Hermione Beamed

A/N: Hermione’s pov. This fic is set during the “Sectumsempra” chapter of HBP. Lots of fluff and drabble, but a slightly different take on the events that unfolded in JKR’s work. Please read and review!!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its subsidiaries.

HERMIONE BEAMED

He hastily clambered through the portrait hole, out of breath as his eyes wildly searched the bustling common room. An energetic redhead with brown eyes sparkling tossed her butterbeer aside and bounded to the other side of the room, curls of crimson bobbing in her wake. His eyes found hers and she squealed something inaudible, drowned out by the festive revelries surrounding her. Their lips swiftly met and time stood still, the entirety of the crowd watching in shock as Harry Potter kissed Ginny Weasley.

Wolf whistles and cat calls echoed throughout the tranquil room, deathly quiet after the events that had so hastily occurred. Harry slowly looked about the mob of caroused merrymakers, soaking in the faces of all the Gryffindors around him- their greedy eyes glued to the nervous wizard standing before them. His eyes locked on mine, just for an instant before turning to Ron, and he saw me doing the most unforgivable thing. I was simply beaming.

I disappeared into the crowd and promptly fled the scene, ignoring the sea of cheers and laughter all around me. All the air was deflated out of my lungs as I ran up a random flight of stairs. I didn’t even know what corridor I was in- I had rounded half a dozen different corners. Pieces of my perfect world began falling down around me, shards of broken memories shattering on the stony floor.

I reached a stained-glass window atop a flight of winding stairs and lodged myself on the frigid sill, wrapping my arms around my knees as tears stung the corners of my eyes. My frazzled hair was dangling all over the place, obscuring a great majority of my view- brown kinky tendrils that wouldn’t lie straight unless you squeezed an entire bottle of Myrtle’s Magic Curl Cream on them. But I didn’t care, nothing really mattered anymore.

How could Harry kiss Ginny? Ginny Weasley? Don’t get me wrong, I adore the girl, but I thought I had clearly steered her affections on to a different path. Ginny and I have been friends since my third year at Hogwarts; every summer at the Burrow when the boys excluded her from Quidditch she would always talk to me, and I was rather grateful considering I loathe the dreaded broom.

She would tell me all her secret crushes- mainly Harrry, but I worked on that- and I would comfort and console her, giving her false hope that if she dated other eligible bachelors, one day Harry would come around and see all that she had to offer. I was just being nice, I didn’t figure that would actually happen.

I did confide in Ginny to some extent, not anywhere near as much as she did with me. Merlin that witch can talk, but there is one crucial secret she doesn’t know- I’ve set my sights on Harry, as well.

So, of course I had to pretend to be beyond ecstatic when Ginny finally caught her prince. My prince, rather, but we’ll get to that later. I spotted Harry climbing through the entrance and watched in candid horror as she pranced up to her hero and planted one right on his mouth. I couldn’t tell you how long they stayed like that- I suppose my bowels could, but we won’t go there.

When the magic spell was finally broken- I probably shouldn’t use that phrase because there actually are such things as magic spells, but you get my play on words- Harry looked to see what my reaction was, along with Ginny beside him, and what else could I do? Pick my jaw up from the floor and poke my eyes back into my head? Hand Harry the bleeding heart I held in my fist, freshly stabbed with Ginny’s sword?

This really is all my fault, I mean, it all started with Ron and Lavender. Looking back I suppose it’s plausible to think my irritation with their relationship was due to jealousy, and it was so annoying having her see us alone all the time due to twenty-three separate counts of ‘wrong place, wrong time’ syndrome.

Yes, I was irritated with that pitiful excuse for a relationship, but jealousy was definitely not the cause. I have had the misfortune of living with Lavender Brown for more than five years, and if I didn’t know the exact amount of time I would have guessed at fifty. She and Parvati are the densest witches I have ever been forced to interact with, let alone sleep beside.

Every night’s a bloody sleepover, discussing who’s the dreamiest Quidditch player or how many calories are in a chocolate frog. I swear if I walk in there one more time and the smell of nail polish taints my nose I’m going to lose it. Honestly, how many different shades of pink are there? Did you know there are spells that can coat your nails for you?

Merlin’s beard, I need a drink. Oh, and how can I possibly forget their obsession with the brainless art of Divination? Everything’s a blooming ‘sign’ with them. Oh my gosh, Parvati, your pillow is facing east! That must mean you’re going to get shagged this weekend! Pathetic.

They follow Trelawney around like she’s some glittering god, their blinking eyes filled with wonder and their heads full of air. I know fifth year was a train wreck, but I do think the firing of ‘Always-Soused Sybill’ should have remained intact. I thought McGonagall was completely off her rocker for comforting the broad, I was waiting at the door with bejeweled bags in hand. I mean, the woman couldn’t ‘see’ her way out of a paper bag, let alone predict the ‘grave and horrible future.’ I’ll read your fortune, Trelawney, and it ends with you downing yourself in fifteen shots of firewhiskey.

It’s no wonder I spend more time in the boys’ dormitories than in my own. Now, don’t take that the wrong way, I’m not some harlot running around the northwest tower with my knickers ‘round my ankles, I’m not Lavender.

But, back to the situation impending, I suppose I didn’t realize Harry’s newfound love for Ginny due to my preoccupation with Ron, and his dismal excuse for a girlfriend. Every bleeding moment I stepped foot in our dormitory a flock of bleach blond hair would whip around the corner and start interrogating me about what he was like and if he ever talked about her and what he was doing and how tight were his trousers and it went on and on and on. I mean, honestly, why would I- Hermione Granger- ever look at a Weasley’s pants?

With the exception of Charlie, but that was just the one time and it was an accident. Sort of.

Anyway, I grew extremely tired from this and spent many icy winter evenings asleep in an armchair in the common room- though I did lock Crookshanks up in the dormitory and Lavender’s allergic to cats. I didn’t realize how good I had it until Lavender started becoming jealous of me. Now, I know there’s a lot to be jealous of- I won’t waste your time ticking off the finer points- but fictitiously dating Ron was not one that made the list.

Well, actually, I can see where she would think that. I realize now how extremely stupid I was, because I’m about to tell you something that will make you doubt my level of intelligence and acute sense of logic. I had devised a plan several years back to win Harry’s attention, quite similar to the advice that I gave Ginny, but as of about ten minutes ago it all blew up in my face.

You see, I knew Harry and I were destined to be together since he saved me from a women’s toilet. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Saved me from a troll in a women’s toilet. Isn’t that romantic? We were only eleven, well I was actually twelve, but it was puppy love that grew in to so much more. Was Ron even there? Oh, yes, he emerged from the loo with an armful of bogies. I remember.

Oh, how I pined for Harry every summer holiday, scheming of ways to capture his fiercely beating heart, and the best I could come up with was this: it became apparent to me that boys like girls more when they are flirtatious and unavailable. Every bloke wants what he can’t have, right? So, I may tend to, erm- flirt quite a bit with Ron when Harry’s around.

Yes, I know it’s stupid! It’s horrible to Ron and it’s not getting me anywhere. And it doesn’t help that every time I try to flirt with the bugger we always end up having some sort of monumental row. The lack of respect he has for house elves, it could kill me! It’s like he finds a new button he can push every time we strike up a conversation, and he finds it funny. He deserves what he got with ‘Fool-Around Brown’, he’ll get no sympathy from me.

This innocent scheme I had cooked up was definitely not going according to plan. Now that Lavender’s out of the picture Ron’s really starting to hint at fancying me and Harry’s just snogged Ginny in a common room full of drunken idiots. Before, I had hoped that the two would somehow fight over my affections, emerging themselves in a heated battle of dominance to gain my eternal love. Though, I don’t know what I would’ve done if Ron had won…oh, who am I kidding, Malfoy’s more likely to shag Crabbe on the Slytherin breakfast table. Or Goyle, your pick.

In the mean time, Ginny’s been telling me all her troubles with Michael and Dean and all the other lads that’ve had a go with the randy redhead. I’m not saying they’ve gone all the way, but what Molly doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’ve always liked Ginny, but she is a bit on the spoiled side. Being the youngest and the only girl in the Weasley clan does have its perks.

I just don’t see why he’s so interested. She’s followed him around like the plague for five years and kept every scrap of paper he’s ever written on. That’s just creepy! I swear I saw him toss a used tissue and she dug it out of the garbage. Third year, second week in January- I promise. One time she even showed me a pair of his knickers she stole when we were visiting at the Burrow. She stole his knickers. Granted, I couldn’t take my eyes off them, but still- who does that?

It’s not like she was with him when he was about to face Voldemort in the Mirror of Erised, or figured out it was a basilisk that was turning people into stone. She didn’t have her dainty arms around Harry’s waist when we were rescuing Sirius Black from a swarm of dementors, right after we shared an intimate conversation about our pasts. It wasn’t Ginny who was Harry’s prisoner at the bottom of the lake- it wasn’t me, either, but I was still down there; Krum could’ve saved Ron for all I cared if Harry would have given me mouth-to-mouth…

Ginny didn’t really start coming into the picture until last year- perhaps she devised a plan as well. Hers would work better than mine; after all, I’m the one that gave it to her. It was stupid of me to inattentively comment on her failing relationship with Dean, I should have noticed Harry was hanging on every word I said when I mentioned it. Why didn’t I see the signs?

Don’t tell me this is bad karma for the wrap I gave Trelawney, come on now, she deserved it.

So there you have it- that’s why I’m crouched on this freezing windowsill in Merlin knows where, blubbering like Neville after his gran sent him a howler. I really didn’t mean to go into the boy’s loo- I was talking over my shoulder to Harry and just pushed open a door, a few too many meters to the left, and walked in on Neville with his pants down, crying like a baby. I don’t think my eyes have ever been that wide, and I don’t think they ever will.

I would have to pick a stained window to stare out of, I can’t even see the squirrels commit suicide into the lake. I’ve counted the holes in my sneakers about eighty-seven times, the ones that the laces slide through. I’ve noticed one shoe is a tad bit dirtier than the other, which I find odd considering I use both feet about the same. I think.

My fingernails are all different lengths, which is charming. More bad karma for the polish remarks, I suppose. Well, if it was going to happen, it would happen today. I started absent-mindedly twisting a strand of hair around my finger when I heard footsteps coming from behind me. I jerked my head around to see who was there, and my heart instantly stopped beating. I swear it, I don’t know how I’m still alive.

“Harry?”

“I’ve been looking for you all over, what are you doing up here?”

“The view is nice,” I mentally smacked myself in the forehead and desired nothing more than the comforts of a nice abandoned hole.

“You would like a geometric perspective of things,” he said with a smirk, sitting down on the ledge beside me. He brought up his hand to the back of his neck, slowly rubbing the soft patch of skin underneath his jet-black hair.

“Well, this was the most logical place to come, then,” I said in a huff, turning my attention back to the ‘beautiful view.’

“If you’re so logical then why have you been flirting with Ron when it’s me that you’re after?”

What??? My mouth gaped open and my brown eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, closely rivaling the incident with Neville.

“You not going to answer me?”

“Oh, well, I…”

He scooted towards me on our tiny bench- I could feel his breath on my face, he was so close. He leaned in toward my blinking eyelashes, our noses nearly brushing, and swept past my blushing cheek, softly whispering in my ear, “I know your game, Granger, playing Ron to get me jealous. But I think I beat you at it…”

My eyes lit up like Christmas as realization suddenly dawned on me, like a brick had hit me square in the face. He grabbed my hands in his and traced circles on my fingers, gently working his way to my wrists.

Our eyes locked with blazing passion, fiery pools of bottle green immersed in chocolate brown. I felt the warmth of his lips on mine and pure bliss radiated from my heart, spreading from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He deepened the kiss and my hands found his hair, massaging the milky patch of skin his fingers touched mere moments before. I ran my palms through his darkened tresses, feeling the forbidden softness beneath my fingertips.

His hands had made their way to my sides, feeling every curve and muscle hidden beneath my muggle clothes. I would have given every galleon I’ve ever owned to be rid of them right now, and I’d spend every galleon in all of Gringott’s for his to do the same.

After several long moments- or it might have been half an hour- or possibly three sunlit days- we broke apart. We stared at one another in silence, breathless and shaking, not daring to turn away. And for the second time that day, this one far better than the first, I beamed.

A/N: Well, what did you think? This is how I imagined HBP turning out, imagine my surprise when it didn’t’ : 0 At any rate, hope you enjoyed it, please review!! : )