Quantum Leap

Anne U

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 10/12/2007
Last Updated: 10/12/2007
Status: completed

Harry wants to tell Hermione that he sees her as more than his best friend. When she comes over to help decorate his Christmas tree, things don’t go quite as he expects. Thanks to heather11483 for beta-reading. Written for A Pumpkin Christmas on Live Journal.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Quantum Leap by Anne U

Harry stared out at the snowy pavement from a window in the living room of his flat. It was a week before Christmas, and Hermione had promised to stop by that evening to help him decorate his Christmas tree. Although she often simply Floo’d into his flat, which had a direct connection to hers as well as Ron’s, she’d told Harry she planned to finish her Christmas shopping that afternoon before she came over, most likely at some Muggle department store, so she would probably Apparate from there to where he lived.

Come on, Hermione, hurry up, he thought, shoving his hand through his hair. Figuring she would be too tired to go out for a bite, he’d made a simple but hearty dinner – bacon and salad sandwiches, and curried pumpkin soup – which was staying warm in the oven. He could have cast a warming charm on the food but doing it this way meant the kitchen would be warm and cosy when she arrived.

For the first time he could remember, Harry wanted things to be just so when his best friend arrived – because for the first time in all the years he’d known her, he had started thinking of Hermione as more than just his best friend.

It had taken him a long time to realize that the way his stomach fluttered when she was around had nothing to do with indigestion. Granted, it did seem to happen when they shared a meal; whenever she reached across the table and laid her hand on his bare forearm, he felt something skitter down his esophagus, the sensation almost enough to make him giggle.

That’s when he knew something was different. He’d never giggled around Hermione before. He was 21 years old, for Merlin’s sake. He’d defeated the most evil wizard who’d ever lived with a well-timed Expelliarmus! So why, when his best friend looked at him or touched him lately, did his mouth go dry, his brain seeming to forget every spell he’d ever learned?

^*^*^*^

“’S easy,” Ron had said while sipping a firewhisky a few days earlier. Harry and Ron had a long-standing tradition of meeting for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron every Wednesday after work. Ron was living a few streets over from Harry, not far from Charing Cross Road, and working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. His face had a shrewd expression when Harry described the odd sensations he’d been having around Hermione lately.

“Really, Harry, how blind are you? You’re in love with her.”

Harry almost spat out his mouthful of Ogden’s. “Bloody hell, why’d you say that? She’s my best friend, Ron.”

“Been there, done that,” Ron said simply. “I know what it’s like to be in love with Hermione, in case you’d forgotten. Okay, it lasted only a year once we finally got together, but still, I know what you’re going through, mate, really. I’d offer my condolences but I ‘spect she’d hex me if she knew I’d said that.”

Harry looked over his glasses at his best mate. “So you’re telling me these swooping sensations I’m having when I’m around her…?”

Ron nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “Bugger, yes. You’re done for. ‘M glad that’s not my problem any more. I was sort of relieved when it ended two years ago. We finally had one row too many and she threw one of her Runes books at me. Who knew she still had the thing? Hurt like hell; I had a lump on my head for a week.”

Harry rolled his eyes; it was the first time he’d heard this particular story but none of it surprised him. “If Hermione threw something at you, she must have been pushed past her limit. Merlin knows she’s put up with a lot from you over the years.”

A sheepish grin crossed Ron’s face. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “’S why I should’ve known we’d never last. All that tension between us? It wasn’t sexual tension after all. It was just plain tension. We drove each other crazy. You know I love her, but we’re much better off as friends.”

“You’ve definitely seemed happier around each other since you broke up,” Harry agreed, starting to let himself consider Ron’s suggestion.

“Sort of like you’ve seemed happier since you and Ginny broke up.”

“Well, that’s different,” Harry countered. “Most of what I had with Ginny was—“ He stopped himself; Ginny was Ron’s only sister, and Harry was sure Ron didn’t want know hear the word <i>physical</i> in relation to her. “—was different from what you seemed to have with Hermione. We never really fought, for one thing. She pretty much always agreed with me. Always let me have my way.”

Ron suddenly shut his eyes, grimacing. “Too much information, Harry.”

“No, not like that!” Harry was flustered. “I meant, once we got together again after the war, she never challenged me. Everything I did was wonderful, even when I was a prat. It was like going out with a mirror that had been charmed to be agreeable.”

Ron had opened his eyes and was giving Harry another shrewd look.

“There was nothing wrong with Ginny, really,” Harry went on. “She’s pretty and fun and charming. It just never felt totally right. It felt like something from someone else’s life, like I’d won a prize in the lottery.”

“So if I’m hearing you right,” Ron said slowly, “you felt like what you had with Ginny wasn’t quite real?”

Harry shrugged. “Oh, it was real enough.” He still remembered the feeling of Ginny’s lips on his… well, he wasn’t going to tell any of that to Ron. “But it was a teenage romance, you know? A school thing. I finally realized it wasn’t what I really needed or wanted.”

The waitress stopped by their table, bringing Ron and Harry new glasses of firewhisky. As he blew the smoke off his glass, Ron was silent a moment, studying Harry’s face, then gave a wry grin. “And now, if you’re not a complete fool, you should’ve figured out who you really want and need.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed several times like a fish out of water. When it finally stopped flapping, he said simply, “Yeah. Hermione.” Putting his face in his hands, he moaned. “I’m doomed.” The next thing he knew, Ron had slapped the side of his head.

“You’re not doomed,” said Ron emphatically. “You’re a huge berk, but you’re not doomed. You just have to tell her how you feel.”

“Right, and ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had. With a girl, I mean.”

“You might be surprised. Maybe she feels the same way.”

Harry looked at Ron over his glasses again. “What? Did she tell you something?”

Ron smirked. “No, not in so many words. But whenever I see her, she seems to sound different when she talks about you. Sort of dreamy.” He sighed dramatically, and Harry just managed not to slap him on the side of the head.

Harry’s insides felt like jelly. “Okay. She’s coming over Saturday evening after she does some Christmas shopping. She’s going to help me decorate my Christmas tree.”

“Well, there you go. A perfect opportunity, if you ask me. You, Hermione, a Christmas tree… and mistletoe. Gotta have mistletoe if you’re going to tell her something that big.”

Harry pursed his lips in thought. Now he was over the shock of recognising his own feelings, he decided Ron’s idea had a lot of merit. When Hermione came to his flat on Saturday, she would find a Christmas tree, a cosy fire, a good meal and – surprise – some mistletoe.

“Just hope it’s not full of nargles,” he mumbled.

^*^*^*^

The curried pumpkin soup smelled really delicious, Harry thought as he glanced out the living room window again. It was at least – he looked at his watch – three minutes since the last time he’d looked, hoping to see Hermione walking up to the front door of the semi-detached house he’d called home the past two years.

Smoothing the front of his green jumper, he paced the living room, trying to calm his nerves. Pacing didn’t really help, but on his fifth pass toward the street he caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair peeking from beneath a deep red knitted hat, and cold-pinked cheeks peeking above a red and gold striped scarf. Half a minute later, a firm knock sounded on the front door. Harry took a deep breath before he went to open it.

“Hullo, Harry,” Hermione said as she stepped inside the house and stood up taller to kiss his cheek.

“’Lo, Hermione,” he said, returning the kiss lightly as he worried about his lips perhaps lingering too long. He was suddenly aware of details of her face he’d never appreciated before. There were freckles on her cheeks, little ones spaced far apart, and her eyelashes were darker and longer than he remembered. And her lips – when had they become as luscious as a ripe peach?

He swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t get dizzy.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked, shrugging out of her woolen coat. “You look a bit peaked. You’ve not been working too hard, I hope.”

He plastered a smile on his face as quickly as he could. “No, I’m fine, really.” He took her coat and hung it on a peg in the foyer as Hermione moved ahead of him into the living room. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve made soup and sandwiches.”

Hermione’s nose tipped up as she sniffed the aroma of the warming food. “I’m famished. You’ve no idea how hungry shopping makes me. Could we eat first and trim the tree later?”

“That’s just what I was thinking.” It was amazing how often she could read his mind.

Leading the way to the kitchen, Harry took the food from the oven as Hermione seated herself at the small kitchen table. Usually he thought the table was cosy, but this evening it seemed almost claustrophobically small. There was barely enough room for plates and glasses and cutlery for two people on the table top. Once he and Hermione sat down, he’d have a hard time not bumping her knee, nudging her foot or . . .

Bugger, he’d just have a hard time, period.

“What’s the soup?” she asked. “It smells fantastic.”

“Curried pumpkin,” he said, ladling out two bowls and levitating them gently toward the table. He seemed to have better control of them using magic, and he was terrified that he would spill one of them down the front of Hermione’s jumper. “With bacon and salad sandwiches. Would you like some hot cider to drink, or a butterbeer?”

“Cider would be lovely, thank you.”

Harry poured two mugs of apple cider, then set a warming charm on them as he handed one to Hermione and kept the other for himself. “Well, I reckon we can tuck in now.”

Hermione sipped a spoonful of soup, brows knitted as she seemed to ponder the flavour. “This is wonderful, Harry,” she said finally, and he let out a little sigh of relief.

“Good. I’m glad you like it. I wanted---“ He caught himself before he could muck things up by saying he wanted everything to be perfect tonight. “I wanted to make something tasty that would stick to your ribs. You know, a good winter meal. Think I’ll have some too.”

He finally sat down, his knee accidentally bumping hers under the table. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be – I mean, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Erm, I could expand the table if you’d like. With a charm.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s fine.”

Despite being indoors for at least a quarter-hour, her face was still pink and she didn’t seem the least fussed about the tiny kitchen table.

“So, how was your Christmas shopping?” he asked as he began eating his soup.

Hermione appeared a bit shocked that he’d asked her about it but quickly launched into a detailed description of her afternoon. She’d gone to Debenham’s and bought some very nice, warm dressing gowns for both her parents. She also purchased a knit hat and scarf set for Ginny, a large box of treacle fudge for Mr and Mrs Weasley, earrings shaped like pineapples for Luna, a book on Indigenous Plants of Scotland for Neville – and a year’s subscription to Playwizard magazine for Ron.

“You bought him what?” Harry’s jaw dropped almost into his bowl of soup.

Hermione looked smug. “I already knew that he…reads it sometimes. This way he doesn’t have to continue to embarrass himself by stopping in Diagon Alley to buy it.”

“That was very…thoughtful of you,” said Harry, trying not to sound astonished. Though he’d known her ten years and had spent several months sharing a tent with her and Ron four years ago, Hermione still surprised him now and then. There was no lecture on how the magazine ‘objectified witches’, something she’d said years ago the first time she saw a copy. She’d simply bought something she thought Ron would enjoy. “So what’d you buy me?”

She’d just finished her soup. Setting her spoon down, she cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, but not tonight. I thought we’d exchange gifts along with everyone else at the Burrow before Christmas dinner.”

“Oh…right.” He’d made a rather foolish assumption, he realised; just because he was alone with Hermione now and champing at the bit to tell her how he felt didn’t mean she felt the same way or would want to exchange gifts privately.

Her expression changed, and he wished he knew what was going through her mind at that moment. Probably thinking I’m a bit mental. Wondering only made him more nervous so he pushed it from his mind.

“The sandwiches should be toasty now. I’ll get them from the oven.” Putting on a pair of oven mitts, he retrieved the sandwiches and brought them to the table. “Hope they’re not soggy.”

Hermione took a bite and shook her head. “No, it’s very good, really.” He sat down and she patted his hand. “Thank you for having something warm and tasty ready when I got here.”

She’d patted his hand hundreds of times over the years but this time her touch sent little tingles through his skin. Instead of pulling back so he wouldn’t accidentally reveal anything, he put his other hand over hers and squeezed it lightly. Hermione said nothing, only looking at him again in that same strange way.

“Better eat up,” he said quickly, looking away. “There’s still a tree waiting to be trimmed.”

They ate their sandwiches in relative silence, Hermione asking Harry how work was going, Harry replying in short, unrevealing sentences. When both were finished eating, Harry sent the dirty dishes floating into a sink full of soapy water and set them washing with a charm.

“Well…”

His throat was suddenly dry. Stupid throat. “Back to the living room, I guess.”

With a gracious smile Hermione got up from the table and moved toward the living room, where Harry had set up a four-foot-tall, fresh Norway spruce tree on a table in one corner.

“I should have said something when I came in,” she said, examining the tree carefully. “It may be small but it also seems to be perfect, not just for this room but… really, a perfect specimen. Bravo, Harry. Nicely done.”

Hermione’s compliment drove Harry’s nervousness away, at least for a moment. “Thanks. I found it at a home improvement store in Greenwich. They were selling smaller trees like this for 20 pounds in the car park, and I couldn’t resist.”

“Greenwich? How’d you get it from there to here?”

“Shrank it, of course.” The running gag was hard to resist as well. “Am I a wizard, or not?”

Laughing, Hermione patted his shoulder. “Yes, and a rather good one. So you shrank it and brought it home in your coat pocket, and here we are getting ready to decorate it. But where are your decorations?”

“In a box in that corner behind the sofa. If you don’t mind getting them I’ll get the lights from the hall closet.”

When Harry returned carrying a long string of tiny, multi-coloured lights, he found Hermione sitting on the sofa again, examining some of the ornaments which she had laid out on the coffee table.

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “I bought most of them in Diagon Alley last year. But I found the gold- and silver-plated ones in my vault in Gringotts. I reckon my dad’s parents gave them to him and he never used them. There were a lot more but I just took a few of them, mostly the ones with people’s names engraved on them. See, that one was my dad’s when he was a baby.”

Hermione picked up the silver cradle ornament. “Baby’s first Christmas, 1960,” she read from one side, and from the other, simply, “James.” A look of incredible tenderness crossed her face and Harry found himself completely choked up, biting his lip to keep a tear from falling down his cheek.

At that moment she looked up at him. Suddenly she hurled herself up from the sofa and flung her arms around his waist. Still dumbstruck, Harry clung to her, his arms going round her shoulders as he blinked back tears against her hair.

“Oh, Harry! I’m sorry,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I shouldn’t even have asked about it. I didn’t know it would upset you.”

“Didn’t know it would either,” he mumbled, gently stroking her hair. “Never did before. Just… the way you looked at it. Sorry.”

Pulling back slightly, he looked at her face. Her eyes were almost as moist as his and her lower lip was trembling. Unconsciously he brushed his thumb across her cheek, smoothing away a tear, and Hermione’s eyes went wide.

“You’ve never done that before either,” she said quietly, her eyes searching his.

”What? The…oh.”

Harry suddenly realised she was right. He’d never done that before, never held her so close he could wipe away a tear, despite all the times she’d been near him crying over the past ten years. Why hadn’t he done that in the tent after Ron left? He could have comforted her then when she needed it. Instead, he’d let her sit by herself crying for more days than he could count.

I was an idiot….

It took him a second to realise that she was still in his arms, standing so close he could almost feel her heart beat, her eyes still glistening – and the look she’d given the ornament was still there, only now she was directing it at him.

Suddenly his heart was pounding. Was this the moment? He’d forgot to hang some mistletoe. The tree was still bare, the string of lights dangling from one of his hands. Hermione was so close; her own hands remained on his waist, warm and soft, and in the next second his free hand was on her cheek, tipping her face up.

And her eyes were closed.

It was completely different than the first time he’d kissed Ginny. She’d come running at him across the common room, and he’d leaned in and kissed her full on the lips and she’d kept her eyes open as though she was afraid it wasn’t real if she didn’t watch.

But this – this was soft and gentle and private, just Harry and Hermione alone in his living room. Her lips were smooth and warm against his and she didn’t merely allow him to kiss her. She returned the kiss, her face straining to meet his, and he tilted his head to get a better angle.

When they finally pulled apart, it didn’t feel as though hours or days had passed, nor did it feel like he’d awoken from a dream. But Harry did feel as though he’d stepped over a threshold, maybe even made a quantum leap.

Hermione, for her part, looked like the cat who’d eaten the canary.

Harry stood there, slightly gobsmacked, the string of Christmas lights trailing from one hand.

“Harry?”

“Erm, yes?”

Hermione put a hand on his jumper, pulling him toward her. “Put the lights down and kiss me again.”

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