Lord, I took about a decade to get this up, didn't I? Sorry, chickadees, I was sick over Thanksgiving week, and had zero time to even think about poor Hermione's predicament. Mucho apologies!
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"Mister Potter. Miss Granger. You're late." Professor Platt seemed in a terrible mood. A chaotic traffic jam in the fifth floor corridor had delayed their presence at the office, and it looked as if they would pay dearly for those extra five minutes.
"Sorry, ma'am," Hermione said, apprehensive.
"Yeah, sorry," reiterated Harry, not looking sorry at all.
"You will both have lines," Platt told them, gliding toward a cabinet in the back and retrieving from it a sheaf of parchment and two quills. Hermione and Harry exchanged a relieved glance. Lines weren't bad at all.
Platt directed them to two desks, one behind the other. Hermione sat down in front of Harry, anxious not to have any distractions. "Mister Potter, you will please write, `I will not insult my teacher' three hundred times." She passed Harry a few sheets of parchment and one of the quills, then handed Hermione the rest.
"And you, Miss Granger," Platt began, looking down on her with great dislike. "You will write three hundred times, "I will not daydream in class about -" Platt stopped suddenly. She tilted her head to the side as if realizing something for the first time. "Miss Granger, what were you daydreaming about?" she asked sharply. The scratching of Harry's quill behind her stopped.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "I don't think that's really necessary, Professor Platt," she said, laughing nervously.
"On the contrary," said Professor Platt, looking unusually malevolent. Hermione wondered why they had been sidled with the teacher who liked to cause great amounts of pain. "It is completely necessary. You will please tell me what you were daydreaming about."
Knowing a blush was rapidly forming on her cheeks, Hermione beckoned Platt closer. She ducked her head, and Hermione whispered into her ear, "I was daydreaming about - well, I was daydreaming about kissing Harry." Her whole face was scarlet, she knew.
"Ah, I see," said Platt in a low whisper. "I would assume that Mister Potter does not know you were thusly engaged."
Hermione nodded, relieved that the professor understood her need for secrecy. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "He doesn't know that I fancy him."
"That's too bad," said Platt. She then straightened and said in a voice that was much too loud for Hermione's taste, "Miss Granger, you will please write three hundred times `I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter.'" There was a snapping sound from behind as Harry broke his quill in surprise.
Hermione thought that perhaps the Astronomy Tower would make a lovely jumping point.
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I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 298
I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 299
I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 300
Relieved, Hermione set down her quill. "I'm finished, Professor Platt," she called.
"Me, too," said Harry's voice from behind her. Hermione jumped. She'd almost forgotten he was there. A new wave of mortification washed over her.
Platt looked up from her notes. "Very well," she said, after looking over their covered parchments. "I trust that both of you have learned your lessons. Mister Potter, I will expect you to always be courteous in further classes."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, looking anxious to leave.
Platt nodded curtly. "And you, Miss Granger. I assume that your daydreaming days are over, no matter how uninteresting you find my classes to be, nor how much you fancy the boy sitting beside you."
Hermione's face burned scarlet again. "Yes, professor," she said, miserable. A fleeting glance at Harry saw that he, too, was blushing.
"You may go now," said Professor Platt, and Harry and Hermione lost no time in acting on her words.
They walked in an uncomfortable silence until they reached the fifth floor corridor, which seemed strangely empty after the chaos it had been earlier. "Um, Hermione?" Harry said, breaking the silence.
"Yes?" responded Hermione in a small voice. She clutched her book bag tighter so he wouldn't see her quaking hands.
"Er, I was just wondering if - well, if what Platt said was true." Harry shifted his bag from his right shoulder to his left, restless. "With you daydreaming about, er, kissing me."
Hermione thought perhaps someone had set fire to her face. She coughed. "Uh, yeah, I sort of was, um, daydreaming about you."
"Ah," said Harry, dragging his feet as he walked. "Have you - have you, er, daydreamed…about me before?"
Hermione shook her head. "First time," she squeaked.
"Can I ask why you were daydreaming about me today, then?" A definite note of cockiness had found its way into Harry's voice. Hermione considered hitting him.
"I was bored today," Hermione said, willing her voice to be stronger. "I already knew everything about the snow-nymph, and I couldn't take any more notes. I tried to get an idea of what you were doing to pass the time, and I sort of, er, fell asleep. And I couldn't really help but daydream, because you were just sitting there, with the sun and the - the light, and you just looked so unbelievably gorgeous that I couldn't very well not think about you and -" She stopped, knowing she was babbling. Harry, she was delighted to see, had at least enough decency to be blushing again after this rant.
She sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I know I've embarrassed you."
"No, it's okay," said Harry, pulling on his shirt collar. "Like you said, you couldn't help it." A smirk tugged at his lips, and Hermione punched him.
"Cheeky prat," she said fondly. "I was probably just delirious."
"Oh, really?" Harry quirked an eyebrow. "You seemed to really being enjoying that
daydream."
"And how would you know that?" Hermione fell into the flirtatious banter with surprising ease.
"Well," Harry began, eyeing her with a smirk, "You have a nasty habit of talking in your sleep. Oh, Harry!" He raised his voice a whole octave in an attempt to sound like Hermione. "You're sooo hot. That feels sooo good."
She actually did hit him that time. "I did not say that, Harry," she told him. And, in a fit of uncharacteristic boldness, continued with, "But that doesn't mean I wasn't thinking it." Harry stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. Hermione relished in her audacity and tried not to look back at Harry's face.
"Merlin's beard, Hermione, you really were daydreaming about me, weren't you?" Harry sounded dumbfounded.
"Did you think I was lying?" asked Hermione, who was surprisingly rather calm about the whole thing.
He hurried to catch up with her. "Well, I guess I didn't ever consider that you might think about me that way."
Hermione stopped and turned around, furious. "Well, I guess I didn't ever consider that I might think about you that way either! I can't - I can't help it, Harry," she said, feeling lost. "I didn't want to fancy you."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. Hermione dug her fingernails into her palm so she wouldn't reach out to fix it. "I know that," he said. "But…it's just so weird."
"Way to make me feel special," Hermione said sarcastically, turning around to make a very dignified exit. Perhaps Harry would have a sudden burst of amnesia the following morning.
A hand on her bare forearm stopped her. A voice in her head chanted, He's touching me. He's touching me. He's touching me. She turned around to face him again, and those very green eyes were suddenly very close. Her breath caught in her chest.
Harry noticed and took a step back, releasing her arm. "Sorry," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
"`S okay," she mumbled in reply.
A few more moments passed in uncomfortable silence. "Look, Hermione," said Harry finally. "I wasn't trying to imply that I wouldn't feel that way about you, okay? Just that I hadn't. Not yet, anyways."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "Harry, if you just want to forget this whole thing, that's absolutely fine with me," she said. "I don't want to mess up what we have. I know we could never stop being friends, but I just don't want there to be any awkwardness."
Harry sighed and kneaded his shoulder with his left hand. "The fact is, Hermione," he began, and she was surprised to find him blushing. "I don't want us to forget about this. I kind of - well, I sort of like the idea of kissing you. I haven't gone so far as to daydream about it in class, but…it's a possibility." He smiled shyly at her, then ducked his head, peering at her through his bangs.
Hermione gaped. "You…you serious?" she said finally.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Pretty much. Is that bad?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "No. That's - that's actually really good."
"S'pose it is." Harry stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah," said Hermione, staring up at Harry in awe.
Silence.
Hermione wondered whether people were right when they talked about silence being so loud.
Apparently.
God, what do I do? thought Hermione, sounding frantic in her own mind. They'd just both admitted to fancying each other…sort of. Didn't that warrant hugging or smiling or something? As of now, they were just staring at each other.
The start of a spectacular relationship, she was sure.
After a few more agonizing moments, Hermione summoned all her physical strength and cracked a timid, close-lipped smile.
Harry grinned. Hermione grinned. He started laughing. She joined in, and soon he caught her up in a hug and spun her around.
"We're awful at this," he said, still grinning.
Hermione laughed again, and did something she'd been desperately trying not to do until that point.
She kissed him.
And decided it was a hell of a lot better than any daydream.
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Why does Hermione always get the devilishly handsome savior of the world? *cries* I'm stealing her Harry.
Meh, that bored me.
Hope you were slightly entertained.
Slightly.
~ Violet Kefira
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