Cliché

CLICHÉ

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter and any of the elements of J K Rowling’s world.

Summary: Harry lives hard moments after the war, and Hermione is the only one who really notices. It was time to make those beautiful green eyes spark again. And she would be the one to do it.

Hermione was sitting on the window seat of their headquarters bedroom, where they had been living for the past few months since the new school year began. It had only been less than a month since Harry had finally vanquished his enemy. That month had been, according to the hero, the best month of his life. He had got rid of a dangerous man who had threatened, not only his own life, but his friends’ as well.

Hermione had never seen him so happy, so open to everybody, with no fears of showing his emotions. Such was his determination of demonstrating to everybody that he was OK, that he spent more time with his friends, enjoying life.

However, Hermione had seen something really different in Harry. His eyes, those emerald green eyes that could make her melt in the spot, weren’t sparkling as they did before. Hermione knew then that there was something very important missing in Harry’s life.

She couldn’t help the hot rush of disappointment that ran through her body: her Harry, even after so many years of fighting for his life, couldn’t have a complete existence.

Those were the thoughts that Hermione’s mind was processing that cold night in the middle of December, a week before the Christmas holidays began.

Hermione came up with the idea that, if she could discover what was missing in his life, she would be the perfect person to help him get it, whatever it was. She was writing a large list of the things that Harry could be wanting, such as a new broom (he had lost his precious Firebolt, completely destroyed in a Quidditch match against Slytherin at the beginning of the term), or maybe some kind of book (about Defence Against the Dark Arts, perhaps, or about Transfiguration, since ha was so adamant to discover everything related to Animagi), or, and that idea made Hermione’s guts churn with dread, a girlfriend.

Ginny and Harry hadn’t got together after Voldemort’s demise, which had surprised everyone. Ginny didn’t hide the fact that she was still crushing over Harry, but he hadn’t showed any hint that he still felt something for her. Ron had been trying to get them together again, but his plan had backfired: he made them sit together at meals, he talked about her with Harry every time he could, he tried to make him jealous by commenting that Dean had said that he wanted to be with Ginny again... but, in the end, Harry didn’t even acknowledge what Ron had been doing, and if he did, he completely ignored it.

Hermione couldn’t really recall the precise moment she fell in love with her best friend, who happened to be the Boy-Who-Saved, the Boy-Who-Vanquished, the Boy-Who-Triumphed, the Boy-Who-... and so many more silly nicknames that Hermione couldn’t remember all of them. But she knew something. And that was that, for her, he was ‘just Harry’.

She could remember the day she realised her feelings for him. The two of them had sneaked at night to walk for a while. They arrived at the lake, where they sat down on the grass. They hadn’t exchanged a word in their short stroll, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Hermione was so engrossed in the sky, which was full of stars and big clouds, that she didn’t notice that Harry was eyeing her quite intently. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned her head to look at him, and saw a small smile on his lips.

And just like that, Hermione knew that she was in love.

The way back to the castle had been in complete silence as well, and once they entered their headquarters common room, they went their separate ways to their bedrooms.

That night Harry disappeared leaving only a note to her, which read: ‘I’ll come back’.

A week later, Harry returned just like he left: at night and silently.

That had happened a month ago, and she still had trouble sleeping, many thoughts nagging her in the middle of the night, hoping that Harry would be at breakfast the next morning, with his wide smile but with his sad eyes.

“What are you doing awake so late at night, Mione?” Her thoughts and memories were interrupted by his voice, husky from sleep. “I thought you have an exam tomorrow. Don’t you want to rest a little? You’ll be tired, and then you won’t do your best... and I know how much you hate that...” Harry finished with a huge yawn. He was so handsome with his pyjamas, thought Hermione. So peaceful, with no worries...

Hermione replied with a chuckle. She gazed at him, looking for his eyes, and they didn’t seem as sad as they had been lately.

“You know me too much, Harry,” said Hermione with a small smile adorning her face.

“Of course I do. You are my best friend.”

As cliché as it may sound, Hermione’s smile dropped when she registered that last comment. Best friend... Of course she was his best friend. She had been by his side every step of the way, overcoming all sort of difficulties, living the most exciting and dangerous adventures, arguing about what was the best things to do in a specific situation, understanding and comforting each other when they were in their lowest moments...

But that wasn’t enough for her anymore. She wanted more. She wanted the entire package. She wanted deep kisses under the moonlight, she wanted walks through the forest with their fingers entwined, she wanted chilly evenings spent in front of the fire while reading a book, and a blanket covering them. She wanted the passion that only a lover could give: the union of their bodies, of their minds and their souls, being lost in the slow dance of their love... She wanted a tearful proposal and a ring, a wedding in a summer night and a family of their own.

Coming out of her reverie, Hermione gasped when she saw how close Harry was. He had approached her, walking the few meters that separated them, until he was in front of her, looking at her as she had grown another head.

“I have called you four times, Mione. What’s it? Do you have a problem, sweets?”

Another thing: Harry had started calling her ‘sweets’ at the beginning of the year. He didn’t mind if everybody knew what he called her. After three months of addressing her as ‘sweets’, everybody knew that ‘sweets’ meant ‘Hermione’. It had been rather strange, at first, when Harry started calling her like that. It didn’t matter if they were in class, or having a heated discussion in the middle if the Gryffindor common room with Ron, or an intimate talk in the solitude of their quarters, just like the one they were having now.

“Yes, I have a problem,” Hermione said. It had been a whisper, but she had uttered those five words in an annoyed way, which she regretted once it was too late to take it back. “I’m sorry. It’s just that...” she sighed. And lost it. “Merlin, Harry... I don’t know what to do anymore!” Hermione hoped to not sound so desperate, but her tears betrayed her. Trying to conceal them, she bowed her head to clear her mind. With a much calmer voice, she went on: “I am worried about you, Harry,” she said softly.

“Me?” asked Harry, bewildered. “You shouldn’t be, sweets, I am perfectly fine...” he tried to reassure her with his sweetest voice.

“No, you aren’t, Harry, so don’t lie to me, please...”

Harry sighed. Women!

“Why do you think that I am not OK?” he questioned.

“Because you obviously aren’t.”

“Oh, really, how do you know?” he snapped.

“Because when I look at you, I don’t see you anymore, Harry. I see ‘you’, yes, of course, but you are not really OK. It’s all a façade. You are trying to make us all believe that what has happened hasn’t affected you. You might have deceived... the whole Wizarding world, Harry, but you could never deceive me...” She took a long breath before continuing: “Why are you lying to me? Why?” she sobbed. “Don’t you... don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you, Hermione, always. How could you think otherwise?”

“Then tell me what’s wrong!!” she yelled.

“There’s nothing wrong” he yelled back.

“Yes, it is... And if you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to help you?”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” was Harry’s bitter reply.

“No, you can’t. Not like this. You need me. You need me as much as I need you, Harry!!”

“I don’t”

“Yes, you do!”

“And you don’t need me!”

“Yes, Harry, I NEED YOU!”

“WHY would you?”

“Because I love you!” she shouted angrily, tears spilling down her rosy cheeks.

Hermione shut up immediately, shedding tears without noticing them. That wasn’t what she had wanted to tell him. But she had, and she wasn’t going to take it back. She was a Gryffindor, after all.

“I love you...” she repeated, this time softly. She hid her face under her bushy hair, keeping her in the shadows.

It seemed an eternity, but it had only been half a minute when Harry finally spoke:

“Look at me, sweets, look at me, please...”

Hermione raised her head, and her eyes connected instantly with his. Harry’s eyes were twinkling as they never had before.

He smiled, and Hermione thought that that smile was the most beautiful ever.

And grinning like a mad man, he confessed, too.

“I love you too, my sweets...”

Harry, then, possessed Hermione’s mouth with his, as if she belonged to him.

And the funny thing was that she certainly did.

How cliché!

Author’s note: I wrote this story on June, 2006, a year ago. It was like my second attempt to writing fanfiction, and I wanted to try things, you know, as every new writer does. I know it isn’t that good, but I wanted to give it a chance. I hope you like it. And I know that you could think it is a bit OOC. However, thanks for taking your time with this!

I have edited it! I hadn’t noticed some mistakes, and I have corrected them. In case you find something wrong, please tell me! Thanks.

Review, and tell me what you think,

Sakura_txell