Feelings of affection

Mashu

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 11/07/2006
Last Updated: 11/07/2006
Status: completed

First Harry Potter fanfiction. A casual evening study session sprouts dormant (perhaps?) feelings in one Harry Potter for one Hermione Granger. But can he handle it well? Excerpt: Oh Merlin, if Voldemort wasn’t out trying to kill him, whatever it was about Hermione that was affecting him so badly would do him in instead.

Chapters

1. The denial of a H/Hr shipper

1. The denial of a H/Hr shipper

Well, let’s have a long story cut short. This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy it. No terrifying spoilers as far as my eyes can see, but I could be wrong.

Translation: I have no idea about the timeline of this story.

Just in case anyone from FFnet was wondering, yeah, I’d be known as one half of the account Lord Cynic. Oh yeah, you know it’s true.

Feelings of affection

a.k.a. The denial of a H/Hr shipper

Feelings of affection could be developed over a period of time. Like budding flowers, once planted in the supple earth they could be nurtured tenderly and cared for. With enough fresh water and natural sunlight, they could bloom into beautiful blossoms.

On the other hand, feelings of attraction could be like avalanches on a snow-capped mountain. Once triggered, they descend unceremoniously upon their unsuspecting victims, engulfing them completely. Tragedy and hopelessness (and irritation) result from the devastating phenomena.

When given the opportunity to reflect, Harry Potter would be hard-pressed to choose between the two. If he answered honestly, he would say it was like getting run over by a Hippogriff only to spring back to life like he was cured of cancer. Or that it was the most horrible yet wonderful experience of his life – whichever came easier.

It began on a Sunday night, of all nights. Harry, Ron and Hermione were gathered around a table in the Gryffindor common room, doing homework. For purposes of this story, everyone else was already spent, what with the terrors of a Monday approaching. Harry and Ron would’ve joined them in the blissful realm of Dreamland, but their female companion considered the uncommon peace and quiet a perfect chance to do some schoolwork for once.

Consequently, the trio were toiling over their Potions essays. It was a particularly nasty assignment about the origins of Veritaserum. Ron had already commented on how it seemed more like History of Magic work than Potions, but his words had quickly fallen on deaf ears. He resorted to silence once more, trying to cram as many words onto his parchment as possible. If he could get at least an A, he would be satisfied.

It was approaching midnight when Hermione displayed her first signs of fatigue. She dropped her quill into an ink jar (Harry’s, although he would be too preoccupied to notice) before yawning and stretching. Harry, who sat across from her, watched her with intrigue, fascinated by the curving of her body as she arched her arms above her head.

Ron, however, wasn’t as affected so he opened his mouth impulsively.

“Finally tired?” he asked slyly.

“Oh shush, Ron,” Hermione retorted. “At least I can work for ten minutes without complaining about a hand cramp.”

Ron grunted, but Harry paid no attention to the petty exchange. He was unaware of the transfixed gaze he was giving an unaware Hermione, almost as if he was seeing her in a new light. But that made no sense. She looked the same as she did a day ago, didn’t she? So why couldn’t he stop staring?

Hermione and Ron had reached a silent truce and returned to their work (or, in Ron’s case, his procrastination), Harry observed at last. While he himself wanted to follow Hermione’s example, he was too busy following her involuntary body language. While on the obvious side she was merely hunched over her paper (a dangerous habit, Harry thought), he wasn’t focussing on that. He was watching the way her bushy brown hair fell over her face, almost completely hiding it from view. Well, if Harry was looking at her side-on. As it was, he could see the way she bit her lip in concentration. Strangely, it was the same as when she was nervous or keeping a secret, but that was probably his imagination.

When she smiled, however, especially at him, he couldn’t help grinning stupidly back. Just like she did when she realised he was watching her. But, unlike all previous times, he felt wobbly for some reason, light-headed, even. But where had it suddenly come from? What had triggered such foreign sensations that had ensnared him while he was caught napping on the job?

And then it hit him when he least suspected it.

“Oww!”

Just like Ron’s infernal Potions textbook. The offending book bounced off his head onto the floor, and the victim snapped out of his heavy trance. He looked around with a startled expression on his face, earning a raised eyebrow from the (still) lazing Ron and a less-confused-than-his glance from Hermione. Eventually, he figured that he was imagining things again, even though he could feel a sharp, non-scar-induced pain on his head. While not entirely reassured, he had enough sense back to at least sloppily busy himself with his essay once more. However, try as he might he couldn’t stop glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

His distractions prevented him from noticing the grin on Ron’s face. The redhead in question was watching him watch Hermione and digesting Harry’s hypnosis-like state and bewildered reaction to his less-than-subtle wake-up methods. Now, a bloke may be dense about his own feelings, especially those towards a girl, but he can detect when a mate has feelings for one, right? That’s especially true when he’s being as obvious as Harry. And he figured that if anyone could stand Hermione, and thus stand a chance with her, it was Harry. The poor sod.

Ron therefore made up his mind and yawned deeply, startling Harry out of his stupor. The bespectacled boy swerved around to the redhead who began stretching exaggeratedly.

“Well, I’m bushed,” the latter said simply, before adding ironically, “That’s all the Potions I could handle.” He ignored Hermione’s annoyed glare as he gathered his belongings. “Have fun, you two,” he said casually as he made his way up the boys’ staircase, leaving Harry and Hermione as the only occupants.

Harry watched Ron depart, a sinking feeling that he did that deliberately for some reason starting to surface. However, he pushed it down as much as he could as he tried to actually concentrate on his work. Hermione had thought nothing much of Ron leaving, but Harry guessed she was busy writing to know the Weasley boy hadn’t done any work before ditching them. Not wanting to incur the wrath Ron would eventually suffer come the morning for being lazy, Harry resolved to complete his essay. He knew Hermione was on her second excessive roll of parchment, and he was just trying to meet the bare requirements while not giving Snape a reason to criticise him or put him in detention. He had to work quickly and efficiently if he was ever going to be finished.

However, his attentions eventually drifted from the origins of Veritaserum (Merlin forbid he would actually find use for that information) to the quill dangling precariously from Hermione’s mouth. He watched as it bobbed up and down, dry ink covering the exposed end, before being dunked in (he finally realised) his ink jar. He gazed as excess ink dripped from the writing end, landing with a non-existent splash into his jar.

“I didn’t know you were so fascinated in quills, Harry. Maybe I should buy you one for your next birthday.”

Harry’s eyes travelled slowly from the quill – which was back in Harry’s jar… did Hermione even have one? – to Hermione’s face. Her eyes were raised, only slightly, but still like Ron’s had been, but she was smiling, almost as if she was amused. Harry felt his face flush, and he was certain he looked like he’d been caught sneaking ingredients out of Snape’s stash. He quickly tried to think of a way to save his embarrassing blunder.

“Essay… my… Hermione… check… would you,” he stammered, finding a way for a simple sentence to become incoherent. When he finally tamed his senses (and successfully untied his tongue from the knot it found itself in), he repeated himself – properly. “Would you, er, check my essay for me? I’d like to know if I’m on the right track.” There, that was easy.

“Well, yes, of course,” Hermione agreed readily. Pause. “You might want to work on the squeaking in your voice until I’m done,” she added with a small grin. “I’m aware it’s a normal part of your growth,” Harry could’ve sworn she coloured slightly, “but it wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Okay, maybe not so easy. Harry would’ve taken his time trying to remedy his situation, but Hermione decided to change seats and shift next to him to correct his work. Close proximity with any member of the opposite gender would’ve made Harry uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to physical contact, after all. But when that female happened to be of the Hermione Granger variety, Harry became more than uncomfortable. He couldn’t control his quickening heartbeat if he tried, and he was starting to itch (in normal places, mind you).

He could barely make out Hermione’s voice pointing out minor errors, especially since she kept bumping her arm against his own. He was vaguely aware that he was entering another trance-like state, because his eyes started to droop ever so slowly. He felt himself drifting gradually away from reality, towards the pretty white light…

“Harry!”

His eyes snapped open unexpectedly, and Hermione immediately came into focus. Her arms were crossed, and she was wearing a disapproving expression on her face. Harry realised that, in Hermione’s point of view, it must’ve looked like it was falling asleep – that she was making him fall asleep.

“Did you have a nice nap, James?” she asked sarcastically, making Harry wince at the emphasis on his middle name and his father’s name.

“It’s not what you think,” he said hastily. “It’s not that you’re boring to listen to… because you’re not… it’s just what I was… well, that is… I was just…” Uh oh, he was at a dead end. What could he say that wouldn’t dump him in more trouble? He avoided her gaze uncertainly, holding his breath with trepidation.

Hermione sensed his apprehension and gradually softened. She knew it was already past midnight, so she reasoned that he was probably genuinely tired. But she’d still like him to look at her. Why wasn’t he?

“Thank you for helping me,” he offered abruptly, halting Hermione’s train of thought. He didn’t know how much longer he could’ve lasted, and decided to take the easy way out. “We’d better get some sleep.” He paused suddenly before mentally shaking his head and flashing Hermione a sheepish and apologetic smile. “Good night, Hermione.”

He walked to the boys’ staircase, before turning around to look at her. She smiled comfortingly, but Harry couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at abandoning her. ‘It really is late, but why do I feel like that’s what I’m doing?’

He was halfway to his dormitory he distinctly heard the rustling of books and parchment. He painfully suppressed the intensifying guilt in his stomach, and forced himself to his bed and a consequent restless sleep.

When Harry trundled down the stairs to the common room the next morning, he wasn’t surprised to discover Hermione waiting for him. To his dismay, however, the feelings from the previous night resurfaced instantly. In addition, an odd fluttering sensation developed in his stomach, as if a Levitation charm was cast on it.

Hermione smiled at him upon his entrance, causing the Levitation charm to intensify until he could’ve sworn he was floating. Mercifully, he managed to approach her without acting foolish. He returned her smile, but when she blushed lightly in response, he became confused.

“Well,” Hermione spoke up, taking the initiative. Harry thought he heard an unrecognisable-to-anybody-else-but-him quaver in her voice, but maybe he was trying to reassure himself. “Shall we go to breakfast?”

“Huh?” Harry looked around the empty common room hesitantly. “Where’s Ron? Shouldn’t we wait for him?”

“He already went down,” Hermione answered matter-of-factly, as if she had rehearsed those exact words.

Harry was positive that Ron was still sleeping, but he didn’t get a chance to check. Hermione had grabbed his arm (gently, he realised with a pang of pleasure) and proceeded to drag him towards the Great Hall. He didn’t terribly mind, of course.

When they entered the Great Hall, they approached the Gryffindor table to confused expressions from a few of those around him. Harry became unnerved by the suspicious reception they received, and he tentatively took his seat beside Hermione. He carefully poured himself a cup of pumpkin juice, before finally realising that Ron was nowhere in sight.

“We were tired of waiting for him,” he heard Hermione state bluntly before helping herself to toast.

Wait, what? Harry turned to Hermione with a bewildered look of his face. She caught his glance and winked at him with a mouthful of buttered toast when no one was watching. He blushed slightly and looked around for the pancakes, trying to compose himself.

“Here, Harry,” Hermione said, holding out the plate of pancakes to him. “Pancakes with maple syrup, right?”

Harry accepted the plate gratefully, albeit mutely, and began to eat as much as possible. Something told him he would need as much strength as possible.

“Let me refill your cup for you.”

Harry blushed as a few people tittered behind their food. Oh yes, he would need as much as he could to make it through the day. Especially since, she kept glancing at him with that same smile that was slowly weakening his defences. What was she trying to do, cast a wandless Full Body Bind on him?

“You could’ve waited for me, y’know!”

Harry had enough nerves in his body to be able to turn around in his seat and watch as Ron plopped himself gracelessly into the other seat next to him. His eyes slowly widened, not because Ron was helping himself to practically everything in sight, but because he remembered what Hermione had said before they themselves had arrived. He knew she knew Ron would still be asleep, yet she insisted on going ahead without him. Just what did she think she was doing?

“What did who think she was doing?” Ron asked through a mouthful of eggs.

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. Had he said that out loud? Merlin, what else had he said that he didn’t mean to?

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione asked compassionately. She started patting and rubbing his back. “You shouldn’t drink so fast, it’s not good for you.”

Fortunately, Ron was paying more attention to his food than his friends, so Harry didn’t have to blush. He calmed himself down so he could drink normally from his cup, and then smiled appreciatively at Hermione.

Only for the stomach fluttering to resurface when Hermione smiled and winked furtively, back at him. Agh, what was going to happen to him if that kept up the whole day?

Harry eventually wished he’d never asked. His classes that day were a mixed bag he hoped he could ultimately wake from, and his feelings for Hermione (and his lack of knowledge about them) were the cause of his troubles.

In Charms, the class was practising the Summoning Charm. While usually a simple task for Harry, he was so mentally distracted by his thoughts during breakfast that he somehow cast a Nose-bleeding charm upon himself. The strange thing was, and some people noticed, that on the surface he was perfectly fine – until he looked at Hermione. That was when the charm kicked in and he either had to lodge his nostrils with tissue paper, or just not look at her. She was oblivious to it, because she was trying to summon items with her eyes closed, but Harry knew what was going on. Thankfully, although the effects lasted for the whole class, they ended as soon as he walked out of the room.

Next was Transfiguration, which was slightly better. He actually paid attention to the task, which was to transfigure a lamb into a grand piano. He was about to recite the incantation when Hermione (as well as other girls) squealed about how ‘cute’ the lambs were. Harry would’ve been the only one to distinguish her voice amongst the others, and he literally jumped and managed to aim his spell at his own lamb. However, his voice had squeaked at the last second (whilst having nothing to do with puberty), and instead of a grand piano, the result was a harmonica – which Ron, tremendously amused by the episode, wanted to take to the next class. Professor McGonagall wasn’t as entertained, however, and confiscated the evidence before curtly instructing everyone to depart. Harry did so quickly, fearing any more repercussions.

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned out to be a practical lesson, involving the disarming spell. The class was split into pairs, and in every sense of the word predictable, Harry and Hermione were matched together. Once again, Ron was amused, until he got paired up with Neville, who was positively quaking. As for Harry, he was terrified that he might accidentally hurt Hermione by overdoing something. Therefore, what was meant to be a simple disarming exercise, turned out to be an unintentional butt whooping. Hermione was surprised, not only in the strength of her spell, but also by Harry’s reluctance to act. She was immediately by his side when he recovered, and the concerned look she gave him triggered the bizarre feelings he’d been having for a while. To everyone’s amusement, his face lit up like a Lumos-cast wand as Hermione helped him to his feet. He looked to Ron apprehensively, who shrugged and grinned, and Harry nervously insisted that the class should continue. While everyone else gradually separated into the assigned pairs, he noticed Hermione looking at him strangely. Remembering what he hadn’t already done, he smiled at her and offered thanks. She brightened immediately and smiled back, and Harry had to overcome an odd urge to run over and hug her. Fortunately, the signal for the next class happened just before his self-control crumbled, and he shuffled embarrassedly out of the room. He was massively relieved that he had managed to save himself from a potentially friendship-changing situation.

It didn’t last long, however, because Divination was the next class. Hermione’s absence should have provided some sanity, some salvation. On the contrary, even if she was making him gradually nuts, he liked having her around. As it was, he only had Ron to keep him company. Not that having the Weasley around wasn’t a bad thing (he was like a big brother, after all), but the redhead spent most of the class asleep. That, and the first words from Trelawney upon seeing Harry were, “Oh dear… I fear you will have a deadly confrontation with a cubicle.” He subsequently spent the whole class like almost everyone else did: gazing stupidly into his crystal ball. In his stupor, he failed to see that his subconscious had materialised Hermione’s face into the useless fog within his apparatus. However, when the signal for lunch arrived, he walked out of the classroom with an unexplainable, stupid grin on his face.

It didn’t last long, though. He still received unnerving glances from those around him during lunchtime, but that was because Hermione insisted on choosing his food for him. However, he was powerless to do anything – Hermione’s hopeful smile instantly dissolved any resolve he had. He ignored smirks from his unwanted on-lookers (once again Ron was more interested in food than his housemates’ antics) as she once again replenished his pumpkin juice. He believed he would need as much strength as possible to make it through the dreaded double Potions afterwards.

To his disdain, Potions was indeed a realistic nightmare. After he begrudgingly collected the essays, Snape ordered the Gryffindor-Slytherin combined class to attempt to create a Heebie-Jeebies potion. Initially, although Harry was seated between Hermione and Ron, he was able to concentrate if he avoided letting the former affect his mind too much. The potion was supposed to be indigo, and Harry was very close to accomplishing the task. Hermione hadn’t taken long to achieve success, however, and she turned to him gleefully. Harry was in the process of adding newt tails to his concoction, but Hermione’s dazzling smile caught him unaware. The next thing he knew, he had accidentally dumped the whole handful into his cauldron. Consequently, he spent the second half of the class strapped to a bed in the hospital wing. Thankfully, the effect of the potion was only temporary, so he was dispatched before dinnertime. However, rather than return to the sneers and snickers of the Slytherin students, he changed directions and headed for the Great Hall.

When he did arrive at the Great Hall, he realised he was one of very few actually present. He was grateful for the temporarily barren environment, because he could gather his thoughts. Those thoughts immediately centred themselves around Hermione, and his reactions towards her since the previous night. What were those mixed feelings of dread and elation that surfaced when he looked at her? Even as he sat there staring at (or through) the table, his stomach was clenching itself. Before he could stop himself, he imagined her walking up to him, wearing one of those irresistible smiles, her hair bobbing up and down with every step. He envisioned her chocolate-brown eyes gazing into him, his soul… her lips… her full, luscious lips…

“Oh, Harry! I’m glad you’re okay!”

Harry would’ve drenched himself in water automatically to cool himself off, but his cup was empty. Therefore, he just looked incredibly silly thrusting it towards his face, but he still imagined it was full and shook his head to calm himself. He wondered if he had been making odd faces during his… daydreaming, because when Ron and Hermione sat themselves on either of him, they looked thoroughly confused.

“Er, Harry,” Ron spoke up at last, “I know you’d want to forget what happened in Potions, but you do know the cup is empty, right?”

“Huh?” Harry finally realised what he had done. He promptly blushed. “Oh… yeah. I… I meant to do that!”

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked. Harry immediately imagined her lips again and, sporting a more ferocious blush than before, started to gather food that not materialised on the table onto his plate. “You were doing so well before. In fact, you haven’t been yourself today. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Oh Merlin, don’t make him look at her. He knew she must be worried sick about him, but he couldn’t risk meeting her gaze. Forget anything about the Veritaserum, one look into Hermione’s mesmerising brown eyes and he’d blurt out everything, from the feelings for her that were making him insane, to the time he literally got caught with his pants down in one of the hallways (bloody Peeves). “I’m okay, really. The Potions thing was just a lips-up.”

“Lips-up?” Harry couldn’t see the sceptical smile on Hermione’s face. Ron was too busy stuffing his face to bother paying attention.

“Yeah…” It took Harry a few seconds to cotton on to his blunder. “Slip-up! Slip-up!” He blushed a new shade of scarlet and began to make a fuss of cutting up a lamb chop.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron managed to say through a mouthful of potatoes, having heard Harry’s panicked attempt to right himself. He quickly followed the contents of his mouth after a glare from Hermione. “You know, you’re carving the table.”

And to Harry’s horror, so he was. He’d somehow missed the food completely and was trying to gradually saw into the table. Thankfully, he was having no effect on the wood, but he was nevertheless mortified. He tentatively glanced at Ron, who had resumed eating now that he’d done his good deed, to Hermione, who was smiling oddly into her copy of Hogwarts: A History (he didn’t even notice that she’d brought it with her). He stared back down at his plate and nibbled a chicken wing in silence.

Oh Merlin, if Voldemort wasn’t out trying to kill him, whatever it was about Hermione that was affecting him so badly would do him in instead.

It was a tense study session that night. However, it wasn’t because of a fight Ron and Hermione might have had. For once, they were at another truce: Hermione wouldn’t nag Ron to get some work done, and Ron wouldn’t start snoring if he decided to fall asleep on a couch. It was a rare development for the usually bickering friends, but they had good intentions. Those good intentions happened to be the other member of the trio, who was in a daze.

Somewhere between dinner and where he was now, Harry had undergone an… interesting change. His hair was messy… -ier than usual… even more so; his eyes were blank, a dull green rather than the usual emerald; and his complexion was pale, even worse than Draco Malfoy pale. It was as if he’d encountered the most horrifying sight ever. Well, second most – walking in on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia… reliving their youth was something no one should see. He considered himself lucky he got out physically unscathed that time.

Harry’s eerie silence greatly concerned Ron and Hermione, who had differing levels of comprehension. Ron knew Harry had been freaking out all day because of whatever it was about Hermione that nearly got him severely injured – twice, made him turn a lamb into a harmonica, and almost had him cutting a deep gash through the Gryffindor table with a carving knife. The freckled boy accepted Harry’s newly discovered feelings for Hermione, but not even he had been that hung up on her.

Damn, Harry had it bad.

Hermione, on the other hand, was internally flipping out. Although Harry had been slightly distant during dinner, he was at least looking healthy. Now, he looked like Moaning Myrtle had floated in on him while he was on the can, but she had no idea that she was the cause. She was very anxious for her best friend, but she didn’t know what she could do to help, or if he even wanted it. She (and Ron, she added reluctantly) wanted to help him out of his current funk, but all she could do at that moment was fret silently while attempting to do her Charms homework.

Harry was, while looking like he was anywhere but Hogwarts, actually doing the same homework as Hermione, even though he wasn’t sure what he was even writing. After dinner, he had vanished to an empty classroom to try and figure himself out. He had summed up everything that happened since his awkward study session with Hermione the previous night (after Ron had left), and he’d slowly put the pieces together. Eventually, he had discovered the source of the nauseous yet uplifting emotions that had bubbled up inside him all day. He had been blind (with or without glasses) to not realise it before.

He was in severe ‘like’ with Hermione. Not just best friends, easy, simple ‘like’, but intense, romantic, complicated ‘like’, and he was terrified. He was terrified of the condescending and scathing gazes he would receive from the rest of the school, if they were to find out about it. He was terrified of Ron’s anger, because of the redhead’s crush on Hermione, and the risk of losing his friendship because of betrayal. Most of all, he was of Hermione’s shock, followed by her rejection, and the risk of losing her friendship because of the awkwardness that would inevitably follow. In all seriousness, he would much rather receive a Crucio curse from Voldemort himself than see the sympathetic smile on Hermione’s face when she would turn him down.

When Ron sighed, packed up his belongings, and headed for the boy’s dormitories, therefore, Harry immediately rose to follow him. However, Ron stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry’s confused face met Ron’s reassuring one, and the redhead led him out of earshot of Hermione.

“Harry, what are you doing?” questioned the Weasley.

"I’m going to bed,” came the response.

"No you’re not,” was the immediate objection.

Harry became silent, and Ron took the initiative.

"Go back to Hermione. Tell her how you feel.”

“What? What do you mean… what I feel?”

“Don’t deny it, Harry.” A pause. “You like her more than a friend, don’t you?”

Harry only nodded, before saying, “But… what about you?”

“Harry,” Ron sighed, smiling, “you’re a real prat when it comes to feelings, you know that? Whether you realise it or not, she makes you happy, and I’m pretty sure you make her happy. So, if anything, as a mate your happiness is mine. Both of yours.”

“Ron…”

“Harry, go to her.” Ron flashed a grin. “Just go, you git. If you must, you have my blessing. Besides, maybe she won’t bug me as much now.”

Harry felt a tremendous wave of relief and gratitude surge through him, and he grinned back. Ron clapped his shoulder, winked and turned to walk up the stairs, leaving Harry alone with Hermione once more. The raven-haired boy blushed at the hidden implications, but managed to sit back at the study table, now invigorated and freed of one of his fears.

As soon as he took his seat, he realised Hermione was staring at him. She had an unreadable expression on her face, and the intensity of her gaze made him extremely nervous. He couldn’t even pull his eyes away from her, and he felt his face heat up.

But as soon as he blushed, he paled again at the question she sprung him.

“I never thought I’d ask this, but Harry, do you, you know, swing that way?”

He stared mortified at her, his mouth gaping open, and she nodded as if she understood something. She smiled to herself (in relief, Harry’s subconscious thought for some reason), and noticed that his expression hadn’t changed. She giggled at his dumbstruck appearance, making him blush again, and flashed him a consoling smile.

“Relax, Harry, I was only kidding.” A certain gleam shined in her eyes. “But I’m glad that you don’t.”

Harry just nodded dumbly, too afraid to do anything else. He sweated a bit when Hermione continued to scrutinise him. He wondered what she was thinking, or if she was secretly mad at him. That smile on her face was very unnerving and ambiguous.

“Harry,” she began finally, “this is the first time you’ve looked at me tonight.” Harry remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. That is, until Hermione asked, “Am I ugly?”

“No!” There was a stunned silence following that statement. Harry swallowed and tried to answer properly. “No, you’re not. Dear Merlin, I think you’re gorgeous -” Hermione’s face brightened and donned a sly smile, and Harry blushed and looked away. “Oh, er, that is…”

“Harry? Look at me.” He did, albeit apprehensively. “Now, is there something you want to tell me?”

“I… No?” Hermione glared at him, and his resolve… dissolved. “I… bloody hell, this isn’t right. You see, I… Uh, that would be… I…”

“What is it, Harry?” Damn, she wasn’t going to let up. Oh well, he got himself into such a mess. He might as well get it over with and try and patch things up immediately afterwards.

“Well, Hermione, the truth is…” He took a deep breath to compose himself, before blurting out, “IthinkIlikeyoubutIdon’tknowandit’sdrivingmeinsane! There, I said it! Are you happy?”

Hermione blinked for a few seconds, before smiling oddly. Harry’s stomach plummeted, that look in her eyes wasn’t a good sign. “Sorry, Harry, could you repeat that?”

He could’ve glared a hole straight through her irresistibly beaming face, but the temptation was shot down as soon as it was proposed. He resigned himself to another heavy sigh before laying things out on the table slowly and painfully.

“I think that… I… like you, you know, in that way…”

To Harry’s dismay, Hermione simply nodded. “Mmm hmm, I got that part. What was the other?”

Harry squashed the resurfacing urge to glower and instead resorted to a more defeated appearance. “Well, it’s driving me nuts! I mean, blimey, this time two weeks ago I could’ve been content with knowing you as I always did. Er, that is, an extremely intelligent, moral, pretty girl.” He emphasised her gender in case she began to object. Good call, since she quickly closed her mouth. “But… I dunno… it was this time last night when I realised something that should’ve gotten through to me long ago. I mean, when we became friends, I grew to like you. Well, I think I already did, it was just Ron who was being a git.” Hermione raised an eyebrow to indicate that Harry was rambling, and he tentatively pushed on. “But that was it, right? We were friends, the three of us. Well, we still are, of course. I mean, unless after tonight you don’t want to be. I guess I saw it coming.” He laughed nervously despite his intimidating situation. “Well, when someone tells you they like you more than a friend, because you’re smart, you’re beautiful, your kind, and all that, things sort of change, don’t they? One minute you’re laughing and being good buddies, the next you’re walking in different directions and hardly speaking to each other.”

“Do you think that’s going to happen?” Hermione asked curiously. Harry hadn’t noticed she had edged closer to him.

“Well, of course. Right? I mean, I just said I like you more than as a friend, but it doesn’t always work out the other way. Because of that, we’ll drift apart, maybe nod to each other in the common room. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? I mean… Hermione, why are you looking at me like that?”

During his rambling, Hermione had shifted from her seat to his couch. She was smiling widely with an amused, but passionate glint in her eyes. Harry wondered if she was lulling him into a false sense of security before hexing him – or worse.

“Harry?” Hermione spoke up, effectively paralysing him.

“Um, yeah?”

“Sometimes I think you try to mean too much.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“See? There’s that word again. Just shut up, okay?”

“Huh?”

He was quickly silenced by the soft sensation of her lips on his. His breath was instantly sucked out by the blissful sensations of the kiss, and his thought processes only had enough time to register one thing (four times) before they temporarily shut down. Hermione was kissing him. Hermione was kissing him. Hermione was kissing him. Hermione was kissing him. And he was frozen to his seat, unable to take advantage of the moment.

When they released, he took a few moments to collect himself while Hermione readjusted herself into a proper sitting position. His mind was reeling with potential responses to what had just happened. It had to be charming, original, intelligent –

“That was bloody brilliant!”

Oh, sod it. Harry mentally berated himself for sounding like Ron (not a good influence at times like this, to be honest) as Hermione quietly composed herself. Harry eventually followed her example, giving himself time to register what had just happened between them, and how, as he put it “bloody brilliant” is was.

Then the silence eventually became unbearable for him, he turned to face her breathless but beaming face.

“Hermione,” he gasped, “what… do you -”

“I do.” Hermione stared at the table for a while. Eventually, she returned his gaze to him, her cheeks sporting a light blush. “I have for a long time. You know,” she continued, wringing her hands nervously, “it’s not often that the boy you like tells you that you drive him blissfully insane with just a smile.”

“Ah…” Harry looked at the couch fabric uncomfortably. “I’m sor -”

“Harry? What did I just tell you?” Harry looked up at Hermione who was smiling like she had been before. “Shut up.” She kissed him again to punctuate her point, but he didn’t complain.

Harry and Hermione often found more times (and excuses) to be alone after that night. They talked for ages in their secluded areas, but whenever Hermione was in the mood, she’d simply tell him to “shut up” again. Sometimes, when Harry decided to be mischievous, he’d tell her to make him, and she promptly did.

For the record, he received a very reluctant E for his Potions essay the following week. However, he couldn't have cared less - Hermione had taken the liberty of rewarding him for his hard work.

They weren't seen in the Great Hall for the lunchtime afterwards. No one saw them until the afternoon classes, but when they tried to comment on their disheveled appearances (Harry with his glasses askew and hair even more out of place than usual, Hermione with her skirt wrinkled), Harry and Hermione simply smiled, shrugged, and took their seats as per usual. Ron didn't say a word, knowing that, in the meantime, he was their relationship secret keeper.

The End