Remember the First Time

Bingblot

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/05/2006
Last Updated: 14/05/2006
Status: completed

He always remembered that night, that one moment. There were other times, happier times-- but, despite the darkness and the sadness of that night, it remained one of his favorite memories... One-shot.

Chapters

1. Remember the First Time

1. Remember the First Time

Disclaimer: JKR owns all; I just borrow.

Author’s Note: Written for the harmony_fiction First Kiss challenge on LiveJournal.

Remember the First Time

It was one of his favorite memories, oddly enough. Despite the sadness and the worry of that night, it became one of his favorite memories. He would close his eyes and think of it, pulling it out from his memories and savor it as if he were poring over some precious object. He remembered it so clearly, every moment of that night, from the bad to the good. He remembered it all…

~*~

The skirmish—it could hardly be called a battle—happened quickly.

It started fast, a flash of green light and a body falling lifeless to the ground, and was over before too long.

It was coincidence that the small force from the Order which had been sent to accompany Harry, Ron and Hermione to a village that reported some Dementor sightings had also run into a few scattered Death Eaters.

It didn’t last long—but as with any skirmish, it left chaos behind.

Harry looked around frantically, pushing himself to his feet and finding his glasses which had gotten torn off his face somehow on the ground after doing a quick “Reparo”, ignoring the soreness of his legs that had gotten rather battered when a door that had been ripped off its hinges had landed on them.

He saw Ron standing up and breathed a sigh of relief, before he heard a strangled gasp and dropped to his knees beside Hestia Jones. He hadn’t gotten to know her very well, but he still felt tears sting his eyes as she tried to smile up at him, “You made it; good,” as she struggled for breath from the several deep gashes she’d received across her chest. She had pushed him aside taking one of the Slashing Curses that had been aimed for him.

“How—can I do something?” he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes closing. “Just win this, Harry,” she forced out, her voice just a thread of sound—before a last shudder passed through her and she was gone.

She was gone—just like that. It was the first real death he’d seen, in some ways—Sirius had fallen through the Veil, Cedric he hadn’t really seen get murdered, just heard it, Dumbledore he’d seen but it had been with the Killing Curse and then Dumbledore had fallen off the tower. This was different.

And it left him shaken with the sadness of it and of her last message. She’d told him to win… He didn’t know if he could—and yet he knew he had to…

He struggled to his feet, looking around to see Remus picking himself up and then supporting Tonks—but where was...

Hermione…

He felt a wave of panic.

He ran over to Remus. “Where’s Hermione?” he asked sharply, his voice rising an octave in his sudden dread.

Remus glanced around, his face grim. “I’m not sure. I thought I saw her fall down but--”

“No!” He cut Remus off, his head shaking back and forth in automatic, frantic denial. “No, don’t tell me that!” She can’t be; she can’t be… Not Hermione… She can’t be… Not my Hermione…

In his surge of hot denial and mindless panic that was causing an odd buzzing in his ears until he swayed on his feet, he didn’t even realize that he had thought of her as his… He didn’t stop to think of what that meant about his feelings for her.

He knew nothing but his panic.

“Harry!” He heard Remus’s voice as if from far away through the strange buzzing in his ears. “I only thought I saw her fall down; it doesn’t mean she was badly injured. We’ll find her, Harry, calm down.”

In some tiny part of his mind, he knew Remus’s words were logical. She could be fine. He, of all people, knew how clever she was, how good she’d gotten at dueling in the past months—but the thought didn’t break through the panic inside him.

Hermione… He couldn’t do this without her. He needed her—in every way he could think of really, so much so he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, what would he do… Hermione…

His breath was coming light and fast, his head beginning to spin from the sheer mindless terror and dread he felt.

Hermione… No, no, no, no, no… It can’t be… She has to be alright…

And then he heard a voice—possibly the only sound that could have broken through the haze of growing alarm and fear.

The voice he knew better than any other, the voice he heard in his head—the voice he wanted to hear more than any other at that moment and that he’d never been happier to hear in his life… Her voice. “Harry!”

His breath caught and his head shot up, staring around wildly for a split second wondering if he’d imagined it—but then he saw her coming towards him, her clothes dirty and her jeans torn and she was walking with a slight limp, but otherwise looked fine.

Oh thank God.

“Hermione!” He ran, getting control over his muscles quicker than he could have imagined.

His arms closed around her with stunning force as he clung to her, holding her as if he would never let her go again. He felt her little gasp of surprise at the strength of his grip but was too full of relief, too swamped with emotion, to draw back.

He had never hugged her like this—never hugged anyone like this, truth be told. And at any other time, he’d have been embarrassed by how revealing his gesture was—but any of his normal thoughts, any of his usual reticence, had been ripped away in those moments of mind-numbing panic and fear and now in the tidal wave of his relief.

He didn’t think of Ron and the other members of the Order watching; he didn’t think of anything. His world had narrowed down, in that moment, to her—the fact that she was okay and with him and he hadn’t lost her and he’d never been more glad of anything in his life.

He finally drew back, releasing her, but just enough for him to look at her face, his eyes meeting hers.

“You’re okay?” she asked softly.

“I am now.”

The slightest of smiles touched her lips.

Her lips… He had noticed them before, wondered what it would feel like to kiss her—before he tore his mind away from the question, some part of him always backing away from the thought of what it meant that he wondered about kissing her and so he never had. He never had, no matter how many times his gaze had fallen to her mouth, no matter how many times he wondered, no matter how many times he’d wanted to—something had always stopped him.

That something seemed to have died along with his panic.

He paused, hesitated for a split second, before he bent closer and touched his lips to hers—and he kissed her.

His lips were soft, hesitant, barely brushing her lips—and somewhere inside his mind, he thought this was more than just a kiss. It was about more than just her lips against his; it was about the slight puff of her breath he could feel on his cheek; it was about the warmth of her body so close to his… It was about how he knew it was her, the one person he cared about more than anyone else.

She shifted closer to him; he reacted instinctively, deepening the kiss as his lips parted, his tongue just touching her lips, tracing their outline, as they softened and parted… And he tasted her for the first time, learned her, discovered her…

His arms tightened around her as the kiss deepened, lengthened…

And it was the fulfillment of months of wondering; more than that, it was everything he felt for her, all his panic from a few minutes ago, all his relief, all his caring—all his love…

He forgot the world, was lost in the utter rightness of this, the feeling that this had been meant to be for years.

He finally broke the kiss when a need for air made it imperative, before brushing his lips against hers, softly, tenderly this time.

Her eyes opened slowly as she met his gaze—and for the first time in several minutes, he remembered to feel self-conscious.

He had kissed her—she had kissed him back.

He loved her, he thought, but there was no surprise in his realization, just a gentle acceptance of its truth.

He should say something but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Hermione…” he breathed, just her name, but it was also a question and an affirmation and an endearment.

Again, the barest hint of a smile curved her lips. “It’s okay.”

Possibly the simplest two words in the world but somehow, at that moment, they were the right ones. It didn’t surprise him that she would know exactly what to say; somehow she always seemed to understand what he was thinking and feeling. And those two words were all he needed to hear. It’s okay. Because he knew she meant, I’m okay, and, more importantly, we’re okay…

The sound of a throat clearing brought him back to the present and he turned to see Ron, not quite looking at him and Hermione. “We should be getting back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Oh- uh- right,” he managed to say, feeling his cheeks color at the consciousness that he had just kissed Hermione for the first time in front of Ron and a group of Order members.

He dropped his arms from around her and stepped back, half-afraid to look at Hermione wondering if he’d embarrassed her—but then she slipped her hand into his as they were walking to where the rest of the Order was waiting for them.

He glanced at her, surprised, and met her eyes—and felt a smile curve his lips.

The smile was still lingering on his lips minutes later when he, Ron and Hermione wearily opened the door of Grimmauld Place and stepped inside, hearing the sound of the Order members who had escorted them Apparating away behind them.

He looked over at Ron who hadn’t said anything and had seemed to avoid looking at them and hesitated. “Are- are you okay with-” he glanced at Hermione and gestured with his free hand, at a loss for words-- “with this?” he finally settled for asking.

Ron glanced between the two of them, shifting uncomfortably for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “I- you- yeah, it’s okay. It just- threw me for a bit.”

He relaxed slightly—although he couldn’t help but wonder for a fleeting moment what he would have done if Ron had objected- if he had had to choose between his two best friends. But even as he thought it and even as he was thankful he didn’t have to choose, he knew who he would have chosen: Hermione. For all his affection and his loyalty to Ron—Hermione was- more than that to him now.

Ron shifted again and finally managed a half-smirk. “Just please don’t take this as permission to start snogging in front of me all the time. There’s only so much I can take.”

Harry cracked a small grin. “Point taken.”

For a moment, Ron’s eyes met Harry’s directly and there was a brief, unspoken dialogue between them.

You really care about her?

Yeah, I do.

Alright then.

Ron was the first one to blink and then he said, “I’m going to head up to bed. G’night, both of you.”

And then they were alone in the front room.

He was suddenly incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of himself.

Hermione was the first one to speak and all she said was, “This?” repeating his word from earlier.

He tried to shrug and smile. “I couldn’t think of what to call it.” He hesitated and then blurted out in spite of himself, “I kissed you,” and immediately wanted to kick himself for having said something so inane.

“Why did you? Was- was it only relief, relief that I was okay?”

“No!” he denied sharply—because it hadn’t been. Maybe it had started as only relief but the moment his lips had touched hers, it had turned into something else. It had turned into more…

“No,” he repeated again, more calmly. “It was—it was… it was what I’d been wanting to do for months now but never dared to do before,” he confessed, the words running together, he spoke them so quickly.

She stepped closer to him until she was standing right in front of him, her eyes shining into his. “You want to know a secret?” she asked.

He blinked, not sure where she was going with this—although the fact that she’d moved closer to him was a good sign. The way she was smiling at him was distracting him, making him want to kiss her again. “Okay.”

“I’ve been wanting you to kiss me for months now too.”

He stared at her, feeling happiness spread inside him, erasing from his mind any thought of his various cuts and bruises and how tired he was.

She was smiling at him still, looking up at him, and he felt himself grin before he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back—and if his lips had been free, he just knew he would have been smiling like an idiot—but his lips weren’t free. His lips were quite happily occupied kissing Hermione, tasting Hermione…

She had wanted him to kiss her…

At that moment, he was quite sure he could have produced the best Patronus in the world. And he couldn’t help but think that this—this feeling—his Hermione—would help him defeat Voldemort in the end. With her—for her—he could do anything…

~*~

Even after all these years—when she was still the dearest person in his life, when the sight of her smile could still brighten his day, when he had kissed her countless times and loved her countless times— the memory of that night lingered.

It was one of his favorite memories—that first time he kissed her. There were other memories, happier memories of happier times—but somehow, none quite so precious as the memory of that one night. The first time he kissed her, the first time he’d realized he loved her, the first time he’d understood that she loved him too…

He remembered—and he knew he always would…

~The End~