to make her angry the night before.

“Um…Hermione…is something wrong?”

She turned to him with a contemplative expression, and, after a few moments of what was presumably contemplating on Hermione’s part (and confusion on Harry’s), she grabbed his arm and nearly wrenched him from the bench.

“I need to talk to you alone.”

Ron looked very put out by this, and Harry would have liked to have done something about it, but Hermione had such a firm grip on him that he had no choice but to follow her out into the Entrance Hall where she pulled him behind a large statue of some random wizard that Hermione probably knew all about.

“Er, Hermione, what’s going on?” Harry asked, trapped in the corner formed by the wall and the statue, with Hermione blocking his exit route.

She seemed to have lost some of her frustration. In fact, she seemed rather nervous now as she tugged at a particularly springy lock of hair.

“Harry…um…do you want to go to the Ball with me?”

Well, that wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting, but…Hermione, asking him to the Ball? They were best friends…very platonic best friends, not at all like Ron and Hermione were…

He supposed it did explain why Hermione’d been so annoyed just moments before…but nothing could explain where on earth this was coming from.

He wasn’t sure he really saw her that way, but…well, it was Hermione, and he’d be sure to have a good time with her – not to mention that he couldn’t bear the thought of what his life would be like if he upset her by refusing. And she was looking at him so nervously and hopefully that he simply couldn’t say no, even if he’d truly wanted to.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “All right. Yeah. Sure. That’d be…great.”

Hermione evidently didn’t think his response was as horrible and ineloquent as he had, for she beamed and threw her arms about him as she was wont to do, pressing various girly bits against him as she did so. …Maybe he saw her that way a little. Sometimes.

“Oh, I’m so glad you said yes. …I have to go write to my mum now, I’ll need money for dress robes,” she said in such a rush that Harry had barely heard her before she took off for the owlery.

Dazed, Harry went back into the Great Hall to his cold, half-eaten breakfast. Ron had gone back to consuming everything around him, but when Harry sat down, he paused to interrogate him.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “And where did Hermione go?”

Harry swallowed anxiously. He didn’t think Ron would take the news well. “She…she asked me to the Ball. And then she went to owl her parents for money to get dress robes.”

Ron dropped his fork. “She asked you?”

Harry stirred his eggs about with his own fork with no real intention of eating them. “Yeah.”

“But…but I thought she….” Ron trailed off helplessly, refusing to look at Harry.

“I thought she did, too.”

“Then…why did you agree to it? You did agree, didn’t you? Why would you say yes? You knew I fancied her…”

Harry was growing frustrated. “She asked me, Ron. What was I supposed to say, eh? How could I have refused without hurting her feelings? Because if you could have done better, I’d like to know how.”

Ron had no response, but it seemed as though he’d forgotten Harry’s existence – too absorbed in moping, perhaps. “I really thought she was going to ask me…”

Harry sighed. How could he possibly console Ron? Clearly, Hermione didn’t fancy him anymore…or did she?

A horrible thought struck Harry then, one that he found he didn’t like at all. Could Hermione be taking him only to make Ron jealous? He didn’t think Hermione was that manipulative, and if she was going to do something like that, he thought she’d at least have the decency to tell him about the plan she expected him to go along with instead of toying with his head, too…but wasn’t it possible?

Harry decided to leave breakfast then, not bothering to tell Ron where he was going or why. Harry wasn’t so sure about the where himself, but he did know the why. He had to be by himself for a bit, to think about this. He didn’t understand at all why the thought that Hermione might still fancy Ron bothered him so. In the short time after she’d ask him, he’d gotten the idea into his head that she fancied him, and…well, perhaps he’d grown a bit attached to the thought.

She had seemed very happy when he agreed, and she had hugged him…but what if that was just out of happiness that her plan was working? What then?

And why did he even care if she fancied him? It wasn’t as if he fancied her…it was only Hermione. Up until ten minutes ago, he’d been sure she and Ron would be together one day, and it had never bothered him before…

He supposed he’d just have to wait and see.

~

Two weeks passed in which Harry was caught up in the utmost state of confusion. Ever since he’d come up with his horrible hypothesis, he couldn’t help finding proof and rebuttal for it everywhere. When Hermione smiled at either one of them, when she helped them with homework, when she reproached them for not doing their homework…everything she did was utterly indecipherable to Harry.

Eventually, the day of the Ball arrived, and half an hour before it was due to begin, Harry put on his robes – new ones, as he thought it would be best not to wear his old ones from fourth year – and went downstairs to wait for Hermione.

Lavender, Parvati, and even Eloise had already made their way downstairs and gone to meet their dates before Hermione finally emerged. Harry’d become quite bored by then, and nervous, as he was afraid of how being on a “date” of sorts with Hermione would turn out…but when he caught sight of her, everything started to fall into place.

She was…breathtaking, for one…beautiful, for another. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as he watched her step carefully down the stairs, her long, soft white skirt trailing behind her. The robes hugged her curves and pressed tight about her chest…she wore long sleeves, but the design left her shoulders bare. Her hair, pulled back from her face, fell over those smooth shoulders and down her back in glossy ringlets. For the first time, he wanted to go to her and run his fingers through her hair…why, he had no idea, but he did.

Hermione smiled at him, a small smile that sent his heart beating wildly.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, feeling awkward as all hell. Was it him she wanted, or did he have to find some way to still his heart?

“You…you look…um…really nice,” he said, and then mentally smacked himself. Really nice? That had to be the understatement of the century.

Hermione blushed, however, and returned the compliment as she took his arm. He’d expected to be going through the motions tonight, dancing as little as possible and leaving her at the end of the night with the status quo nice and steady…but sometime in the past five minutes, his mind had changed entirely. He didn’t want to have to say goodnight to her at all.

Once in the Great Hall, Harry turned to Hermione to ask the one question he hoped would clarify everything.

“Do you, er, want to go find Ron and Luna?”

Indeed, Luna had asked Ron to the Ball, and although she’d seemed her usual whimsical, daydreaming self, she’d asked in such a way that made it completely impossible for Ron to refuse, and Harry had to wonder if she hadn’t planned the whole thing down to the letter.

“Actually,” Hermione said, “I’d…sort of prefer if we didn’t…if you wouldn’t mind.”

Harry’s heart leapt – to where, he wasn’t sure, but it had to have flown from his chest entirely, because he suddenly felt as if it was ten times lighter.

Unfortunately, it flew back in with a crash, leaving a lump in his throat and an even greater heaviness than he’d felt before. Just because Hermione didn’t want to spend the evening with Ron and Luna didn’t mean she didn’t fancy Ron. Maybe she wanted to avoid seeing Ron with another girl. He could certainly understand that; he wanted more than anything to avoid seeing Hermione with Ron tonight.

“Um…do you want to dance, then?” Harry choked out, wishing his mind would quit hypothesizing long enough for him to enjoy himself a bit.

“I’d love to,” she said with a grin, and his mind did settle down…just a little.

The song playing was a slow one. When they stepped onto the dance floor, he took her left hand in his right, and she stepped closer, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waist a little more tightly than he might have otherwise. She stayed close as they swayed together, close enough that he could smell her shampoo, a sweet and spicy scent, like vanilla and cinnamon. He wondered if she knew at all how she’d begun to affect him. He wasn’t by any means ready to admit to himself that he’d fallen for her, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was the truth, and it was absolutely terrifying. How easy it would be for her to crush him – in just a few words, how she might have him falling to pieces….

The song ended much too soon, changing to a very fast one that Harry had no idea how to dance to, but Hermione fell into the rhythm so naturally that he couldn’t possibly walk away from her. He copied her movements and those of the people around him, and soon he found himself actually having fun.

After several dances, Hermione tugged on Harry’s arm and said, panting, “Do you want to go get some drinks? I’m absolutely parched.”

He agreed and set off for a table piled with butterbeers while Hermione went to find a place for them to sit and rest.

At the refreshments table, Harry found himself cornered once more by the gaggle of girls that had collectively attempted to ask him to the Ball. He wielded the two bottles of butterbeer like weapons, ready to beat the girls off with them if need be – after all, Hermione wasn’t there to rescue him this time.

“Er, can I help you?” he said to the girl he assumed to be the leader of the pack.

“She’s your date? Hermione Granger? Half of us are prettier than she is!”

If they had bothered him about anything else that night, he probably would have tried to be kind – but no one impugned his best friend’s worth and got away with it.

“Personally, I think Hermione is the prettiest girl in this school, and there’s not a thing any one of you can say to convince me otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, she’s waiting for me.”

And, with that, he pushed through the swarm of girls, eager to get back to Hermione, who could protect him from further female attacks – but as soon as he spotted her, his buoyant spirits quickly deflated.

She was at a table with Ron and Luna, arguing enthusiastically with Ron, from the looks of it. Harry sighed and made his way over, feeling as though all his hopes for the night had been shattered like glass under a hammer.

“You ought to be paying more attention to your date, Ronald, instead of worrying about me and Harry!”

As he heard this, Harry felt it might have been a good idea to back away instead of going forward and stepping into the argument.

“But why Harry?” Ron questioned. “You two are like brother and sister!”

Hermione’s hands went to her hips then, a sure sign that she was in full wrath mode. “Whatever our relationship may appear to be in your eyes, we are most certainly not brother and sister. In fact, the only one I see acting like an overprotective prat of a brother is you.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, just as Ron caught sight of him approaching and Hermione turned to see what Ron was looking at. Ron glowered at him, Luna continued on with her look of complete unawareness, and Hermione blushed.

“Um…I…er…I got the drinks,” Harry stammered, holding up the two bottles of butterbeer.

“Good,” she said, keeping her back turned toward Ron. “Let’s go somewhere else, Harry. I refuse to let Ron ruin yet another Ball for me.”

Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and steered him away. He tried to send Ron an apologetic look over his shoulder, but Ron’s glare was entirely unforgiving.

She led him outside, where benches had been set up along a walkway, but Hermione took him past that area, down to the nearest shore of the lake.

She seated herself on a smooth, flat rock, paying no mind to what it might do to her white dress. He took a moment to watch her, glowing under the moonlight, the reflection of the water shimmering across her in abstract patterns. Only when she asked him to sit and pulled him from his reverie did he finally take his place on the rock beside her.

Harry offered her bottle of butterbeer, and she took it, smiling gratefully. They sipped in content silence for awhile, but a tension hung between them, both needing to say things that were simply too difficult to bring up.

Eventually, she turned to him in a very determined fashion. “Harry, do you think we’re like brother and sister?”

Quite a loaded question, that, but the answer was clear. Brothers simply did not think of sisters as he now did Hermione.

“No. No, I don’t think we are.”

Hermione contemplatively bit her lip. The look in her eyes made him nervous – not necessarily in a bad way, but leaving him with a sense of strange anticipation. “Would you do something for me?”

“Of course,” Harry said, trying to ascertain somehow from her small smile just what she was up to.

“Would you…would you just close your eyes?” she asked in a whisper. He nodded, shut his eyes as requested, and waited.

When he first felt something soft and smooth against his lips, he didn’t comprehend what was going on…but when he felt her hands on the back of his neck and her tongue graze his bottom lip, it all fell into place.

He sensed her about to pull away and held her to him with a desperation he didn’t quite understand. He’d never thought of kissing Hermione this way before. Indeed, he’d hardly dared to – and he’d certainly never imagined it feeling this good or streaking through his nerves the way it did. But kissing Hermione, her tongue sliding across the roof of his mouth, her hands in his hair, was spectacular, and he adored every second of it.

He’d never kissed a girl like that before…sure, he’d had that one dreadful run-in with Cho the year before, but he didn’t think that really counted. Hermione was warm and solid in his arms, all smiles, no tears, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, Hermione really wanted to be kissing him – not like Cho, who’d only been searching for something that was lost.

Hermione finally pulled away, eyes drooping sleepily, contently, like a cat that had been thoroughly petted. He smiled at her, and she grinned back, neither bothering to release their hold on the other.

“Do you fancy me, Harry?” she asked softly, playing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Maybe just a little,” he admitted, wanting to feel secure after that kiss that he could say so without fear, but his doubts lingered. “And you do fancy me, too?”

Hermione pulled back a bit, her hands slipping to his shoulders. “Why else would I ask you to the Ball? I assumed you’d realize that – you’ve had me on edge for weeks now wondering how you felt about me…”

Harry’s stomach twisted guilty. He wished he hadn’t doubted her motives – Hermione wasn’t the type of girl to play games or lead anyone on.

“I guess I just…wasn’t sure. I was afraid that maybe you still fancied Ron…or…that you’d had some other reason for asking me…. It was silly of me, really, but –“

“But you’re not used to good things happening to you,” Hermione interrupted, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I suppose it’s hard for you to believe that anyone could ever fancy you.”

“Just a bit,” Harry said, feeling his face grow warm.

“You’re very fanciable, you know.” She leaned closer. “Very fanciable, indeed.”

Harry blushed even more. “So are you.”

Hermione smiled warmly and kissed him once more. When she pulled away, she asked, “Do you want to go back inside? The ball’s not nearly over yet, and we didn’t dance very much before we left.”

“Sure,” he said, standing up and taking her hand. “That sounds great.”

Once inside, Harry and Hermione danced for nearly an hour before taking another rest, during which Ron hesitantly came over to them, prodded in the back by Luna. Head hung low, he reluctantly said, “Look…I’m sorry, Hermione, for the way I treated you, and if you have to be with a stupid git, I suppose I’m glad it’s Harry.”

“…Gee, thanks, Ron,” Harry said sarcastically, but nevertheless, he was relieved to hear it. Knowing Ron would, however unwillingly, tolerate their new relationship almost took away every impediment to his happiness. He would always be afraid, knowing Voldemort would be after him and everyone he loved, Hermione and Ron especially, but as long as he could keep them safe, all was well.

Two hours later, he and Hermione finally straggled into the common room, one of the last couples to return, not wanting to let the night end. At the staircases to the dormitories, they lingered for quite some time, saying goodnight, kissing, saying goodnight again, kissing again. Finally, Hermione began to ascend backwards up the girls’ staircase where he couldn’t follow. He was left at the bottom, evidently with a pitiful look, because she rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, honestly, Harry, you’ll see me tomorrow morning, and so long as you’ve brushed your teeth, you’ll be able to kiss me then.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight when all I can think about is the next time I’ll see you.”

She chuckled slightly. “You’ll manage. We both will. Now go to bed, you silly git. We have the rest of our lives to spend time together, and I’m sure you’ll be sick of me long before then.”

Harry shook his head. “Never.” But he acquiesced after she blew him one last kiss and he caught it in his hand.

When he had changed into his pajamas and gotten into bed, he felt unbelievably content, lack of Hermione aside. For the first time in his life, something had gone right, and he couldn’t help feeling lighter at heart than he’d been in quite some time. He had something fantastic, something all his own, something real, and that made all the difference.

For once, his dreams were perfectly normal – and perfectly wonderful.