It's You by ChocolateFrogsForBreakfast

Rating: G
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 24/03/2006
Last Updated: 24/03/2006
Status: Completed

Harry experiences mysterious symptoms, but, when he finally figures out the cause,
Hermione's no help at all.




1. It's You
-----------



**Author's Note:** This was written pre-HBP and so contains nothing of those
storylines--just blissful H/Hr goodness.

*`Not again!'* Harry thought, clenching his teeth. *`Not now!**'*

Just minutes ago, he'd been laughing and talking with Ron on his way to the Great Hall, both
anticipating the Halloween Feast with watering mouths. The scent of treacle tart and other, more
savoury aromas had been wafting maddeningly from the kitchens all day. Harry hadn't been quite
as preoccupied with the feast as Ron, who'd made longing noises as they walked in the
lower-floor corridors, where the scent was particularly strong. Harry had ended Quidditch practise
just a bit early, mindful of Ron's pitiful looks and his own rumbling stomach.

When Ron and Harry entered the Great Hall, reality had proven better than their imaginations.
The tables were sagging with the weight of numerous dishes, many of them favourites, and Harry had
happily taken a seat at the Gryffindor table. He smiled as Hermione deftly filled his goblet with
pumpkin juice without breaking her conversation with Ginny.

“Thanks,” Harry said just before taking a large gulp, still hot and thirsty from practise.

Harry had helped himself to the mash, then passed the dish to Hermione, apologising for catching
her fingers under his, when he began to feel ill again. He groaned inwardly as he'd really been
looking forward to the Feast. But, just as he'd transferred the platter to Hermione's
hands, that weird, weak, breathless feeling crept over him again.

Harry felt his cheeks begin to warm and took another drink of pumpkin juice. His hand shook ever
so slightly as he tried to put his goblet back on the table without spilling it. It wasn't the
first time this had happened. Harry had experienced these sensations in several of his classes, in
the library, the Gryffindor common room, and even in the corridors. The only place he seemed to be
free from these episodes was in his dorm room and when he was practising Quidditch.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione whispered.

Harry turned toward her, managed a small smile, and nodded. “Fine,” he lied, not wanting her to
make a fuss.

Hermione cocked her head, scrutinizing him. “You're all flushed,” she said, placing her palm
on his forehead, much to his discomfort as this attracted the glances of several others at their
table. His heart raced as he tried to covertly wipe his palms on his robes.

“Your face feels warm," Hermione continued as she moved her hand to his arm. “But the rest
of you feels fine. Why don't you let Madame Pomfrey have a look at you?”

“I might later,” Harry evaded, not meeting her eyes as he pushed his plate away, surreptitiously
removing Hermione's hand from his arm in the process.

“Hasn't this been going on for quite some time now?” Hermione pressed, her dark eyes full of
concern.

“He said he'd go later, Hermione,” Ron interjected through a mouthful of shepherd's pie.
“Let him enjoy the feast, for Merlin's sake.”

“Well, I just…” Hermione stopped in mid-sentence, as she was pressed from the other side to the
point that she had to budge over against Harry.

Harry felt the symptoms grow suddenly worse and scrambled up from the table.

“I've decided to go to Madame Pomfrey,” he said breathlessly, as Ron's eyes widened in
surprise. “Catch you up later.” And with that, he hurried from the Great Hall.

*****

“I can't find a thing wrong with you,” Madame Pomfrey said, her forehead wrinkled in
concentration as she passed her wand over Harry one last time.

“I feel fine now,” Harry shrugged, nonplussed. “It just comes and goes.”

“Any particular time or place the symptoms seem to appear more than others?” Madame Pomfrey
asked as she pocketed her wand and strode over to a tall wooden cabinet, whose doors sprang open as
she neared it.

Harry thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything. “No, ma'am.”

“Well, that certainly doesn't give me much to go on. Have you ever been diagnosed with
allergies?” Madame Pomfrey asked with a frown as she walked back to Harry, uncorking a red
phial.

Harry shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, that's what it sounds like to me—an allergic reaction.” She thrust the bottle at
Harry. “Here, drink this down. It should help calm your autoimmune system a bit, and hopefully you
won't have any more of these episodes.”

Harry tipped the bottle to his lips, letting the liquid within slide into his mouth. It tasted
pleasantly like honey, for once. When he had finished, he thanked Madame Pomfrey and walked back to
the common room. Ron and Hermione's heads turned anxiously toward the portrait hole as he
clambered through. Hermione's expression changed to one of relief when she saw that it was
him.

“All right, mate?” Ron asked as Harry lowered himself into the seat next to him.

Harry nodded. “Madame Pomfrey said it might be allergies.”

“Allergies?” Hermione wrinkled her nose in thought as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“You've never had allergies before.”

Harry shrugged. “I've heard of people developing them later in life. Anyway, Madame Pomfrey
gave me a potion and I'm fine now.”

But it didn't last for long.

The symptoms came back the next day in Charms. And in Potions. And then again at lunch. And
dinner.

Harry was growing tired of the situation. He went to the infirmary several times, but Madame
Pomfrey couldn't find anything wrong, saying, “Until you can recognize whatever it is
that's causing the problem, I can't do very much to help.”

Harry continued to experience the problems for a few weeks, but didn't return to the
hospital wing as he had nothing new to report to Madame Pomfrey.

At first, this seemed to bother Hermione a great deal, and she begged him to go to the
infirmary. But then, one night, they were studying with their heads together over their Potions
book in the common room and Harry's symptoms started up again. Harry wondered at the strange
look crossed Hermione's face, but then became even more perplexed at the small, secret smile
that grew in place of the strange look. After that, she inexplicably stopped urging Harry to go to
Madame Pomfrey.

The week before Christmas hols, the students of Hogwarts could be found revising in earnest, at
least, most of them.

Ron pushed his book away on the library table, then yawned and stretched. “I'm calling it a
night,” he whispered. “I can't cram anymore information into my brain.”

“But Ron—” Hermione began with raised eyebrows.

“No, I'm done for the night.” Ron stopped her, shaking his head as he stood. “See you in a
bit, Harry?”

“Yeah, I've only got a few more pages to go,” Harry nodded.

“Goodnight, Ron. Sleep well,” Hermione said, just a little sniffily.

Ron waved back over his shoulder as he left the library.

After a few minutes, Harry made a frustrated noise. “What are the ingredients for the Shrinking
Potion?! I know I've got them in my notes somewhere, but I can't find them!”

“Here,” Hermione said, fingering through her notes, quickly finding the page she was looking
for. “Here they are.” She slid them over to Harry, her hand brushing his on its way.

Harry felt that weak feeling sift through his body as his face warmed and his heart rate
increased. His gaze jerked up to Hermione's face.

“It's you…” he said suddenly, his eyes widening. “It's *you*…I'm allergic to
*you*!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You are most certainly *not* allergic to me. Don't be
silly.”

“But…when you touched my hand, all the symptoms started again!”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed. “Trust me. You're not allergic to me.”

“Then why—” Harry began heatedly.

But Hermione cut him off with a shake of her head. “You're *not* allergic to me—all
right?” She stood up abruptly, closing her books with a snap. “I'm tired. See you in the
morning. Good night.”

Surprised into silence at this sudden departure and show of bad temper, Harry was left staring
open-mouthed at Hermione's back as she left the library.

*****

Harry had mixed feelings, being back at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. A group of Order members
had collected Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and him at Kings Cross and brought them here.

He'd been just a little jumpy around Hermione since he'd figured out that she was the
cause of his allergic reactions, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She seemed a bit irritated
with him, and had been since that night in the library. If anything, Harry thought that *he*
should be the one irritated, as Hermione had refused point blank to stay away from him. Of course,
the idea of her keeping clear of him gave him a strange sinking feeling, and he didn't know
which was worse.

That night, sitting at the long, wooden table in the basement kitchen, Hermione had plopped
right down beside him as she had been wont to do in the past several days. When his heart had begun
to race, he'd tried to slide down the bench ever so slightly, so as not to let her notice. But,
of course, she did notice, shot him an impatient look and slid down the bench after him.

Harry glanced up to see Fred looking at him curiously. Fred's gaze flicked to Hermione, who
was now talking animatedly to Remus, then back to Harry. Harry gave him a look as though to ask,
*`What?!'*

Fred shook his head slightly and mouthed, *`Later.'*

Harry gave a one-shoulder shrug and nodded.

After dinner, Fred and George pulled Harry aside, into the dining room. “So what's happened
between you and Hermione?” Fred asked, lighting the sconces with a wave of his wand.

Harry explained what had happened in the past several weeks, how Hermione didn't believed
him, and wouldn't stay clear of him.

Identical grins were growing on the twin's faces and it was beginning to irk Harry just a
little.

“What did you say the symptoms were?” George asked, coughing to smother a chuckle, much to
Harry's chagrin.

“I *said*, I feel weak, my heart races, my face warms, my hands shake, and I feel like
I'm going to be sick.” Harry said heatedly. “Oh, and sometimes my palms sweat.”

Fred and George burst out laughing.

“It's not funny, damn it!” Harry fumed. “Here, she's my best friend, and I've gone
and become allergic to her! I can't even be near her without it happening. It's been
absolutely awful…*stop laughing*!”

“Harry…” Fred managed to choke out in between laughs. “You're…not…allergic to…Hermione.”

“What d'you mean? I most certainly am!” Harry protested through gritted teeth.

“No…you're not,” George had finally calmed down. “You've got feelings for her, you
dolt.”

“I—*what?*” Harry gaped at the twins.

“Feelings for her, Harry.” Fred was still chortling. *“Feelings.”*

“I do not!” Harry said hotly.

“Oh, yes you do, poor thing,” George grinned, then continued in a sing-song voice, “You, mate,
are a—ttrac—ted to Hermione!”

“I'm not…” Harry said, but he was beginning to feel bothered for an entirely new reason.
Views of Hermione were now flashing unbidden through his mind.

*Hermione, as she got that look on her face when she was concentrating on her studies…*

*Hermione, telling him that, of course, she had come to his match, even though she had loads
of studying to do...*

*Hermione, a look of fearful determination on her face, as she clambered onto the Thestral to
go with him to the Ministry…*

*The smile that lit up her face when she saw him every morning in the common room…*

*Her hugs…*

Harry felt his heart begin to race as the weak feeling worked its way through his body. And
Hermione was nowhere near. All it had taken were thoughts of her--visions, really--of his best
friend.

Harry's wide-eyed gaze shifted between Fred and George.

“I think he's just realising something,” Fred stage-whispered to George, whose eyes were
twinkling.

“Shut it,” Harry growled, but without rancour.

“You're welcome,” the twins chorused.

Harry was silent for a moment, but then asked quietly, “Now what do I do?”

Fred and George appeared to sober almost instantly at the tone in Harry's voice.

“I reckon you'll have to tell her, mate, and find out how she feels,” George answered
seriously.

Harry shuffled his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded.

“Well, I guess our work here is done,” Fred said, patting his brother on the back. “C'mon,
George. Let's go and see if there's any trifle left.”

Harry stuck around in the room for a while, trying to get used to the new thoughts flying about
in his head like a flock of owls.

*`When had this happened?'* He wondered. *`When did these feelings start, and why
didn't I catch the change for what it was?'*

Revealing his feelings to Hermione was one of the scariest things he'd ever thought of
doing. He knew that she'd be understanding and compassionate, even if she didn't return
them, but he shivered as he imagined a shocked, then apologetic look in her eyes. He thought that
look, and the pity he imagined in her voice, would be far worse than living his whole life with
hidden feelings for her. At least that way, they could still be comfortable around each other.

*`But then, what if someone else decided to ask her out…decided to try and win her
heart?'*

Harry ground his teeth and his hands squeezed into fists.

*`What if—**'*

He jumped as the door swung open and turned to see Hermione's silhouette in the frame.

“Sorry to give you a fright,” Hermione smiled an apology. “I just wondered where you were.”

Harry didn't respond.

“What's wrong?” Hermione took a step toward him, and Harry could tell that she was trying to
read his face.

Harry's eyes cut rapidly to the corner beyond Hermione, down to the floor, and then back to
her face.

“Harry…” Hermione said tentatively. “You can tell me…it's just me, you know.”

“It's not 'just you'! That's the problem!” Harry burst out, then gathered
himself, and continued softly, “It's not just you…it's *you*…”

“What?” Hermione asked, confused.

“You're not 'just you' to me anymore…haven't been for some time, I guess,” Harry
dragged a frustrated hand through his already messy hair and then shook his head.
“It's…it's complicated.”

The confusion cleared from Hermione's face and she took another step toward him, a gentle
smile growing on her face. “How complicated?”

“I'm not sure,” Harry answered, his eyes locked onto hers, finding something in her gaze
that he'd not dared to hope for.

“I like complicated things,” Hermione moved another step closer and took his hand in hers.

“I think I will, too,” Harry said breathlessly, closing the gap completely as he met her lips
with his.

“So...” Hermione said, with a grin, much later, as she tried to return Harry's hair back to
its normal shape. “You don't seem to be allergic to me anymore.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Harry grinned back, thoroughly enjoying holding Hermione in his arms.

“What?!”

“Wait!” He spoke quickly, seeing an indignant spark in her eyes. “Do you know what one of the
remedies for allergies is?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“This had better be good.” Hermione warned as her hands went to her hips.

“Continued exposure to the allergen in measured doses until the body no longer reacts to it.”
Harry answered, ducking Hermione's playful swipe.

“But I *like* the latest reaction,” Hermione grinned slyly.

“Well, there's really no hope of *that* reaction ever diminishing with exposure.” Harry
said, taking her arms and pulling her back against him.

“So your point was?” Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, tilting her face up to
his.

“I can't remember,” Harry feigned confusion, as he slid his hands around her waist.
“You've obviously given me brain damage now.”

“And I'll have to do you even more harm, if you don't shut up and kiss me already.”
Hermione managed just before Harry's lips swiftly covered hers again.

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