Blame the Light

Yo. Wuz crackilackin in the hizow? Hmm. I've used that before. Note to self: find new witty author's note greetings.

Anyways, hello! New story! Aren't you all proud? I'm not. It's stupid. No, not really. But it's really not that great. It's…ish. Very ish.

READ!

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Harry, Hermione decided, was quite possibly the best looking boy she had ever laid eyes on.

This realization had struck her rather unexpectedly in the very middle of a particularly uninteresting Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Elena Platt, their substitute teacher, was droning on and on about some barely dangerous creature indigenous to Antarctica (because seventh year Gryffindors always spend Christmas holidays in Antarctica) she'd thoroughly studied in second year, and she had found herself incapable of taking any more notes.

She was at a loss for what to do. She'd never been unable to glean something from a lesson before. Hermione Granger always learned something new and thrilling in class. It was people like Parvati or Neville who passed time away in class by…what exactly did they do in class?

Casually, she glanced at Parvati, hoping to get an idea for something to entertain herself, but she was only doodling something (something that looked suspiciously like the name Seamus) over and over again on her parchment. Hermione next tried her luck with Neville, but he was just absently petting his mimbulus membletonia as he stared out the window.

Finally, she'd settled on Harry as a means for example. She'd taken a sideways glance to see just what he was up to, and -

Bam.

Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor.

It turned out to be one of those “the light striking his features just right” moments. His eyes were so soft, and his tanned skin was practically glowing in the sun seeping through the windows. What god had he saved from imminent doom to be blessed with a face like that?

On the whole, it was bloody ridiculous. She'd always known he was attractive. What kind of female would she have been if she hadn't? And what with seven girls a day practically throwing themselves upon him, she'd be awfully hard-put not to realize that he was an absolute catch.

Unbidden (but not unwelcome) thoughts started to slowly creep through her mind. Thoughts of his eyes, his hair, his lips danced around her head ceaselessly, no matter how she tried to get rid of them. Kissing Harry seemed suddenly the most wonderful of ideas.

But then she realized that this was Harry. Her friend. Her bloody best friend. Practically her brother. Granted, she considered, one does not usually have sudden and irresistible desires to snog one's brother senseless, so perhaps saying Harry was her brother was not a logical conclusion.

Blast, she thought, defeated, and rested her head on her hand. She supposed this meant she fancied Harry. Oh, but wasn't that wonderful? He'd only just broken up with Ginny two months ago. How would it look to their friends and family, if she suddenly showed interest in this boy she really wasn't supposed to think of as anything more than a sort of surrogate brother?

Slyly, Hermione cast another glance in Harry's direction. This time, he caught her eyes and smiled. A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach, and her fingers grabbed frantically at the edge of the desk. Amused at this unusual behavior, Harry grinned at her, then turned back to Platt.

Frustrated, Hermione let her head fall forward on to her crossed arms, sighing. How did he have such an unsettling effect on her? He was a seventeen-year-old boy, for goodness sake. He really shouldn't have been allowed the power to send a girl to her knees with a smile. Perhaps he'd saved two gods from imminent doom.

Hermione found herself falling into a sort of stupor, letting Platt's soft, monotone voice glide over her like water over a smooth rock. Her eyes fluttered slowly closed, and she breathed deeply, willing herself to stop thinking about Harry.

“Hello, Hermione,” said a husky voice behind her. Surprised, Hermione lifted her head from her arms. Who would be stupid enough to speak to her in the middle of a class?

“You look particularly ravishing this morning,” said the voice, and Hermione whipped around, startled. Harry was standing behind her seat, hair tousled, school jumper discarded in favor of a rather fetching button-up shirt.

“Erm, thank you?” Hermione squeaked, uncertain. She glanced beside her at the empty seat she'd thought Harry was in.

“You're welcome,” said Harry, still in that extremely attractive voice she was sure she'd never heard him use before. He took a step closer and placed both his hands on her hips. “Have I ever told you how stunningly beautiful you are?”

Hermione blushed. “Haven't mentioned it lately,” she said, stumbling over her words, wide eyes glued to Harry's. She was feeling a mixture of excitement, happiness, and what appeared to be paralyzing terror, and didn't quite know what to do with herself.

He smirked. “To be completely honest, I've had this irresistible urge to snog you senseless lately,” he said, and Hermione found herself at a complete loss for words.

Unexpectedly, Harry pulled her closer to him, until he was mere inches away from her. She felt dizzy and confused. “I love you, Hermione,” he whispered, then captured her lips with his own rather forcefully.

Hermione's eyes closed, and, involuntarily, her arms wound around Harry, pulling him closer. What was Harry thinking, doing something like this in the middle of class? Granted, Hermione wasn't really inclined to object, as Harry's lips did feel rather spectacular. But it didn't really seem proper to be going about the task of being snogged senseless in front of the whole of seventh year Gryffindor, not to mention a teacher.

Come to think of it, though, there didn't really seem to be anyone in the room at the time. Maybe she'd fallen asleep at some point, and they'd all gone on to their next class, leaving just her and Harry. Except, then someone surely would have - Harry then did something exceedingly clever with his tongue, and she was separated from all further logical thought.

Much to Hermione's dismay, Harry pulled away soon after, a mischevious look in his eye. She smiled shyly at him. Harry smirked, then said, “Miss Granger?”

Hermione giggled. “Yes, Mister Potter?” she said, blushing.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Miss Granger, are you paying attention?”

Hermione's raised an eyebrow of her own. “What?”

“Are you paying attention?” Harry asked again, looking suddenly stern.

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. “Harry, what on earth are you on about?”

“Miss Granger, please pay attention.” Suddenly, Hermione's mind cleared, and she realized Professor Platt was speaking to her.

She lifted her head from her arms and stared blearily up at the teacher, who was glaring down on her. “Wha -”

“You would do well to remember not to daydream in my class, Miss Granger,” said Platt, looking disdainful. “I wouldn't have expected this from you.”

With a sudden sinking feeling, Hermione realized it had all been a dream. The voice, the kiss, everything. She glanced sideways at Harry and found him to be surveying her with some concern and confusion. The vivid memory of what exactly he'd done to her in her daydream caused her to blush scarlet.

She coughed uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, Professor Platt,” she said. “I didn't mean to disrespect you.”

Platt pursed her thin lips. “Nevertheless,” he said, “I fear I will have to give you a detention.”

“Oh, but, Professor -”

“I will hear no protests,” said Platt firmly. “You will report to my office this evening at seven o'clock for detention.”

“Professor, that's not really fair,” began Harry, looking angry. “Hermione's never done anything like this before.” Hermione's heart soared at his words, and she resisted the devilish urge to jump him yet again.

Platt surveyed Harry with distaste. “I assure you it is quite fair, Mister Potter,” she said. “And I would recommend that you not question my judgment on such matters again.” She turned from him, and began to glide back to the front of the classroom.

Harry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking murderous. “Bloody sadist,” he muttered darkly.

Professor Platt stopped immediately. “You will join Miss Granger for detention tonight at seven, Mister Potter,” she said. Harry's jaw dropped, and Hermione felt terrible. She'd just gotten Harry yet another detention on his school record. And then another thought struck her.

Detention with Harry at seven in Platt's office.

Detention with Harry alone in Platt's office.

After she'd just had a dream about snogging Harry while alone in what could plausibly be thought of as Platt's office.

Oh, bugger.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

The remainder of Hermione's afternoon was spent in an attempt to be precisely where Harry wasn't. This endeavor, seeing as how she was Harry's best friend and was expected to spend a reasonable amount of time with him each day, failed spectacularly.

First, Hermione had, of course, retired to the Common Room to study and try to take her mind off - ahem - things. Harry, though, had randomly decided to be social, and had followed her, throwing down his things at her table. Ron soon joined them, and Harry was caught up in a very animated Quidditch discussion, culminating in a fierce wrestling match in which Harry found it necessary to rid himself of his shirt.

Needless to say, Hermione found the Common Room entirely unhelpful.

Next, Hermione's noble mission led her to the Library, where she was sure no boy would follow her. After a few moments of blissful essay-writing, a loud crash was heard somewhere to her right. Before Madame Pince had time to kick him out, Harry dashed around the corner, lugging behind him a half empty book cart, presumably what had caused the crash.

“Hide me!” Harry gasped as he drew nearer, and she ushered him in under her table. During Hermione's questioning by Madame Pince as to any information she might have on the description of the loathsome criminal, she found herself very hard put to form coherent answers, as Harry traced absentminded lines up and down her be-stocking-ed calf.

Hermione was quick to realize that the Library had done a marvelous job of failing her.

In a last, feeble attempt at keeping away from Harry until, at the very least, 6:55, Hermione climbed the many steps to the Astronomy Tower. Looking out over the glorious view helped to calm her jittery nerves. Until, of course, the unmistakable footsteps of one, Harry Potter, could be heard on the landing.

“'Lo, Hermione,” he said jovially, leaning against the battlements beside her.

“Hi, Harry,” she replied, her throat dry. He was entirely too close. Two feet away was entirely too close.

“Thanks for the help in the Library today,” he said, cracking a grin. “You really saved my bum.”

“No problem,” Hermione said, trying very hard not to think about Harry's saved bum.

There was a tense silence between them for a little while, in which Hermione shifted uncomfortably from left to right foot. “Beautiful day,” she said, finally.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “The prettiest thing I think I've ever seen.” Hermione chanced a sly glance to the side, and was disappointed to see that Harry had not fulfilled his obligatory Hollywood role by staring significantly at her as he said this.

“Have the time?” she asked after a few more silent moments.

Harry shook back the sleeve of his black robe (which, unsurprisingly, Hermione thought was quite a let down after his shirtless-ness of the earlier afternoon) and checked the time on his watch. “Six forty-five,” he said. “Think we should head on down to Platt's office?”

“Sure,” said Hermione. As they walked down the steps side by side, she realized that she had just had an entire conversation with Harry, and hadn't even jumped him once. Her self-control was definitely improving.

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*sigh* I'm so boring. And so unoriginal. Daydreaming in class? How cliché can you get! Ugh.

Shoot me.

Please.

~ Violet Kefira

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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.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

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.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

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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