Flowers in the Moonlight

cuteybearkel

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 15/02/2010
Last Updated: 15/02/2010
Status: completed

A Hogwarts Valentine's Day tradition has Hermione feeling a little down about herself. Harry finds her sitting alone in a secluded spot and does his best to comfort her, with unexpectedly delightful results. Funny what a little moonlight can do.

Chapters

1. Flowers in the Moonlight

1. Flowers in the Moonlight

A/N: Hello, everybody! I know it’s been an eternity since I’ve updated anything on Portkey, but I assure you all that there IS something in progress. However, I am withholding any part of this new work until the whole thing is done in order to avoid another “Pretend” situation, where a few chapters get posted and then I run out of steam.

Luckily, the plot bunnies hopped their way into my poor, writer’s-blocked head and left me with this little idea for a Valentine’s Day one-shot. It was just finished today, so please excuse the late posting ;) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is mine only in my wildest dreams. Otherwise, he is the property of J. K. Rowling.

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Valentine’s Day was a good day for some people. Some people woke up knowing that at least one person would take the time to shower them with affection at some point during the day. Some people put their everyday tasks aside so that they could spend a little time with the one they cared about the most.

Some people were very lucky.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table in Hogwarts’ Great Hall, Hermione Granger pondered her bad luck while poking at her dinner. Spearing a small piece of pot roast and using it to aimlessly push a bit of apple sauce around, she focused her gaze on her plate and her plate alone, simply to spare her feelings. If she looked up, she knew, she would have to lay eyes on the almost accusing sea of red roses surrounding her.

The rose-wearing trend had become popular after the Yule Ball two years earlier, when most of her classmates had finally felt mature enough to venture into the unchartered territory of relationships with the opposite sex. Every Valentine’s Day, the girls were expected to attach a rose to their school jumpers, just above the Hogwarts crest. A red rose meant that a girl was seeing someone, and white meant that she wasn’t. The idea had originally been confined to the students in Hermione’s year, but it had now spread throughout the school (though it was still only really popular among the fourth- to seventh-years), and just about every female student over the age of fourteen now sported a rose on her chest for Valentine’s Day.

Always a good sport, Hermione had never failed to take part, but that didn’t mean that she felt any better about the white rose above her heart. It had been a relief to wear one after the Ball, as it had effectively convinced the student body—one redheaded member in particular—that she and Viktor Krum were not going out, which was what she had been trying to tell everyone for ages. Now, however, it was nothing but a yearly reminder of her loneliness.

With a soft sigh, she pushed her dinner away and stood.

“Where’re gon, Huminee?” Ron managed around a bulging mouthful of food. Harry gave him an amused glance and turned to face Hermione.

“I think that translates to, ‘Where are you going, Hermione?’” he said.

“Yuh,” said Ron, nodding.

Hermione forced a smile. “Library.”

“But you haven’t…” said Harry, inclining his head towards the untouched slices of pot roast still on her plate.

“Guess I’m just not very hungry,” she said quietly, still forcing a slight curving of her lips. “I’ll see you two in the common room,” she added as she turned and headed out of the Great Hall.

Harry watched her go, frowning a little.

“Does she seem upset to you?” he asked Ron.

“Unno,” Ron mumbled. He swallowed. “Doesn’t Hermione always go to the library?”

“Well, yeah, but she usually remembers to eat something first,” Harry said with a concerned glance at Hermione’s unfinished dinner.

Ron, who had shovelled too much food into his mouth again, held up a finger to ask Harry to wait a minute. Before the minute was up, however, Lavender Brown appeared next to him on the bench.

“So, what’s the matter with Hermione?” she asked in her usual direct way as she plunked herself down. “She doesn’t usually walk out in the middle of dinner.”

Seeing that Ron still couldn’t answer anyone (and knowing that he probably wouldn’t want to answer Lavender even if he could), Harry replied, “We don’t know. She seems a little upset.”

“Hmm, probably sad about wearing one of these for the third year in a row,” Lavender replied thoughtfully, gesturing to the white flower attached to her jumper. It was her first time wearing a white one; she had usually managed to sink her claws into her true love of the school year by February. “Poor thing; we all know what it’s like to wish that special someone would pay a little more attention…” she added, purposely shifting a bit closer to Ron. She’d had her heart set on him since September and was probably a little annoyed by his refusal to give in to her blatant flirtatiousness.

Ron swallowed with some difficulty and moved away from Lavender. “Er… I don’t think Hermione’s really bothered by that stuff.”

“Nonsense,” Lavender replied, closing the distance between herself and Ron again. They had both scooted about a foot away from Harry and there wasn’t much more empty space on the bench. Ron would be trapped soon. “Everybody wants to feel cared about for Valentine’s.”

Not wanting to be around when Ron no longer had room to escape Lavender, Harry cleared his throat and stood. “I think I’ll go see her,” he said. “Make sure she’s okay and everything…” He trailed off when Ron gave him a desperate look that seemed to cry, “Don’t leave me alone with this maniac!” With an apologetic shrug, he headed out of the Great Hall, Ron’s eyes boring holes in his back.

Meanwhile…

Once she had left the Great Hall and a made her way down the corridor, Hermione stopped and leaned against the wall, scolding herself for walking out in the middle of dinner. It was extremely likely that many of her classmates had seen her leave, and she was therefore sure to be interrogated by the residents of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory later in the evening. It wasn’t all that unusual for her to leave the Great Hall before the rest of the students, since she sometimes wolfed down her dinner and hurried off to the library, especially when she had an essay due within the next few days, but she had left even earlier than usual this time, without touching her food.

She knew that she was being completely ridiculous, getting so worked up over a silly little Valentine’s Day tradition, but that didn’t stop her from letting out a sigh as she continued down the hallway, heading for one of her favourite “I-want-to-be-alone” spots: the highest of the large picture windows that surrounded the spiral staircase in the Divination tower. She felt slightly bad for lying to Harry and Ron, but it wasn’t likely that either of them would ever find out. They always believed her when she said that she was going to the library.

Well educated in the many shortcuts of Hogwarts, Hermione found herself at the base of the spiral stairs within a few minutes and started up. Her footsteps sounded very loud as they echoed within the old stone tower. They also sounded very alone.

Finally settling down in the space between the window and the inside wall of the tower, Hermione turned her gaze on the snowy grounds outside. It got dark early in February, but the moon was very bright, making the surface of the hip-deep snow sparkle like millions of tiny pieces of diamond. Looking up, she could see a sky of rich, dark velvet studded with yet more diamonds and a full, perfectly round moon. It was a pretty night, she thought vaguely as she looked out the window at the barely-touched nature that surrounded the castle. You could even call the sparkling, shining splendour romantic if you wanted to. A romantic night to follow what was supposed to be a romantic day.

But not for everyone, she thought sadly, reaching up with her left hand to gently pull the white flower from her shirt while using her right hand to silently cancel the Sticking Charm that she had placed on the blossom that morning. It was very beautiful, she thought as she carefully ran her fingertips over the silky petals. It caught the moonlight streaming through the window and seemed to internalize the glow until it shone as though it held a soft white flame inside of it. Lovely, but it could never happen in the sunlight. In the harsh, bright light of day no one would see anything but a white rose; plain, boring and certainly not as appealing as its deep crimson neighbours. In the moonlight, though…

She shook her head and set the flower between her feet. It didn’t matter. Nobody sat around studying a bouquet in the middle of the night.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught her attention and she stiffened a little. No one ever came up to the tower when Divination wasn’t in session. That was the whole reason that she had come to favour this spot when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She relaxed a little, however, when she recognized the black-haired boy that stepped into view a few moments later.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied. Then, after a short pause: “This isn’t the library.”

His tone wasn’t hurt or angry, but she felt a little guilty just the same. “I guess I lied about where I was going,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. May I?” he added, gesturing to the small amount of space left between her and the window.

“Sure,” she replied, and he carefully settled in next to her, dropping his book bag next to hers on the floor. “How did you-? Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “You carry that map with you everywhere.”

“It’s useful enough.”

“What are you doing up here?” she asked, feigning cluelessness regarding the reason behind his sudden appearance. “As far as I know, you’re not in the habit of wandering around the Divination tower during dinner.”

“Well, you seemed sort of upset, so I thought that I should…” He trailed off and she was surprised to see a light pink flush on his cheeks.

“Come and check on me,” she finished.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “So… what’s wrong, exactly?” he asked.

She sighed and looked up at the sky again. “It’s really nice of you to come and see me, Harry, but… it’s not really anything that I want to talk about.”

He blinked. “Oh. Um… you know you can tell me things and I won’t tell anyone, right?” he asked, looking away and blushing slightly again. He still wasn’t very comfortable talking about “feelings and stuff”, and discussing their friendship seemed to fall into that category.

She turned to him and tried to smile soothingly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Harry,” she assured him, “it’s just…”

She didn’t really know exactly what “it” was. An awkward silence ensued and she occupied herself by picking up her flower again.

“That’s pretty,” Harry said, grateful for something to talk about. “It’s sort of glowing,” he added.

“It’s the moonlight,” she said softly, rotating the flower for further inspection. “It would never look like this during the day.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, reaching out to gently lift the blossom from her palm. “It’s really nice this way.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s too bad that nobody cares what flowers look like in the dark. They might appreciate the plainer ones a little bit more if they did.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Harry set the white rose at their feet.

“Are we still talking about flowers here, Hermione?” he finally asked.

Surprised that he had cottoned on so quickly (he was a boy, after all), it was her turn to flush pink. She looked at her shoes and didn’t answer him. Her silence didn’t make much of a difference, however, as he nodded and cleared his throat a bit awkwardly.

“Huh,” he said, “I’ve never been one to believe much of what comes out of Lavender Brown’s mouth, but it seems she had a point.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Why would you be talking about me with Lavender Brown?”

“She saw you walk out of the Great Hall and, being herself, wanted to know what was going on,” Harry explained. “I told her that I didn’t know, and she suggested that it might be because…” He trailed off, hesitant to tell her. What if Lavender’s theory was completely wrong and he ended up offending Hermione instead of helping her?

“Because?” his friend prompted, and something in her tone told him that he would be better off offending her by telling her what Lavender had said than he would be if he made her think that she was being gossiped about at the dinner table.

He swallowed with some difficulty. “Because of this,” he said, picking the flower up again and handing it to her. “Because it’s white,” he elaborated, looking away in embarrassment.

“Oh,” she said, running her fingers over the flower’s edges. “Oh.”

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that she wasn’t offended, and that, he thought, could only mean…

“Oh,” he echoed. “Er… Was Lavender actually right about something for once?” he asked, trying to keep things light.

“I don’t know, I mean… It’s stupid anyway,” she said exasperatedly, unceremoniously tossing the flower down at her side and restlessly tucking a few stray curls behind her ears. “There are so many more important things that I should be worrying about, and yet…”

“’Mione…” he started; reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “It’s okay to have something besides schoolwork and Voldemort on your mind once in a while.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it make any more sense for me to be moping over some juvenile Valentine’s Day thing,” she said, annoyed with herself.

Glad that she was at least starting to tell him what was wrong, Harry shifted to put his arm around her shoulders, silently telling her that he was there and that he really did want to help. He was further encouraged when she accepted the gesture and settled back against his arm.

“It makes perfect sense,” he said. “It’s normal to feel a little lonely on Valentine’s Day,” he added, forcing it out even though it made his face heat up again. He had been turning red as regularly as a stoplight ever since he had come to sit with her.

She sighed. “It’s not that I’m lonely, Harry,” she told him. “After all, it’s hard to feel lonely when you’ve never been anything but alone, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” he replied carefully.

“So it’s not loneliness, exactly, but… more like envy,” she admitted, “with a bit of injury mixed in.”

“Injury?” he repeated.

“Yes, and that’s why it’s so stupid and selfish of me to think any of this,” she said, scrubbing her hands over her face. “But I can’t help it. Looking at all of the people around me in the Great Hall today, seeing all of the ‘happy couples’,” and here she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, “made me so jealous that I could barely stand it. And I know that I shouldn’t be jealous; I should be happy that they’ve been lucky enough to find somebody who cares about them, but I can’t stop myself from thinking, ‘What’s the matter with me? Why are all of the girls that I know so lucky that they’ve never had any trouble finding someone to dote on them for a day when February rolls around, but I always end up being forgotten?’ And I’m not trying to say that I’m the only one in the school who’s never had the chance to wear anything but white flowers on Valentine’s Day, because I’m not that self-centered, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting anyway.” Sighing again, she shifted to rest her head on his shoulder and was comforted when she felt his arms slip around her, giving her a sideways hug. “Just once,” she said quietly, “I wish that someone would look at me and… just see me. Does that make any sense at all?” she asked, looking up at him to search his expression for any traces of understanding.

“Er… sort of? I dunno,” he said, looking at her apologetically. “I’m a guy, ‘Mione,” he added when she sighed and looked at her feet again. “Work with me, here.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m tired of being seen as the girl whose hand is always up in class,” she said. “As far as I can tell, people look at me and don’t see much besides a brain. I guess it’s understandable, because it’s obvious that my grades are important to me, but would it be so hard for someone to look past that and see… something else?” she asked. “I mean, there’s more to me than books and cleverness,” she added before he could answer, giving him a small smile.

He returned her smile, remembering the moment from long ago. “Look…” he said, moving one arm from around her to run a hand through his hair, “this is hard for me to say, not because it isn’t true, but because it’s… well, it’s not something I would shout across the rooftops. But I’m going to say it anyway,” he said, putting the arm back around her and shyly giving her an affectionate squeeze.

She gave him a questioning look. “All right.”

He swallowed. “’Mione, there’s a lot more to you than books and cleverness, and there are people who know it,” he started. “Yes, you’re a genius-”

She blushed a little and looked away. “Oh, honestly.”

“-but you’re also sweet, and kind, and incredibly loyal,” he continued. She wasn’t sure if he knew that he had begun gently rubbing her back, nor did she know whether it was out of affection or nervousness, but she was grateful for it. The strange position she was in, half sitting on her own and half leaning against him, was causing her back to ache a little. “You’re brave, trustworthy, and protective of the people you care about. You’ve been calling yourself selfish ever since I got up here, but you’re not. Would a selfish person stay up all night helping a friend learn a new spell?” he asked when she started to protest. “Would a selfish person cut their Christmas vacation short to get the same friend to get his self-pitying butt in gear and stop locking himself up all day?”

She quieted.

“Would a selfish person literally turn back time in order to save the man that that same friend saw as the closest thing he ever had to a father?” he asked softly.

“No,” she replied, equally quietly. She knew it was still hard for him to talk about Sirius. He still blamed himself for his godfather’s death. “Harry…”

“Let me finish,” he said, not harshly. “You, Hermione, are the most selfless person I’ve ever known,” he told her. “And before you try to argue with me, let me say that it’s impossible for someone to be completely selfless all the time,” he added when she opened her mouth to disagree again. “No one’s perfect, no matter how much that sounds like some sort of inspirational poster.”

He paused, probably to let her argue, but she didn’t say anything. He smiled and hugged her. She wondered if prolonged exposure to “feelings and stuff” had caused him to develop some sort of immunity. He was still blushing, but he was at least forming coherent sentences.

“So, before you go putting yourself down because you don’t think that anyone sees you as anything besides a talking brain, remember that there’s at least one person out there that sees something very different. Of course I see one of the smartest people I know,” he said with a short chuckle, “but I also see my kind, loyal, caring, selfless, beautiful best friend, and that, ‘Mione, is quite a sight,” he finished.

Silence hung over the tower then, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence that falls after any outpouring of a person’s innermost thoughts—that reflective quiet in which those involved in the conversation sit back and absorb what has just been said. It lasted a minute or two before Hermione broke it.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

She turned to face him again and he was surprised to see that her eyes were slightly damp with unshed tears. “Nobody’s ever called me beautiful before.”

He smiled and pulled her closer, unknowingly relieving her backache. “They should have. You are.”

To you, at least, she thought, making herself turn pink with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure and causing a multitude of new, unsure thoughts to stream into her brain. To you.

Try as she might, however, she was a sceptic at heart. Wiping her eyes on the back of one hand, she asked, “And how long have you thought all of this, exactly?”

He blinked, surprised by the change in her tone. “A while, I guess. I’ve only really been able to put it in words since last year, if that means anything.”

Satisfied that he hadn’t just made it all up on the spot, she quieted and allowed herself to rest against him. It was only a moment or two before she spoke up again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Gathering up her courage, she leaned over slightly to press her lips to his cheek. “Thanks,” she murmured, slipping her arms around his waist. “Really.”

He blushed again. “Anytime.”

The same reflective silence settled over them again, leaving the two to their thoughts.

What are you doing, Potter? You didn’t come up here for… cuddling, or whatever you would call this! Back off, man, she’s your best friend!

We shouldn’t be anywhere near this close. If somebody happened to come up the stairs right now, we would never live it down.

You have absolutely no right to be doing this. Back away from the girl.

Not that it’s unpleasant or anything.

Not that she seems to mind it…

He doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it. But could that mean…?

And it’s sort of nice…

Merlin knows I’ve thought about the possibility of… more, with him.

It’s not like I haven’t realized that ‘Mione is, in fact, a girl.

I just thought that he would never see me as anything but one of the guys.

After all, I just told her that I think she’s beautiful.

But after what he said…

It wasn’t a lie. She is, and she’s… more.

Could I have been wrong all this time?

It scares me, but she is. She’s more.

But how am I supposed to find out?

I should tell her.

When will I ever find a good moment to walk up to him and ask, “Hey, Harry, do you like me as more than a friend or am I just losing my mind?”

Now, while we’re here.

They stayed like that, their arms around each other, for quite some time. Neither of them wanted to ruin the moment by speaking, so they both chose to look up at the moon while they mulled over what had suddenly happened to their friendship. Had it really been sudden? Or had it been there all along, waiting for the right moment to make its way out into the sunlight?

Or the moonlight, rather?

Eventually, though, Hermione’s watch read five minutes till curfew and she had to break the silence again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“We… um… need to get back to the common room. Curfew,” she explained when he blinked in surprise.

“We’ve been here that long?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” he said, slipping his arms from around her and scrubbing them over his face. “I must have really spaced out, then.”

She smiled as she slid down onto the staircase and stretched her back a bit. “Me too.”

“Here,” he said as he followed her lead and joined her on the steps. He held his hand out to her and she saw the white flower in his palm. She had almost forgotten about it.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting it. She had hardly held it in her cupped palms for a moment when he reached out and caught her hands in his. She gave him a questioning look.

“Er…” he said, pulling his wand from his sleeve. Holding it about an inch from the small blossom, he murmured a word and Hermione watched as the white petals turned…

“Pink?” she asked quietly, looking from the flower to him. He stashed his wand in his sleeve again and took her hands in his once more.

“Yeah, you know… um… not taken, but…” His immunity to the effects of “feelings and stuff” seemed to only exist when he knew what he wanted to say, and he swallowed with some difficulty before he managed, “Maybe?”

A miracle happened on the staircase: Hermione Granger was rendered speechless. Unfortunately, Harry took her silence to mean that she was trying to think of a kind refusal and hastily pulled his hands away from hers.

“Um… I can change it right back, if you want,” he said quickly. “I guess I shouldn’t have… I mean, it’s okay if you don’t… you know… um… feel that way.” When she remained silent, he blushed a very deep shade of red and looked at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said, mortified. When he went to retrieve his wand from his sleeve, however, she reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t,” she said, finally managing to speak. “I like it the way it is.”

Stepping closer to him, she placed the flower on the spot that they had been occupying a few minutes earlier and took his other hand in hers. “Harry… I do feel that way,” she finally admitted, looking shyly down at their joined hands. “I have for a while.”

He blinked, surprised, and slipped his hands out of hers before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. “Really?”

“Yes,” she murmured, placing her head on his shoulder as she slid her arms around his neck. He let out a relieved sigh and rested his cheek in her soft hair.

“Thank Merlin…” he murmured. “I thought I’d made a huge mistake. I thought I’d ruined our friendship.”

“No,” she replied. “No, you haven’t.”

They were quiet then, both taking the time to enjoy both their closeness to the other and the fact that they now had the freedom to be so close. They stayed that way for a while before Harry finally cleared his throat and spoke.

“We’ll be late.”

Very comfortable where she was, Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder and rested her forehead against his.

“So what?” she replied simply, a wry grin on her lips.

“We’ll be in trouble,” he countered, adopting the same expression. “We might even get detentions, and maybe even lose house poi-”

“Harry?” she interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Have you still got your Cloak handy?” she asked.

“Yeah…” he replied, slightly confused by the sudden subject change.

She chuckled. “Shut up, then.”

He laughed softly in reply.

“Straight from the Prefect’s mouth,” he said, leaning his head back slightly and reaching up to tap her lips. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He wondered why she blushed at that until he realized that he had never moved his finger from her mouth.

“Sorry,” he murmured, blushing a bit himself as he shifted his hand to rest on her back instead.

“It’s all right,” she replied, embarrassed by her reaction. There was a pause as she unconsciously wet her lips, as though this would dispel the slight awkwardness that his touch had brought. Unbeknownst to her, this made Harry quite a bit more aware of said lips than he usually was, which did not really do much when it came to easing the tension.

“Er,” he said to break the silence, consciously not looking anywhere beneath her nose.

Noticing his discomfort, Hermione relaxed a little and rested her forehead against his again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

She swallowed a little anxiously but managed to smile. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He blinked. “Um… I mean… You’d be okay with it if I…?”

“Would I be asking if I weren’t?” she asked, pulling him a little closer.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed at his own behaviour. “I guess not, huh?”

“No, you bumbling idiot,” she replied tenderly, lightly tangling her fingers in his hair as she closed the distance between them. She felt him tense in surprise for a moment before he relaxed, one hand moving to rest on the back of her neck.

Later, when they remembered their first kiss, neither of them would embellish it with fireworks or sudden realizations of deep, undying love, nor would they claim that days or weeks seemed to pass before they finally broke apart. They would remember a shy, chaste, understandably short and awkward first kiss between two very inexperienced teenagers. And they would think that it was perfect just the way it was.

It was only a few seconds before they separated, both flushed pink and smiling somewhat goofily. Harry gently pulled away, retrieved his wand from his sleeve once more and turned to carefully scoop the pink flower from the windowsill. His back stayed turned to Hermione for a moment or two before he turned around, his goofy smile replaced with a serious but hopeful expression.

“Will you wear it?” he asked quietly, holding the newly crimson blossom out to her. “Even though I’m a bumbling idiot?” he added, more lightly.

She laughed and nodded without hesitation. Noticeably relieved, he stepped closer to her and, after placing a Sticking Charm on its base, gently fixed the flower to her jumper. When he stepped back, she reached up to run her fingers over the edges of the petals.

“You know that everyone will know about us by breakfast, right?” she asked. “If I wear this within twenty feet of the girls’ dormitories,” she explained when he looked a little confused.

He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“Me neither.”

They stood where they were for a moment before Hermione broke the silence.

“Well,” she said, shuffling her feet a little, “we had… ah… better get back to the common room, I suppose. We’re bound to get caught if we stay here much longer.”

“Um… yeah,” he said. He turned and retrieved the Cloak from his book bag before putting the bag over his shoulder and handing Hermione’s to her. She accepted it with a quiet “Thanks” and stepped closer to him so that he could throw the Cloak over both of them. Once he was sure that they were fully invisible, Harry gathered up the courage to take Hermione’s hand in his. He was heartened when she returned the pressure.

They made their way down the stairs as quietly as they could (a difficult task in a tower built completely of stone) and navigated the corridors without getting caught. They held their breath and squeezed each other’s hands while Mrs. Norris sniffed around their feet and caused them to have to wait for one of the moving staircases to make its rounds before it finally came back to them, and they had a close call with one of the trick steps when Harry slipped and almost lost a leg to a quicksand-like stair, but they eventually made it back to the Fat Lady’s portrait in one piece. Hermione whispered the password to the sleeping woman—who was known to be more accepting of curfew-breaking girls than boys—and the pair crept into Gryffindor Tower without any fuss. Once they were free of the Cloak, the two let go of each other’s hands and stood shuffling their feet, neither one knowing exactly what to do.

“Um…” Hermione started, smiling shyly, “well… I guess this is where we’re supposed to say goodnight.”

“I… guess,” Harry replied slowly.

“Well… goodnight, Harry,” she said quietly.

Harry swallowed, reached out and pulled her close. She was surprised but pleased when he kissed her.

When they separated a few moments later, Harry managed a less goofy smile.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he murmured, lightly trailing his knuckles across her cheek as he pulled away from her.

With one last shy smile, Hermione turned and headed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, giving him a small wave before disappearing behind the door. Harry stood gazing at the closed wooden door for a few moments longer before he realized what he was doing, laughed at himself, shook his head and went up to his dormitory, wondering if he was going to be this out of it as long as he was… with Hermione.

With Hermione. He grinned at the thought despite the small swarm of nervous butterflies it released into his belly. He couldn’t believe that he had actually asked her to be his girlfriend. He had fancied her for a while, of course, but he had never dreamed that he would actually do anything about it, especially not after the excellent experience he had had with the last girl he had fancied. Tonight, though… It had just felt right, holding her, doing his best to comfort her as they sat together in the moonlight. And it had just seemed like a good idea, since everything had felt so right, to do whatever he could to keep that feeling from going away.

And she had said yes, he thought as he stepped into the dormitory and was greeted by the familiar sound of Ron’s snoring. That was the best part, her saying yes.

“I do feel that way… I have for a while.”

Merlin, what had he not been seeing all this time?

He shook his head. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that he and Hermione were together, and he would have plenty of time to find out how she felt about him.

He smiled in the darkness of the dormitory. That sounded perfect to him.

Meanwhile…

“Ohmigosh.”

Parvati’s voice was the first thing that Hermione heard as she closed the heavy dormitory door behind her and turned to face the room’s occupants, all of whom were awake and had apparently been waiting up for her. The second thing she heard was an incomprehensible flurry of exclamations and questions, all of which seemed to be directed at her and none of which she knew how to answer. Choosing to ignore her roommates until they calmed down, she walked calmly to her bed and set her book bag down on the floor before carefully removing the flower from her jumper and setting it on her nightstand. She sat down on her bed and began to unbuckle her shoes. She was in the middle of pulling the second one off when the cacophony around her finally quieted and Lavender spoke up.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” she said knowingly.

Hermione must have blushed, because her silence seemed to be enough to make the entire population of the dormitory gasp, grin, and, in some cases, inconspicuously exchange large gold coins behind their backs.

“What happened?” Lavender continued. “Come on, Hermione, be a good sport. All of us would tell you, wouldn’t we?” she asked the room in general, eliciting nods from all of the girls.

Hermione sighed as she dropped the shoe to the floor and swung her legs up onto her bed. They were telling the truth, she thought. With a soft sigh, she leaned back against her pillows and told them a condensed version of what had happened: she had been a little upset about being single on Valentine’s Day—again—and had wanted to be alone for a few minutes to pull herself together. Harry had worried and come looking for her. He’d comforted her and they had eventually ended up in each other’s arms for quite a while. When she had finally broken the spell, he had basically asked her out (all of the dormitory’s occupants sighed appreciatively when she told them how this had been done). They had kissed, he had placed the red flower on her jumper and they had come back to the common room.

“That’s incredible,” Parvati declared wistfully. “I never knew that Harry had such a romantic side.”

Hermione blushed again. “Me neither.”

“I mean, we all knew it would be you,” said Lavender. “As much as we tried to deny it,” she added, getting a few chuckles from around the room. “But… well, it’s really great that you two have finally seen what was right there the whole time.”

Hermione smiled. “I know.”

Parvati yawned widely. “Mm… Well, now that we’ve found out where the two of you were this whole time, I vote we actually get some sleep sometime before sunrise,” she suggested, settling down in her bed.

Lavender rolled her eyes. “It’s barely after nine, Parv.”

“That’s close enough to sunrise for me,” Parvati muttered from under her covers.

“Actually, I’m kind of tired too,” Hermione said, seizing the chance to prevent any further discussion of what had happened between her and Harry. She was still figuring it out herself; she didn’t need to try to go over it again and again with a group of teenage girls who were far too interested in Harry Potter’s romantic interests.

Lavender grumbled. “Well, in that case, we might as well all go to bed.”

“Sounds great,” mumbled Parvati.

A few minutes later, everyone was settled in bed and the candles were all blown out, plunging the room into near-blackness, save the soft, white light coming in through the windows. Hermione lay looking at the crimson blossom on her nightstand, smiling a little as she thought of what it meant. She and Harry were together. He saw her as more than just Hermione the Brain, more than just one of the guys.

In other words, he saw her the way she saw him, as something much more than a friend. And that suited her just fine.

Valentine’s Day was a good day for some people. Some people woke up feeling alone and wondering why they could never really take part in the celebration of the day of love. Some people got a beautiful surprise when they realized that they weren’t alone at all, but that someone cared about them more than they had ever thought possible.

Some people just needed a little moonlight to show them the way.