The diner went by slowly. The night, really. And after dessert, everyone left. And after everyone left, they went to bed. And after everyone went to bed, they woke up the next morning. And so the days went on, and on and on. As if nothing had happened. Ron and Hermione were back to their bickering selves but luckily for Harry, there were no make-up kisses. Just storming away and then coming back and hugging. It was nice. It was routine. Everyone was used to it. Everyday, Harry spent a little bit more time with Hermione. Alone or in a group, it was obvious they were both trying hard to kill this strange feeling between them.
Everyday, Harry aimed for one moment. One moment a day. One conversation, one exchange, one joke. One eye-contacting moment a day. And to his surprise, it was easy. It was very easy. He was often frustrated that he had even waited so long to do something that came so naturally.
Yet still unwilling to let go of the past, he knew they had to talk. About the strange moment, which he couldn't even remember what it was. About everything.
~*~
It was the dead of the night. About one, or two, he didn't bother to check the time. After a long day of chasing down yet another Death Eater and getting nowhere once again, Harry decided he had had a bad day. He tossed and turned, uncertain of what exactly was bothering him. Finally, he threw his covers aside and made his way downstairs, remembering Hermione's common suggestion of a warm glass of milk to help fall asleep.
He tip-toed his way past Ginny's room, then Ron's, then Hermione's. He nearly laughed when he realized their sleeping arrangements had changed so much in a little less than a year. He crept down the stairs and paused when he saw the kitchen light already on. He considered going back upstairs and putting on pajama pants and not entering and shocking a friend in his blue boxers.
Nah.
~*~
She had just poured herself a warm glass of milk when she nearly threw it at Harry, who had just entered unceremoniously into the kitchen.
"Hello," he said simply.
"Hello," she responded.
He stood there for a while, digging his toes into the ground. "Couldn't sleep?"
She shook as she brought the glass of milk to her lips. "No, I couldn't."
He nodded, keeping his gaze on the floor. "Me neither."
She smiled shyly. "Came to get some milk?"
He raised his head and smiled back. "Yeah."
She took another sip and nodded, understanding. Then she stepped aside and waved her arm at the refrigerator, inviting him to come and get it.
He walked slowly towards the fridge and opened it, pausing to let the cool air surround him. He heard her inhale behind him. He smiled as he reached for the milk. She loved the smell of a clean fridge, strangely. He took the milk carton out and set it on the table, kicking the fridge door closed. Hermione passed him a glass and he murmured a faint 'thank you.'
They were silent as he poured some milk, put the carton back in the fridge and charmed it warm. Then they stood in a comfortable silence as they took small sips. They never once took their eyes off one another.
"Tough day," Hermione said once their glasses were drained and washed. She leaned against the sink, resting her weight on her spread-out hands.
"Very tough," Harry responded, sitting on top of the kitchen table. She pushed the tip of her toes into the floor, waiting for him to say something. He did the same. "They seem tired," he tried, referring to the Weasleys. They had miraculously defeated the Portuguese team and were facing the Bulgarians in the finals. Viktor Krum had aged over the years but was still regarded as one of the best seekers in the world. Ron and Ginny were rarely at home, as they spent every spare moment eating, sleeping and practicing.
Hermione nodded. "They've been practicing very hard."
Harry nodded. "I miss them," he admitted, after a short pause.
Hermione smiled sadly. "I miss them, too." Although that wasn't the complete truth as she was quite glad she suddenly had much more time to spend with Harry. She missed him. He missed her. They missed each other. But they never said it. Only with looks. Like the look he was giving her right now.
I miss you.
They never said the three words. It was a mutual understanding that they needed one another and were dying a little bit inside every second that they were apart.
"Although," Harry said, interrupting Hermione's thoughts, "I can't say I haven't enjoyed getting to know you again." He paused, looking up at her through his glasses.
A bashful smile spread across her face and she closed her eyes, looking away. She brought a hand to her hair and brushed it down, as the curls threatened to fly away. "Harry..." she said in a half-amused tone.
He felt like he crossed a line. "Sorry," he said quickly.
"No, no," she said, almost as fast, as if the last thing she wanted was for him to take back the comment. "It's just…" she paused again, searching for the right words, "Some people wouldn't agree with your opinions of me."
He didn't even think. "Why, are some people blind?" Then he blinked and let his jaw drop. "Oh wow," he managed to sputter out. He didn't even bother to look at her face, although he could hear her giggle. "Sorry," he said again, "I'm being very-"
"Blunt," she finished. Giggle. "It's alright. I like it."
Slowly, he brought his head back up to look at her. He observed her for a while, spotting the bruises on her arms. Eager the change the subject, he pointed at them. "You took quite a tumble today, are you alright?" he asked.
It was as though she suddenly remembered the fall and massaged her arms. "I've been through worse," she said, almost ashamed of that fact.
Harry nodded, fully knowing what horrible things have happened to her in the past. She had gone through the Crusiatus curse four times and broken her legs six times. Hermione was quite the fighter. "I worry about you," he said suddenly, caught up in his memories.
She nodded, as if she was waiting for him to say it. "I know." Pause. "I worry about you, too."
He smiled, happy someone did. Too often did he wonder if someone would miss Harry, and not Harry Potter. Of course, this was Hermione, and she learnt how to worry for him when she was merely eleven years old. And even then, she had faith in him.
You'll be okay, Harry. You're a great wizard.
She noticed the faraway look in his eyes. "Harry?"
He shook his head and brought himself back to reality. He looked at her and smiled, as if seeing her for the first time. "We've always worried about one another, haven't we?" he asked.
She smiled. "Yes, we do. It's what we do, Harry and Hermione. We worry about one another."
"Is it?" he asked suddenly. He sprung up from his stance and took a step forward. The motion was so quick, so abrupt, so sudden, she shook. He wasn't even sure why he did that. It just felt right. It felt like he was meant to do this. So he did it.
"It seems like Harry and Hermione are supposed to a lot of things," he said quickly, detecting spite in his own voice. He was wondering what was happening. But he couldn't stop it. As if the past year was suddenly building up to this moment. "It seems like Harry and Hermione are supposed to worry about one another. They're supposed to comfort one another." He took another step forward, closing the distance between them.
Her breathing sped up. She tried to move away but she found she couldn't. Not now. Not when it felt like they were meant to do this; build their tension up until this moment.
He took another step forward, pushing himself between her legs, which were open, for some strange reason. She couldn't remember why. "I don't understand," she hiccupped, embarrassed that she sounded like a child.
He brought his face closer to hers, breathing onto her face. He smelt like mint. So did she. The used the same toothpaste, you see.
"We're always doing things, and it's because we're Harry and Hermione," he said.
She looked at him quizzically, finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying when she wanted to say and do other things. They exhaled in unison, somehow pushing their foreheads together.
"We hold hands, we worry, we hug. We do things and it's because we're Harry and Hermione. Nothing else. We comfort one another but it means nothing because we're Harry and Hermione and that's what we do. We hold hands and encourage one another but that's natural and obvious because we're Harry and Hermione. " He was rambling on and on. She saw his lips moving but heard nothing.
He felt the same way. He was saying something. Something. He wasn't quite sure what. He wondered if he was making sense.
"What are you trying to say?" she breathed, fighting to keep her eyes open.
And before he could answer, before he could even think of an answer, he leaned forward and they pushed their lips against one another. It only lasted a moment. Maybe ten seconds. But probably less. However long the stolen, gentle embrace lasted, it ended abruptly.
As quickly and unexpectedly as it went away, the familiar awkward chill ran through their bodies and they separated quickly. As if they had just made out with a complete stranger, they separated; Harry pushing himself back to the table, Hermione off the sink and to the kitchen door. She turned, presenting her back to him. Both caressed their lips, trying to remember what just happened.
Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, perhaps the kitchen was too dimly lit. Whichever the reason was, Harry and Hermione
wondered if what just happened, happened.
"What just happened?" Harry asked slowly.
"I-I don't know." Hermione said, truly shocked.
The two stared at the floor, upset that they were once again on simple-sentence-terms.
"I have to go," she sighed.
He shook his head in disappointment in both of them. "Why do you always have to go?" he asked with a tired, sad smile.
The question shook her. Was he mad at her? Was he mad at her? She turned around, trying to hide her outrage.
"Why do I always have to go?" She growled, dangerously low. "I don't. I never do." She paused, uncertain if she should say it. But he asked. So she responded. "It's you who never runs after me."
He opened his mouth and uttered a soft "Uh" and closed it once more.
They looked at one another for a while and she wondered what he would say next. But he didn't say anything. She sighed to herself. She dropped my head in disappointment then lifted it again in hope. But he just kept staring at her, astonishment in his face. She shook my head, frustrated. She turned and left.
He ran after her. "Tell me what you want to say!" He whispered fiercely, remembering the Weasleys were asleep.
She turned around, angry once more. "Tell me how you feel!"
He sighed and sighed, unable to think of anything. They stood there, looking at one another. Then…
"I feel good."
He said it loud and clear, uncaring of who was hearing. "I feel good when I'm around you. I feel accepted. I feel loved. I feel like I belong somewhere. I feel like I belong to a home."
She stood there, floored.
He sighed, ignoring the awkward feeling creeping up on him. "I feel good," he finished weakly.
She snapped out of her trance. "What are you trying to say?" She asked delicately.
He stammered. It would be the first time he'd say it sober. And he'd never said it before. "W-what I'm trying to say…is…" He paused and took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say, Hermione, is that I care for you."
"Harry-"
"I love you."
Uh.
Uh.
Whoa.
…
WHOA.
WHAT?
What was that? He blinked and blinked and she blinked and blinked. And they stood there blinking. Good Godric in a bathrobe, I did not just say that. But he did. He didn't plan on saying it. He wasn't emotionally ready to say it. But he did. He said it without second thought. Just like that. A phrase that meant so much rolled off his tongue so easily.
"I love you." He repeated it. Yes. Yes, it definitely felt right.
He didn't know what time it was when they finally stopped staring at one another and went back to bed without another word.
Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to *someone special* out there. I like worrying about you. Someone sue me.