Harry Potter and The Pink Elephant

akscully

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 29/12/2002
Last Updated: 29/12/2002
Status: completed

Hormone fueled dreams, Muggle psychoanalysts and personal revelations, oh my!

Chapters

1. Dreams

2. Pink Elephants--Explanations

3. Pink Elephants--Freud

4. Parts--Of Catching the Snitch...

5. Parts--And Hermione

6. Interlude--In Which Ron Finds Out

7. Realizations--Those Damn Pink Elephants

1. Dreams

Pink Elephants—Dreams

It was, Harry decided, the pink elephant that should have clued him in. He had been having a perfectly horrible day, waking up late, dropping all manner of things and Cho had laughed at him when he ran into her. Now, in Quadruple Potions (another thing, he mused, that should have tipped him off), a pink elephant had come waltzing into the classroom.

No, really. Waltzing.

As Harry watched the elephant twirl and spin, he thought the waltz suited the animal. The elephant seemed to be a miniature version (it came up to about his waist, Harry figured), but it moved with a strange sort of grace. It certainly wouldn’t have had the same sort of fluid motion if it had been doing, say, the samba, the tango, or, and here Harry shuddered, the fox trot.

No, the waltz suited the small pink elephant, and Harry was surprised to find that he was the only one who thought so. Harry looked around and saw that no one else had noticed the elephant. Harry frowned. Pink elephants didn’t waltz into classrooms everyday. Even in the wizarding world, it should have attracted some attention. Surely, this Meant Something.

Harry frowned again. Why was he thinking in capital letters?

“Potter!” Snape barked. “Kindly remove this animal from the classroom!”

Harry felt a rush of relief that some one had noticed the dancing pachyderm, but then became irritated. Why should he have to deal with it? What did he know about pink elephants?

“Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll take care of it,” said a voice from behind him.

Harry turned and smiled. Hermione, of course. She would know what to do about this whole sit—wait, since when did she sit in the back of the classroom? She always liked the front—

“Come here, boy…that’s it, c’mere,” she cooed.

Harry blinked. Hermione was cooing? And how did she know that the elephant was male? This whole thing was getting weirder and weirder. Harry turned back to the animal, expecting to see some sort of elephantine gesture of defiance, but instead the elephant moved toward Hermione.

Harry frowned. The aisle was awfully narrow and he didn’t see how the elephant could fit through—hey, was it getting bigger? Harry squinted a bit and sure enough the elephant had grown.

Well, that settled it. There was no way the elephant could get down the aisle.

And yet…the elephant was moving. Harry looked on in wonder as the elephant came down the aisle, still growing. It was a tight fit (extremely tight, Harry noted), but the elephant kept coming.

“Nice one, Harry,” Ron snickered.

Harry looked over at him. Where had he come from? “You see it too?” he asked.

Ron rolled his eyes. “A dancing pink elephant? They’re hard to miss.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Harry hissed, still keeping an eye on the advancing elephant.

Ron shrugged. “Well, they’re rather common, aren’t they?”

Harry looked at him a little oddly. “What?”

Ron calmly looked back. “Well, they happen to everyone, don’t they?” He started to chuckle. “Although, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen on in Potions before. Good job, Harry!” He clapped Harry on the back.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. This whole thing seemed to be spiraling out of control and he wasn’t sure how to get back on track. Hermione was still cooing (cooing!) at the elephant, Ron sounded like a hyena next to him, and now Malfoy was gazing at the elephant with a speculative gleam in his eye.

Harry decided he did not like the way Malfoy was looking at the elephant at all.

“Back off, Malfoy!” he snapped.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Potter?”

“You’re not touching that elephant!” Harry said stubbornly.

Draco just smirked. “Whatever you say, Potty-head.” He turned back to his cauldron and continued working on the assignment (whatever it had been; Harry couldn’t remember; why couldn’t he remember?).

Harry looked back at the elephant that had seemed to finally stop growing. It was now as tall as he was, but was still pushing forward toward Hermione. Harry scrambled back, ducking around and jumping over desks, a sudden urge to see Hermione hitting him.

“Hermione,” he gasped, finally getting to her after a long run (surely the Potions dungeon wasn’t that big?), “what are you doing?”

Hermione gave him a warm smile. “I’m taking care of the problem, Harry.”

Harry, not for the last time, was confused. “But…but how? How do you know about this?” He made a vague gesture toward the elephant.

Hermione continued to smile at him. “I read about it, of course.”

Harry felt a strange sense of urgency come over him. He desperately needed to know why Hermione was doing this. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and gasped a little. She was so warm. “Why, Hermione? Why are you doing this?”

Hermione laid a hand on his chest. “You’re my best friend, Harry. Why wouldn’t I?”

Harry looked at the approaching elephant, who was now almost to them. He looked back at her. “So you’re only doing this because you’re my friend?” he asked, somehow disappointed by this possibility.

Hermione shook her head sorrowfully. “Oh, Harry, don’t you see? Ron is my friend, but I wouldn’t do this for him.”

Harry looked at her, bewildered and frustrated. “Do what?”

Hermione smiled as she twined her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her. “I love you, Harry,” she whispered, her breath puffing in his ear. Harry stiffened and tried to look at her, but she had already turned to the elephant, who had finally reached her. It lifted its trunk and gave a little blast of triumph. Hermione grinned and laid a gentle hand on its head, between it eyes, at the base of the trunk. “Good boy, I knew you could do it,” she whispered. She stood up on tiptoe and bent toward it. Harry watched her with an anticipation that tightened his chest.

Hermione leaned forward and gently placed a kiss where her hand had been and then—

POP!

The elephant disappeared.

Harry jerked back, surprised beyond belief. He looked around, searching for some sign of the elephant, but there was only Hermione in the empty classroom, with a curious, contented smile on her face. Harry gaped. “What just happened?”

Hermione looked at him, her smile spreading into a grin. “Honestly, Harry, what did you expect to happen?”

Harry just blinked.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He woke up with a gasp and sat upright. He looked around a little wildly. He was in bed. In the boys dorm. In Gryffindor Tower. He could hear Ron snoring in the bed next to him. Harry crawled over to the side of the bed and peeked out of the curtains. He looked around suspiciously. No pink elephants. Excellent.

He crawled back to the center of the bed. The dream was already starting to fade a bit. Good.

Harry paused before settling down for some sleep. The dream had been so vivid, so real. Had it meant something? He was used to dreaming about Voldemort and premonitions of his own demise. Pink elephants left him at something of a loss. Finally, however, after a bit of thinking, he decided that it meant nothing. Probably just a bad piece of pie or something. All in all, middling.

He tried to get back to sleep, but visions of pink elephants danced through his head until dawn, taunting him. Great, now they were talking, dancing elephants. Poor.

“This place is finally getting to me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He realized he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. Very poor, indeed.

2. Pink Elephants--Explanations

Pink Elephants—Explanations

Girl parts, Harry decided, were very different from boy parts.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “And just what brought on this observation, Mr. Potter?” she asked, tartly, from across the library table.

Harry realized, with an ever growing sense of horror that he had spoken aloud. He looked to his right to see Ron grinning broadly at him.

Curses.

“Er, well, that is…” Harry stumbled, trying to save the situation. “Neville’s been having dreams,” he offered lamely, sending a silent apology to Neville for putting this on him.

“Neville’s been having dreams?” Hermione asked skeptically, looking at Harry.

“Yeah, you know,” Ron said, leaning forward, his grin impossibly wide. “Boy dreams,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione recoiled slightly. “I don’t think I want to know--”

“Pink elephants!” Harry unexpectedly shouted.

Hermione looked at him, confused. “What?”

Ron, damn him, continued to grin.

Harry was sure his face was a red it could possibly be. “Uh, he told me about one…once. A long time ago. There were pink elephants. Well, just one, actually.” Harry suddenly felt compelled to share the dream with her. If anyone could help, it would be Hermione, right? Harry paused to try to sort out the images in his brain and remove himself from the picture. “See, Neville was in class and this pink elephant came dancing in. As in, dancing,” Harry tried to screw up his face like he was thinking about the details. “I think it was the waltz. Anyway, it was a miniature elephant, and it was dancing and the professor said to get rid of it. But then yo—er, this girl said that she would get rid of it. But when it walked down the aisle, it kept getting bigger and bigger, and this other guy was looking at it, and Neville’s friend (“What friend?” Ron muttered and Hermione shot him a Look) said pink elephants happened to everybody. Then the girl told m—uh, Neville that she was doing this for him, and then she kissed the elephant and it went away,” he finished in a rush. He looked earnestly at Hermione, hoping she had some sort of answer.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Hermione had a curiously neutral look on her face, while Ron’s eyes were practically completely bugged out of his head.

“Pink elephants?” Ron exploded (“Quiet!” warned Madam Pince). “What the bloody hell are you--”

“Harry, I think Neville had a penis dream,” Hermione interrupted.

Ron choked and started coughing violently.

Harry felt all the blood drain from his face. “I’m sorry?” he said weakly.

Hermione had a faintly surprised look on her face, but took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself for…something. “Well, obviously I don’t think much of Divination, but I don’t think that this was some sort of warning. And even though a lot of Freud’s theories have been discounted in the Muggle world, I think it’s pretty obvious that this dream involves the penis and sex…”

Harry decided that he must be in some alternate reality, as he half-listened to her lecture, because surely, SURELY, Hermione would not say the words penis or sex with such disturbing consistency, or really, even, at all. This was obviously some strange world, or perhaps even another dream, because she just penis again. In fact, she was saying it with alarming regularity. About every fourth or fifth word, it seemed. Blah, blah, blah, PENIS, blah, blah, blah, SEX. And she wouldn’t stop, no, she wouldn’t, she just kept on saying it and Ron was coughing and Harry was sure he was going to break something if he kept that up and oh, look, she just said it again, penis, and Ron was still coughing and people were looking at them, and Harry wondered where all his blood went because it surely wasn’t in his head and my God, did she just say vagina?

And suddenly, as her words filtered down into his brain, things began to fall horrifyingly, terrifyingly into place. Because as usual, Hermione was right, and Harry wondered how he could be so stupid.

A pink elephant, a bloody EXPANDING pink elephant, it came up to his waist and it got bigger, Ron said they happen to everyone and it was faintly disturbing that this happened in Potions and Snape saw it, wasn’t it, and Ron laughing and Malfoy looking at it and did this mean he was gay or did it mean Malfoy was or both, but there was that thing with Hermione and wasn’t going to think about that, but he decided he wasn’t because the elephant was going down the aisle toward Hermione and Malfoy seemed more like a “You’ve got a hole and I’ll plug it” sort of guy, so he probably didn’t care one way or the other, and oh God, Hermione said she would solve the problem and the elephant came to her and am I glad I didn’t tell her about that trumpet blast thing because who knows what that meant, oh wait, I do, and she said she loved me, and she said she loved me, and the she kissed the head of the elephant, she kissed the damn head of the damn expanding pink elephant, and it popped and that was my pink elephant and her aisle and I shouldn’t be thinking about my best friend this way, and Hermione really is a girl and she said she loved me and why won’t she STOP SAYING PENIS?

Harry did the only thing he could under the circumstances.

“Meep,” he whimpered.

Hermione stopped talking (oh, thank the gods above, he thought) and stared at him. “What?” She looked at him more closely, her brow furrowing. “Harry, are you alright? You’re all red. Are you sick?” She got up and came around the table.

Harry watched her with wide eyes. He was dimly aware that Ron was no longer there. He must have gone to get some water or something and Harry was glad because that meant it was just Hermione he had to lie to. Just Hermione and him.

And suddenly she was there, pressing into the side of him, leaning over and putting a hand on his head and he had no idea girls were so soft. Or maybe it was just Hermione. He was pretty sure that her breast was pressing into his arm and that was soft, and her hand on his forehead was soft, and God, when she turned his face towards hers, even her eyes were soft.

“Are you alright, Harry?” she repeated quietly.

It was too much. This was Hermione, his best friend, not just some girl, and Ron liked her for God’s sake, so what kind of friend was he to both of them when he was thinking about how soft she was? That stupid elephant and that stupid representation of the male libido and that stupid-

“Penis,” Harry mumbled.

Hermione drew back. “What did you say?” she asked, reddening slightly.

“Er, nothing,” Harry said quickly, standing up and stuffing books into his bag. “Listen, I’ve got to go because of Quidditch…stuff.”

“But Harry,” Hermione protested, “what about studying? We’ve got to prepare for the O.W.L.s!”

“I’ll study for them later, I promise, but I really need to take care of this. I can’t believe I forgot about it, really.” He finished packing, took a deep breath and managed to meet her eyes. “Tell Ron I’m sorry for abandoning him.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “Abandoning? Thanks for the compliment.”

Harry shook his head, smiling. “Not you. The library. I think it gives him hives.”

They grinned at each other for a moment, before Harry jerked his head toward the door. “I gotta go.”

And with that, he turned and got the hell away from pink elephants, lectures on Freud, girl parts, the word penis and Hermione.

3. Pink Elephants--Freud

Pink Elephants—Freud

Author’s Note: Quick thing. This is Hermione’s POV, which should become obvious very quickly. Chapter Five will also be in her POV.

“Girl parts are different from boy parts,” Harry announced one day in the library.

Hermione nearly dropped her quill, bun managed to hold on, an admirable feat considering. She raised an eyebrow. “And just what brought on this observation, Mr. Potter?”

Harry started and she hid a grin as he realized he had spoken aloud. Ron, on the other hand, had no such compunction about hiding his amusement.

“Er, well, that is…” Harry attempted to salvage the situation, but Hermione was sure it was beyond hope. “Neville’s been having dreams,” he offered.

Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. Neville? Honestly, did Harry think that would work? Fine, she would humor him and play along. “Neville’s been having dreams?” she asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

“Yeah, you know,” Ron leaned forward, grinning like a madman. “Boy dreams,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione quickly leaned back. She knew about Boy Dreams. Harr-er, Neville’s or not, she didn’t want to hear it. “I don’t think I want to know--” she began.

“Pink elephants!” Harry interrupted, shouting.

What on earth had made him shout that? “What?”

Harry turned an interesting shade of red that Hermione felt was not at all healthy and attempted to dig himself out of the hole again. He began to relate a fascinating dream involving waltzing, miniature, pink elephants, a girl (who, given that this was clearly Harry’s dream, was probably herself) who offered to solve the problem, a friend offering reassurance, tight aisles, close bonds of friendship and—oh, sorry, did Harry just say the girl kissed the elephant?

No, no, no. This could not be happening. Harry was looking at her, expecting some sort of answer, and this was all so Freudian so as to defy belief, but he was a fifteen year old boy—

Ron couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Pink elephants? What the bloody hell are you--?”

“Harry, I think Neville had a penis dream,” Hermione blurted out. She felt faintly horrified at what she had just said, but was thankful she managed to remember to use Neville’s name. Ron seemed to be in some sort of distress but she couldn’t think of that now. No, she had to come up with an explanation, preferably one that didn’t involve Freud or sex. Harry was looking at her again, and he was awfully pale, wasn’t he? She took a deep breath and prepared herself. No Freud, no Freud, no sex, no penis, she chanted to herself. “Well, obviously I don’t think much of Divination, but I don’t think that this was some sort of warning.” So far, so good. “And even though a lot of Freud’s theories have been discounted in the Muggle world, I think it’s pretty obvious that this dream involves the penis and sex…”

Oh God, what was she saying? She wasn’t supposed to be talking about this! This was supposed to be a calm discussion of a very common occurrence for teenage boys and she wasn’t supposed to say penis so much! Hermione took a deep breath, continuing to speak, a detached part of her mind wondering why she was having so much trouble with words for male genitalia. Penis was the commonly accepted word, even doctors used it, maybe if she just said it some more, she could get over this silly inhibition. Penis, penis, penis. Oh dear, Harry looked even more horrified, if such a thing was possible. She tried to mix up the words, adding sex every once in a while, but Ron was still choking and Harry still looked as if he was about to faint. Maybe if she said vagina? No, no, that didn’t work at all.

Hermione had to hand it to herself. She had no idea she could talk so long about Freudian (and more recent) theories on dreams and the unconscious mind. It was as if part of her mind was on auto-pilot, and it just continued on (liberally using the word penis), leaving her to ponder other matters. Specifically, the real meaning of the dream Harry had. She frowned. She had it before, she had just been thinking about it…

Oh God. Oh God. She was right, she was right, why did she have to be right when she was talking about pink elephants and aisles and it was so bloody obvious that it was a penis and a vagina and the friend who gave reassurance was probably Ron and he said it in some laughing way about how this happens to everyone and someone else was looking at it, who could that be, well, all things considered it was probably Malfoy, and oh, wasn’t that just a hoot and I wonder if it means that Harry’s gay, no, it can’t because the elephant was walking towards me and why do I care about who Harry’s attracted to and Malfoy might be gay which is a real shame because he’s so pretty and oh, Merlin, I just thought Malfoy was pretty but that’s doing a good job of distracting me from the fact that Harry had a pink elephant walking down my aisle because I would solve the problem and that is exactly the sort of thing I would say and I’m not thinking about this, but what else can I think about, I’m still saying penis, sex and vagina like I’m on some sort of schedule and I was doing this for him, I was doing this for Harry, and I kissed the elephant, I kissed the damn elephant, and why doesn’t that scare me as much as it should and if Harry’s having dreams like this, he really is boy, not just my best friend, but Ron is a boy too and I like him and I’m not sure if I would kiss his elephant and Harry is a boy and I’m not scared of him and he’s having dreams about me, does this mean I have dreams about him and why do I have to think of all this when I can’t STOP SAYING PENIS?

“Meep,” Harry whimpered.

This unexpected noise brought Hermione up short. Finally, thankfully, she stopped talking. “What?” Harry was an alarming shade of red. Hermione looked at him, concern and worry flooding her features. “Harry, are you alright? You’re all red. Are you sick?” She got up and moved over to him. If he was sick, she needed to know, needed to get him to the Hospital Wing.

Harry just looked at her as she walked around the table. Ron had gone sometime during her lecture, not that she could blame him. Now it was just Harry and her, all alone, surrounded by books…better not to think about that.

She reached over to put a hand on his forehead, and was struck by how much her Harry had grown. She could feel the muscles in his arm bunching next to her chest, built and toned by five years of Quidditch. His shoulders and chest were broader, too. Suddenly, she needed to see his face. She turned his head towards her. His eyes were grown-up, too, full of pain and loss and things no fifteen year old should know about. But she could still see a glimmer of a boy in them and that made her inexpressibly happy for some reason. “Are you sure you’re alright, Harry?” she asked, just to make sure.

He looked at her for a long time, emotions flashing across his face. “Penis,” he finally mumbled.

Hermione leaned back, glancing down at his lap as she did so. She wasn’t supposed to think about that. “What did you say?” she asked, blushing.

“Er, nothing.” Harry got up and started pushing books into his bag. He looked like he was trying to get out of here in a hurry. “Listen, I’ve got to go because of Quidditch…stuff.”

Harry was always a terrible liar. “But Harry, what about studying? We’ve go to prepare for the O.W.L.s!”

“I’ll study for them later, I promise, but I really need to take care of this. I can’t believe I forgot about it, really.” He finished packing and took a deep breath. It was like he was steeling himself to talk to her. He looked up at her finally. “Tell Ron I’m sorry for abandoning him.”

Abandoning him? To her? “Abandoning? Thanks for the compliment.”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Not you. The library. I think it gives him hives.”

She grinned at him then and he grinned back. She wished it could go on like this, just like this, with no worries, no cares, just Harry and her. And Ron, of course. Of course, what was she saying? Just the three of them.

Harry jerked his head. “I gotta go,” he said almost apologetically.

And he turned, and for all the world, he looked like he was running away from her and she was glad for a moment. No more pink elephants, no more broad shoulders, no minds stuck on the word penis, no narrow aisles and no Harry.

4. Parts--Of Catching the Snitch...

Parts—Of Catching the Snitch…

Author’s Note: Another quick thing. This chapter (and the next two) take place sixth year. Things have happened among the Trio off camera, as it were.

Chasing the Snitch, Harry decided, was the most wonderful feeling in the world. There really was nothing that could compare to flying after the golden object, and feeling the world drop away from him as he twisted, turned, rose and dove after the glittering sphere.

And if sometimes he caught the Snitch in record or near record time, with little or no aerial acrobatics, well, that was okay, too. Because catching the Snitch was the second best feeling in the world. The roar of the crowd as he presented the Snitch to them, the approval and delight that he felt from them was incredible. Harry was a not a vain boy, but it was gratifying to receive attention for something that he, with his own abilities, had done. He wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Boy-Who-Had-Defeated-Voldemort-For-Five-Years-Running-Keep-Up-The-Good-Work-This-Year! here. He was just Harry Potter, a boy with some natural talent, whose ferocious practicing had paid off in spades.

And so when he stood on the Quidditch pitch and opened his hand to show the judge the Snitch, he accepted the wild cheering and yelling with a happy and open heart. And when the heard Hermione and Ron yell his name behind him, he turned and welcomed them with a wide grin. Ron had outpaced his girlfriend by some distance, so by the time he had congratulated Harry (“Good job, Harry! The 150 points should help make up for that little incident in Hogsmeade!”), a crowd had already formed around Harry and they quickly swept Ron away.

“Harry!” He heard Hermione’s voice over the crowd (strange that he could her over so much noise), watched a parade of irritated faces move toward him and grinned. He knew from personal experience that Hermione could deliver killer elbow jabs if sufficiently provoked. He was absurdly pleased that reaching him on the pitch seemed important enough to warrant such measures from her, especially when she could easily see him later in the common room. His patience was rewarded when he saw Hermione’s head pop out of the crowd, a look of intense concentration on her face. When she saw Harry, however, she quickly smiled.

“Congratulations, Harry!” she shouted, and launched herself into his arms.

Harry wrapped his arms around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world and lifted her off her feet. He felt her arms tighten around his neck and laughed when she gave a little gasp when he spun around in a small circle. He wondered what she used to make her hair smell so good. His face was near the crook of her neck, and a lock of her hair had come down over his nose and mouth.

They were pressed so close together her lips brushed his ear when she spoke. “This should make up for--” she began in a low voice.

“Hogsmeade, I know,” he finished, the laughter tinging his voice dying out. She had moved a bit when she spoke and this had shifted the lock of hair slightly. He had spoken (mumbled, really) into her neck. His lips were on her neck. They had moved over her skin like…like some sort of kiss. Harry had no idea that a girl’s neck could be so velvety soft. But maybe it was just Hermione. He moved his lips again, hearing a soft moan, wondering if the rest of Hermione was this—

Hermione.

His arms tightened involuntarily around her as he realized what he had done.

Oh, bloody double damn.

They both jerked their heads back and stared at each other. Harry saw Hermione’s eyes flick around once, probably to see if anyone had noticed, but the crowd was still too busy cheering to pay any particular attention to them. He continued to stare into her warm brown eyes, which looked just as shocked as he felt, wondering how the hell this had happened and what he was going to do now. Some sort of ritual suicide seemed like a good option.

“I guess Ron said something already,” Hermione whispered.

Harry suppressed a groan. Ron. Hermione’s boyfriend. One of his two best friends. His other one currently pushed against him, where he could feel all sorts of interesting curves and dips. Like how her breasts were pressed to his chest and that really was a lovely feeling, wasn’t it? Or how his arms and hands were wrapped around her small waist. Yes, that certainly was very nice. What about the way her legs were loosely entwined with his, part of his stupid, idiotic, loudmouth brain wondered. That was perfectly acceptable as well.

Double bloody double damn.

He needed to stop touching her. He needed to stop touching her right now. He loosened his hold on her and she slowly slid down his body. Well, that was the stupidest thing he head ever done. If a stationary Hermione against him was bad, a full-body-contact, moving Hermione was pure torture. He grit his teeth until her feet hit the ground and she blessedly stopped moving. His hands, of their own volition, settled on the gentle swell of her hips. His hands fit very nicely there and that only served to increase his misery.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

He watched her as her as she tilted her head and gave him a small smile. “Oh, Harry…” she murmured. Her hand came up and brushed a piece of hair off his forehead. She was about to say something more, when a sudden movement in the crowd pushed Harry forward and he smashed into Hermione. His lips grazed her cheek and his arms went around her again.

“Hey, someone tell Ron! Harry’s making a move on Hermione!” a voice in the crowd called. The pack quickly shifted its attention to the Seeker and the girl he held in his arms. Harry could feel the blush coming up his cheeks. How was he going to explain this?

“Oh, stop being so stupid!” Hermione yelled back, indignant. “Honestly! Some people can’t see two people hug without assuming something illicit!”

Harry smiled a bit at this, but then he felt Hermione’s arms come around his neck and tug at him. He bent down, wondering what she was getting at, but then wished she hadn’t when he felt her press a warm kiss onto his forehead. Oh, Merlin, her lips were so soft. Her lips brushed over his scar, and then they were gone. He looked at her in shock as she pulled away.

“You’re my best friend, Harry,” she said, laying a hand on her chest and he flinched a little, remembering his dream from last year. “Don’t ever think otherwise,” she told him seriously. His shoulders slumped at the implication of her words. Best friend. Don’t think about anything else. Well, why would he, anyway, he thought angrily. Ron was the one in love with her, not him.

Except, of course, that he was in love with her, he realized with a dull sort of horror. He loved her lips and her hair and that warm soft spot on her neck, the way she kept cool under fire and could think clearly when his mind was a muddle, the way she didn’t flinch from looking out for him whether that meant reporting his Firebolt in third year or calmly explaining that pink elephants represented penises and the implications thereof last year, the way she devoured books and loved learning new things, how she always added extra rolls of parchment to her essays because how could she not, her sharp elbows, her inordinate love of the library, her bravery, her whip-smart brain and her compassion. She was just…Hermione and he couldn’t do anything but love her and he did so much that he felt it suffuse his entire being so he had to take a step back from her because first and foremost, she and Ron were his best friends and this was such a terrible betrayal, he had to get away from her.

Hermione grabbed his hand and tangled her fingers in his. “You’re my best friend,” she repeated. “No matter what happens.”

Harry looked at her, but the crowd shifted again and this time it took Hermione away from him. “You’re my best friend, Harry Potter! Don’t you forget that!” she yelled as she was carried away.

Harry gazed after her, a heavy emotion weighing on his heart, unfortunately connected to what he now realized.

Holding Hermione was the best feeling in the world. And it could never happen again.

5. Parts--And Hermione

Parts—And Hermione

Watching Harry play Quidditch, Hermione decided, was exhilarating in a completely exhausting and worrying way. He didn’t seem to care at all about his personal safety and merrily went into steep, death-defying dives and stomach-lurching loop-de-loops, all in the name of catching the all important Snitch. This, of course, was a normal part of the game. Every so often, though, Hermione figured she was doubly blessed because not only did she have to worry about so called “standard Quidditch maneuvers” but a hexed broomstick or a rogue Bludger would be thrown into the mix. Just in case she didn’t have enough to agonize over every game.

“You okay?” Ron asked from beside her. He squeezed her hand and looked at her, concerned over her worried countenance.

Hermione smiled at him reassuringly. He really was sweet. “I’m alright. Just wondering if Harry’s going to have to deal with some hexed Quidditch gear this year.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You worry too much. Nothing’s going to happen to him here-” except for that Tri-Wizard Cup portkey, Hermione thought darkly, “not while you and Dumbledore are here,” he said, smiling at her. “Everything will be—hey look! Harry’s found the Snitch!” he shouted.

Hermione forced herself to look as Harry went into a dive, completely intent on catching the Snitch. Just before she was sure he would slam into the ground, he pulled up, brought his broom to a halt and jumped off. He opened his hand, revealing a small, fluttering object and the crowd burst into cheers. She faintly heard Ron shout to follow him as he and the rest of the mass of people swarmed onto the pitch, and she started in that direction, but she had to calm herself first. Another day, another Quidditch match and Harry was alive. He was fine, she told herself firmly. Go congratulate him. He really was spectacular on that dive.

She looked down at the mob of people and wondered how she was going to get through. Well, no matter. She would get through, one way or another. Nothing was going to get between her and Harry now that he was safely on the ground. She made her way to the edge of the crowd and started weaving her way toward the center. At first it was relatively easy going, but the closer she got to Harry, the denser the crowd became. She could just see his face. “Harry!” she shouted, trying to get his attention. She saw him look in her direction, but was soon distracted with the reality now facing her. There was a solid wall of people between her and Harry. She gave a mental shrug and dove in, elbowing people with impunity. She was going to get to Harry and if someone didn’t get out of the way (my God, did someone just pinch her bum?), they had to deal with the consequences. She heard discontented grumblings around her, but pressed forward. She finally made it to a small opening and looked around. Harry, for some reason grinning widely, was just to her left. She smiled at finding him and at his happy look.

“Congratulations, Harry!” she shouted and jumped into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his arms squeeze around her middle. He lifted her clear off her feet and she gave a small gasp of surprise when he suddenly spun around in a circle. She giggled a bit, wondering why he was in such a good mood (they had won the game, of course, but he had never been this carefree before), but then dismissed the thought. She felt his laughter rumble through him, and it made for a pleasant vibration along her body.

They were hugging so tightly her lips brushed his ear when she spoke. “This should make up for--” and she shifted slightly because she felt something tugging her hair by her neck. Suddenly, something warm was pressed up against the crook of her neck and she sucked in a breath.

“Hogsmeade, I know,” Harry murmured. His lips, oh God, those were his lips that had moved over her skin, and she could feel where his breath had swept across her skin, warm and damp, and oh, he was moving his lips again, and she wondered how anything could feel so good. Please, she silently begged, please keep doing that Harry, please—

Harry.

She felt his arms tighten around her and she felt a little dizzy.

Oh, hell.

She jerked her head back and found herself looking into Harry’s eyes. She looked around quickly, needing to avoid his gaze for the moment and wondering if anyone had witnessed what had just occurred. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone was still occupied with cheering the team. She brought her gaze back to Harry’s and looked into his brilliant green eyes. What was she supposed to say?

“I guess Ron said something already,” she whispered, and then gave a silent groan.

Ron. Her boyfriend. Harry’s best friend. One of her best friends. The other one currently holding her tight against him, letting her feel all the changes adolescence and six years of Quidditch had brought. A wide, firm chest that was pressed against her now sensitive breasts. Strong, sinewy arms that wrapped around her waist and held her effortlessly. Long, lean legs that supported both of them.

Oh, holy hell.

He let go of her slightly and she slid down his body. She watched his face, saw his jaw muscles clench and wondered if this full body contact could possibly as hard for him as it was for her. It wasn’t exactly easy feeling the length of his body beside hers. Her feet finally touched the ground and she noted guiltily that his hands settled gently on her hips as if they were made for exactly that purpose.

“I’m so sorry,” she heard him whisper.

She looked up at him and saw the misery etched on his face. She smiled at him, trying to make him feel even a little better. “Oh, Harry…” she murmured, trying to find the right words to say. Something, anything to take away this terrible despair that she saw and felt a bit of herself. She opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to speak, a sudden movement in the crowd slammed Harry into her. His arms went around her and his lips, those wonderfully soft lips, skimmed across her cheek.

“Hey, someone tell Ron! Harry’s making a move on Hermione!” a complete and utter idiot in the crowd called. Hermione could feel everyone’s eyes suddenly move towards them, wondering if something was going on.

“Oh, stop being so stupid!” Hermione yelled back, indignant and desperately trying to salvage the situation. “Honestly! Some people can’t see two people hug without assuming something illicit!”

She saw Harry smile and was glad that one of them found this amusing. She wondered that she was only exasperated with him, not furious or in a panic, but then gave up that line of thought for now. She couldn’t think with him around. She reached up abruptly, wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him downward. She pressed a kiss onto his forehead, brushing his scar before pulling away, overcome by affection for this boy. She laid a gentle hand on his chest. “You’re my best friend, Harry. Don’t ever think otherwise,” she informed him and wondered why he flinched.

She saw his shoulders slump and thought that he was probably thinking about Ron right now. Her boyfriend, her friend, the one who had screwed up the courage to ask her for a private trip to Hogsmeade, looking terrified that she would reject him, but how could she when she liked him too and he was wearing his heart on his sleeve and he looked so adorable and hopeful that she, logical, analytical Hermione, thought her heart would burst, a person who she had a genuine fondness and affection for, if not love, at this point…

Love. Holy bloody hell. She loved Harry. She loved everything about him and wondered how she hadn’t seen this earlier, from his messy hair that defied all combs and potions, to that stupid scar that caused him such trouble and caused a mortal crisis every year, but allowed the world to see how brave and determined he really was. She loved how he carried that attitude over into Quidditch, how it allowed him to excel, even if it gave her a heart attack every game. She loved how he genuinely understood her love of books and knowledge and even if he teased her a bit about always adding two extra rolls to her essays or didn’t always share her enthusiasm for learning, he accepted that as a part of her and necessary because it made her happy and didn’t view it as some sort of personal affront as Ron sometimes did. She loved his humility, the way his eyes would light up at seeing something that passed for common in the wizarding world, his kindness, his extraordinary, incredible kindness, the gentleness that suffused his entire being and let her know that he would never hurt her and the loyalty that promised retribution, if she would let him, for any others that did. He was just Harry and she had to love him because how could she do anything else? He took up her entire being, but that was alright because she didn’t lose herself loving him, oh no, she saw the myriad of possibilities stretching out before her that resulted from having him at her side. But then she saw Ron too, and she wondered how she could do this to him and to Harry, her best friends. Loving just one of them seemed like such a terrible betrayal to both. And now Harry was moving away from her, but she had to get him back, had to keep him there, if only for a second.

She grabbed his hand and tangled her fingers up in his. “You’re my best friend,” she repeated earnestly. “No matter what happens.” She willed him to believe it, even if she didn’t know if she did, because how could she be just his friend when she loved him so completely like this?

He just continued to look morosely at her, though, as the crowd shifted again and she was shuffled off to the side. “You’re my best friend, Harry Potter! Don’t you forget that!” she yelled, desperate to make him understand.

She was on the fringes of the crowd before she knew it and she knew there was no hope of getting back to him. Her heart was heavier than it had ever been, heavier than she thought she could bear.

She loved Harry. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

6. Interlude--In Which Ron Finds Out

Interlude—In Which Ron Finds Out

Harry trudged into the Gryffindor common room, exhausted from Quidditch practice. He pushed the team hard every time, so he was used to the work, but the terrible weather had only served to worsen the team spirit. The rain was coming down so hard Harry could hardly see right in front of him, much less the Snitch, people were slipping off their brooms and none of the Chasers could get a handle on the wet Quaffle. It had been a terrible practice and Harry had finally called and end to it when it became clear just how useless it was.

He looked around the room as he headed to the dorm, noting with some relief that Hermione was not present. It had become increasingly difficult to avoid her, especially once she noticed his withdrawal and seemed to go out of her way to seek him out. Ron had started to notice his girlfriend’s increasing preoccupation with her other friend and would have questioned why Harry seemed to shun her except that Harry had taken to avoiding Ron as well. Considering the number of classes the three of them shared, and the fact that he shared a room with Ron, this was no easy task, but Harry was grimly determined to succeed. The less he saw of Hermione, the less in love with her he would be, he figured, and the less he saw of Ron, the less his heart would ache with the betrayal he felt when he knew he would always love Hermione.

Harry scowled as he stomped up the stairs, wondering why he was thinking such things. There were more important things to concern himself with, like Quidditch or classes or, you know, that thing with Voldemort trying to kill him every year. He pushed open the door to his room, trying to imagine all the ways Voldemort would try to get to him this year, when he noticed Ron sitting cross-legged on his bed…Harry squinted. Was Ron actually reading Hogwarts, A History? Honestly, Voldemort must be losing his touch in his old age, using a Polyjuice Potion on one of his Death Eaters and turning them into Ron. Ron would never read that book.

“Hullo, Harry,” Ron said, snapping the book shut, the sound very loud in the empty room. “You and I are going to have a little talk.” He paused, sniffing the air. “After you shower, though.”

Harry looked at him, too surprised to remember his avoidance techniques. “We’re going to talk? About what?”

Ron gazed back at him calmly. “About Hermione.”

Harry flinched at that and stared at Ron a bit fearfully. Hermione? Why the bloody hell would he want to talk about Hermione? As Ron pointed towards the showers and Harry slowly walked there (what was he doing? Run away!), he cast his mind back, frantically searching for some sign, beside the whole avoidance issue, that would prompt Ron to think about talking about her to him. As he stood under the hot water, Harry decided that there had been nothing to give him away. He had given no sign, no clue, whatsoever. Ron just wanted to talk to him about getting Hermione a present or where to treat her to a nice dinner or how to tell her that he loved her. Harry wondered if it was really possible to drown oneself in the shower. He heard someone banging on the door.

“If you don’t hurry up, Harry, I’m coming in and we’ll have our discussion there,” Ron yelled.

Harry quickly turned off the shower, concluding that the shower was not the best place to hold a meeting about Hermione. He pulled on some clothes and padded into the dorm where Ron was looking out the window, leaning against the windowsill.

“So, when did you fall in love with Hermione?” Ron asked casually.

Harry froze. “What?” he asked sharply.

Ron glanced back at him. “When did you fall in love with Hermione?” he repeated.

Harry’s mind was awhirl. How did Ron know, what was he supposed to say, did Hermione know? The questions chased themselves around in his mind, paralyzing him, until he saw that Ron was waiting for a response. “I’m not,” he finally croaked.

Ron had a faintly reproachful look on his face. “Harry, you’re in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. You couldn’t lie to save your life. Well, except for that thing first year. Your cunning plan to completely avoid Hermione and me was just short of blindingly obvious.”

Harry gaped at him. Well, maybe he should employ Malfoy’s help on this then, he thought wildly. Maybe he should talk to Malfoy about some strategies for Voldemort.

“I’m not, really,” he insisted.

“Despite what Malfoy may say,” Ron said quietly, “I’m not stupid. When you can’t avoid us, I see how you look at her. It’s just a quick flash, when you first see her, but it’s there.”

“Quidditch match, three months ago,” Harry heard himself say. Shut up, shut up, shut UP, a voice in his mind shrieked. What was wrong with him?

Ron looked a little surprised that Harry had actually admitted it so quickly and calmly, but then nodded slightly. “Yeah, that fits in. Started avoiding her after that, and me not long after.”

“Does she know?” Harry asked. No, of course not, he answered himself. Otherwise she would get that hurt look in her eyes when she saw him. It would just be pity instead.

Ron shook his head. “No, she thinks she did something wrong or You-Know-Who has done something to you or is planning to. About any number of possibilities has crossed her mind. But not that you’re in love with her.”

Harry sighed in relief, thanking the gods for small mercies. “Look, tell her I’m okay, alright? Tell her--”

“I’m not telling her anything,” Ron interrupted firmly. “You are. In fact, you’re going to show her everything’s okay. You’re going to Hogsmeade with her. Right now.”

Harry looked at him blankly, hardly believing what he just heard. “You’re setting me up with her? Are you mad? Have you gone completely bonkers?”

Ron frowned. “What?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” he asked, almost shouting. “I love her! I love Hermione!” Now he was shouting. “Your girlfriend! One of my best friends! What if I snap? Just lose control and snog her senseless?”

“Well, I imagine Hermione would hex you into next week if you tried and then I would stomp you to little bits,” Ron replied irritably. “Why are you making such a big deal about this?”

“I. Love. Her,” Harry hissed. “And she’s my best friend, and you are too, but she’s your girlfriend. Why aren’t you angry over this?”

“Because despite your actions over the past few months,” Ron said, his voice rising slightly, “I’d like to think that you are still my best friend and even if you weren’t, you were, and I think I know you well enough, and for some unknowable reason at this point, trust you enough to not to make a move on her! Besides the fact that I trust Hermione and I don’t think she’ll do anything either!”

Harry just looked at him in shock, wondering what he had done to deserve a friend like Ron. He had just admitted that he loved his girlfriend and Ron said he trusted him? “Why aren’t you angry, Ron?” he asked again.

Ron ran a hand through his hair and chuckled mirthlessly. “Maybe I’ve turned a new leaf. Or maybe I’m just so bloody livid and furious over this that it’s fractured my personality because I can’t deal with it. Or maybe I’m turning into Percy.”

Harry actually managed a small smile. “Perish the thought.”

Ron returned the smile, but then frowned. “Look, just go, alright? I’m doing this as much for her as for myself. Now that I’ve actually heard you say,” he took a deep breath, “that, I need to sort things out. By myself. Just don’t be surprised if I meet you coming back at the door and challenge you to a duel.”

Harry smiled a bit more. “You’re a terrible dueler, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “Who said anything about a wizarding duel? Maybe it’ll be one of those…what did Hermione call them…oh, right, mano a mano. Bare knuckles and all that.”

“I’ve played Quidditch for six years, Ron.”

Ron grinned wolfishly. “And I have five older brothers. Two of them are named Fred and George.”

Harry paused, considering. “Well, I suppose if one of us manages to win, the loser will have the comfort of knowing that Hermione will strangle the winner with her bare hands.”

They both laughed a little at that, and then sobered. “Go,” Ron said in a noticeably neutral voice. “She’s probably back from the library by now.”

Harry looked at Ron for a long moment, and then nodded. If Ron trusted him to do this, then he would. Even if it killed him. He left Ron standing by the window, and slowly went down the stairs to find Hermione sitting on the sofa, staring at the fire.

“Hey,” he said softly, willing himself not to reach out and touch her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello, Harry,” she said softly. A wary look came into her eyes, like she was trying to figure out how to not scare him off. “Why…what…I mean, why--”

He ran a hand through his hair and cut her off. “Look, do you want to pop over to Hogsmeade for a bit? Head over to the Three Broomsticks for a bit? We can…talk.”

“The weather is terrible, Harry.”

Oh, God, this was awful. They were talking about the weather. He shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I don’t know any secret underground passages or anything.”

She looked at him consideringly for a long time, long enough that Harry was terrified that she was just going walk away, which would be understandable given the way he had treated both her and Ron, but she finally nodded. “Alright,” she said, quietly. “Just let me get my cloak.”

So he waited patiently for her and tried not to suck in a breath when he saw her come down the stairs, looking so happy that she glowed. How was he going to do this, how could he be by her and not say something or do something or reach out and run a thumb over her cheek or better yet her lips?

“Harry, are we going to go?”

His gaze refocused on her and he smiled and nodded his head. Ron trusted him, Ron trusted him…

“Sorry, let’s go.” Hermione nodded and went out the portrait hole. Harry followed, careful not to touch her or stand too close or look too long or think about how desperately he loved her.

Looking back, Harry couldn’t say how he survived, but he did. Walking through the school, down the passage and through Hogsmeade was torture at first, but Harry just kept thinking about Ron and his incredible show of trust. Hermione seemed determined to keep him around, and made sure the conversation was light. By the time they walked into the Three Broomsticks, they were laughing at some silly joke and by the end of the night, they had almost returned their friendship to the point before that cursed Quidditch match. They talked about all manner of subjects, from Quidditch to classes to Voldemort. Hermione never brought up his strange absence from their lives and Harry didn’t offer.

So when they walked back through Hogsmeade, down the passage and through the school, Harry had a considerably lighter heart. As long as he didn’t think about it too much, and was careful of what he said, he could be Hermione’s friend. They said goodbye at the foot of the stairs, still a strange little stiffness in their speech and actions, and went to their rooms.

When Harry walked in, he was hit by something a little…off, in the room. He looked around, trying to figure out what was wrong. It came to him suddenly. The room was perfect. Nothing out of place. Normally, the boys’ dorm was a disaster on a good day, but even when the house elves came through, the room wasn’t this clean. It was like someone had made a terrible mess, but then cleaned everything up in hopes that no one would notice, but had gone too far. Even the windows sparkled.

Harry looked uneasily over at Ron’s bed, but he was already asleep. Harry moved over to his own bed, then noticed something on one of the posters of his bed. He walked over to inspect in more closely. There was a hairline fracture that ran the complete length of the poster. And suddenly Harry knew that Ron had done this, knew that he did this with his fists, not magic, had ruined the rest of the room while he and Hermione were away at Hogsmeade, then tried to clean it up before they got back. Harry frowned. Then why not fix this? Why leave it?

Harry sucked in a breath. Ron wanted Harry to know. None of the other boys would notice how clean the room was or the crack in Harry’s bed. Ron had indulged his temper in a truly spectacular way, and no one but he and Harry would know. He really had been furious with Harry. Harry wondered if his temper would still be around tomorrow, but doubted it. He knew somehow that whatever anger Ron had, he had expended it here, away from him and everyone else. But he had made sure that no one else would know, no one else would figure out that something had been dreadfully wrong the legendary Trio. And Harry was fine with that. He wouldn’t talk about it, not with Ron, not with anyone else. As far as he was concerned, a cracked bedpost was a small price to pay for what he had done. He climbed into bed, and looked over in Ron’s direction again.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Ron muttered.

Harry smiled. “No duels?” he asked lightly.

“Too tired. Need sleep. Have Potions exam tomorrow.”

Harry groaned. He had forgotten all about that. He heard Ron chuckle. “Forgot about that, did you? Don’t worry. We’ll do okay. Always do.”

Harry nodded, Ron’s words warming him for some reason.

We’ll do okay. Always do.

7. Realizations--Those Damn Pink Elephants

Realizations—Those Damn Pink Elephants

Today, Harry decided, was an exceptionally good day. It had been unseasonably warm the entire week, which had lifted the spirits of everyone (even Professor Snape, as much as his spirits could be lifted), it was Friday afternoon after classes, and he, Ron and Hermione were outside by the lake, along with several other students, enjoying the warm sunshine. In fact, barring the whole intense-unrequited-love-for-Hermione situation, today was perfect.

Harry had gotten used to feeling that dull ache in his heart whenever he saw Hermione, but he had learned last year that he could at least still be friends with her. His relationship with Ron (and overall emotional well-being) had improved considerably over the summer. Harry remembered the day he had received the letter from Ron which had tersely explained that he and Hermione had broken up. Harry was sure that this had something to do with him (i.e. Hermione had found out, Ron couldn’t take it anymore, etc.), and had morosely fed Pig and sent him on his way, morosely laid on his bed and thought morose thoughts about the breakup and his part in it, morosely went down to dinner and morosely passed the potatoes. In general, he was morose, which delighted the Dursley’s to no end, as they hadn’t even been particularly trying to make his life miserable.

The next day, Harry had received another letter from Ron via Pig. If you think, it began, that Hermione found out, or I snapped, or you had anything to do with this, you’re stupider than you look. Not everything is about you, you great prat. Harry could practically see Ron rolling his eyes at Harry’s state of mind and that picture along with the letter were so Ron that Harry couldn’t help but be cheered. This, of course, had depressed the Dursley’s. Then the twins and Ron had come to get him a few days later and it was a classic Weasley boy plan, because it had involved magic carpets, Aunt Petunia, canary creams, Dudley as a seahorse, hippogriffs, broomsticks and several revolting images of some veela and Uncle Vernon which Harry was sure he could never scour from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

His time at the Burrow was happy and relatively carefree. He and Ron had talked about the breakup the first night. Ron explained that he had been thinking about his relationship with Hermione a lot over the summer and had come to the conclusion that they just weren’t compatible as anything more than friends. They were too different in such fundamental ways that it would never work out. Hermione had seemed surprised when he told her (probably over the fact that he had actually done some serious thinking, Ron dryly noted), but had agreed with his analysis. There were no hysterics, no crying declarations of love, which had just proved in Ron’s mind that this was the right thing to do. The warmth of friendship spread between them once again. Hermione warned Ron that if he thought she would pity him because of the breakup and not encourage him to study for the N.E.W.T.s, he was crazier than Fred and George. Ron had informed her that only truly insane bookworms would consider studying for exams that were ten months away and before school even started. And they were off, arguing for the rest of the day.

Harry was happy because the breakup really hadn’t been about him, Ron coming to a reasoned(!) decision on his own. Whatever lingering strain there had been between the two boys was cleared up that night. Their friendship was stronger than ever and they had spent the rest of their time there de-gnoming the garden, making trouble with Fred and George, avoiding Mrs. Weasley and even talking about Hermione and when they would see her and how fast she would say something about the N.E.W.T.s. Harry won with a daring “30 seconds after she sees us, after she says hello to both of us, but before she asks us how the rest of our summer was.” Ron had scoffed that 30 seconds was too quick even for Hermione, but Harry was a few Honeyduke’s sweets richer after seeing her.

Yes, everything was wonderful between Harry and Ron, a bloody fairytale, which only left this blasted problem with Hermione, who was sitting next to him, the sun, sitting low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over her features, making her even more—

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, staring at her.

Hermione cast a startled glance over in his direction. “What?”
Harry really needed to learn to control his mouth. Words kept popping out at the most inopportune moments around her. “I said you were beautiful.” Like that.

Hermione gaped at him, doing a spectacular imitation of a fish. “But why…I mean, thank you, but why would…” She shook her head, and finally got the words out. “Why did you say that?”

That was an excellent question, Harry thought. It was true, of course, she was beautiful, but it didn’t exactly fit in with his plan to avoid saying anything like that to Hermione and to keep their friendship just that—friendly. If he said anything suspicious, he knew, just knew, that she would either freak out and run away and he would lose the woman he loved and his best friend, or possibly even worse, she would look at him with a terrible pity in her eyes and explain, logically, point by point, why she could never love him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, his arse. Nothing ventured, nothing lost.

“Well, friends can compliment each other, right?” he asked. “That’s what I did. Although,” he said, injecting a light tone into his voice and grinning a bit, “I don’t think I’ve heard you compliment me in return, Miss Granger.” Watch it, Harry warned himself. That was dangerously close to flirting. At least, as flirting as Harry ever got.

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide and blushing. “Er, I think you’re beautiful, I mean, handsome, as well,” she managed. “Very handsome.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “You think I’m very handsome?”

She nodded, ducking her head a bit shyly.

Harry smiled, warmed by her words. “Thank you,” he said, blushing himself. He did a little mental dance, feeling a bit like what he imagined a twelve year old girl must feel like. Hermione thinks I’m cute!

But all too quickly, the moment passed and Hermione picked up a book (Hogwarts, a History, which even Ron agreed qualified as light, pleasure reading for her by now) and quickly became engrossed in it. Harry felt oddly disappointed by this, which was just stupid because, looking back, that whole exchange had been flirtatious and he was right because now Hermione wasn’t looking at him or speaking to him and he shouldn’t have said anything and everything was ruined.

Harry wondered if he had become a twelve year old girl with all the melodramatic thoughts he had been having lately.

Harry sighed and looked at Hermione. She was biting her lip, frowning at something in the book. It was such a typical Hermione pose that Harry couldn’t help but smile. Reading a book she must have gone over a million times before, and still finding new facts or new information to process. Harry thought of all the books, all the research Hermione must have done over her life and boggled at how unbelievably intelligent she must be. And she sorted it all out so that he and Ron could (mostly) understand. He was overcome by such a wave of affection and love for this girl that he could hardly stand it. Everything about her amazed him, from her astonishing brain to her incredible compassion. And, quite frankly, her legs weren’t that bad either.

Then his brain short circuited once again.

“I love you,” Harry said.

Oh, dammit. What was wrong with him? Hermione was looking at him as if he had grown a second head and she was doing her fish imitation again. Harry looked miserably at the lake, wondering if the squid would be kind enough to strangle him. Their friendship was over, she would walk away right now—

“I love you, too,” Hermione said softly.

Harry blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Well, alright then.” Alright then? Alright then? He proclaims his love for her, she says she loves him and he says ‘alright then’? What was wrong with him? This was incredible! Momentous! Al-damn-right then?

Hermione was looking at him strangely. “Harry, are you alright? You look…angry.”

“I am angry!” he said loudly. “I said I love you! You love me! I shouldn’t say alright then. It shouldn’t just be this…this calm acceptance! There should be drama, histrionics, earthquakes, fire and brimstone! Something other than, ‘Oh, of course she loves me!’ I’ve loved you for over a year! You were with Ron! Unrequited love for my best friend and this is how it ends up? Alright then! No, no, no!”

Hermione looked concerned for his sanity. “You want drama and angst? And did you just say histrionics?”

Harry attempted to get his breathing under control. He turned to face her fully and grabbed one of her hands. “Hermione, I love, and have loved, you so much it scares me. I look at you and I can’t see anyone else. I look at you and I think that I can defeat Voldemort, win every Quidditch game and raise three or four kids that have your remarkable intelligence and not blink.” He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “Hermione, I’m seventeen years old, and I’m thinking about kids and growing old with you. There is no one else on this planet like you. And you just said you loved me. And I just reacted like it was no big deal, like it didn’t surprise me in the slightest!”

Hermione was smiling at him now. She reached over and put a hand on his face. Harry leaned into it, hungering for her touch. “Harry, it didn’t surprise you because you know this is right. I knew I loved you last year when I was still going out with Ron. I expended so much worry and energy over that debacle that I think that I’ve used it all up. This is right. This is natural,” she said, leaning to rest her forehead on his. “I love you so much I wonder that I can think about anything else at all. And when you said you loved me, it just all fit into place. We belong together, Harry.”

Harry looked at her in amazement, wondering at her incredible ability to say the right thing to him, and then grinned. “So, no dramatic pronouncements, then? No ‘I can never be with you, it would ruin our friendship’? No agonizing over this?”

Hermione grinned back. “Not today. I think I just feel relief that this has finally happened. We can do the theatrical bits tomorrow.”

Harry nodded. “Tomorrow, then. Much hand-wringing and melodrama.” He gazed into her eyes, humor lighting them, when he felt something break inside him. He had waited for this for so long, waited for her touch. And now she was here, right in front of him, and she said she loved him and he thought that if he didn’t kiss her right now, he would die. Perhaps we can have some melodrama today then, a voice in the back of his head dryly stated. He leaned towards her, and saw her eyes flutter close before he shut his eyes and--

“Oi! What are you two doing?” Ron’s voice boomed.

Harry and Hermione jerked back, flushing at the interruption. They turned to see Ron and Lavender walking up to them, Ron with a highly amused expression on his face, Lavender with a speculative one on hers.

Ron shook his head. “Harry, Harry, Harry. What are you thinking, trying to do something like that outside in front of everyone? What will the children think?”

Lavender nudged Ron. “I think you should be worrying about Head Girl Granger over here, losing her head like that. Doesn’t bode well for the school rules if she can be so easily distracted,” she tsked, shaking her head.

“Oh, come off it,” Hermione grumbled, getting to her feet, pulling Harry up. He stood slightly behind her, a hand resting on her hip. “Nothing happened.”

“Because we were here to stop you!” Ron said earnestly. “Honestly, you should thank us.”

Harry just rolled his eyes.

Lavender was looking at them intently again. “So, you two are finally together, then?”

Ron’s gaze snapped over to Lavender’s in surprise. “What do you mean, finally together?”

Lavender shrugged. “Well, everyone thought that they would get together. They even have a betting pool going.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder who’s going to win. Not me, that’s for sure. I was sure it was going to be at graduation. I even did a tea leaf reading about it.”

Hermione leaned back and muttered, “Do you think they realize we’re standing right here?” Harry just shook his head, fascinated with the discussion unfolding before him.

Ron looked affronted. “I was going out with Hermione for a year and a half! People thought Harry and Hermione should date even then?”

Lavender looked at him pityingly. “Please. Everyone knew that wouldn’t last. You two are way too different to carry on a proper relationship.”

“A proper relationship?” Ron shouted. “We were fifteen! What’s a proper relationship? Did you expect me to propose marriage?”

Harry leaned forward and whispered, “You are a Weasley, Ron. Everyone probably expected that you would start early.”

Ron looked sourly at him. “You don’t talk. You’re trying to snog my best friend. I’ll have to ask your intentions.”

“My intentions?!”

“Yes, your intentions. I have to see if you can carry on a ‘proper relationship’. But stop distracting me. I want to know about this ‘feeling’ everyone had about you two and why no one had it about me and Hermione!”

Lavender sighed. “Ron, you and Hermione fought. It was cute and people thought it meant you liked each other, and apparently it did, but most people figured it wouldn’t last. You two just don’t understand each other enough. Totally different attitudes. And Harry was always there and he and Hermione do understand each other—don’t shake your head, Ron, if I can see it, you can too—in a way I’ve never seen before, so it was just a matter of time before they realized it too.” She shrugged. “Simple.”

Ron was still shaking his head. “Simple. Right.”
Lavender sighed again and turned to Hermione, an excited look passing over her face. “Did you two just get together now? How did it happen? Are you really a couple? Are you going to tell anyone?” she asked in rapid succession.

Hermione looked a little scared at Lavender’s enthusiasm, but bravely answered the questions. “Yes, we just told each other that we loved them, yes and somehow I doubt we’ll need to say anything.”

“Wait, you just told each other you loved them?” Lavender asked uncertainly. “Just like that? No misunderstandings, no ‘we can never be together’, no drama?”

“We’re saving that for tomorrow,” Harry informed her.

Lavender got a dreamy look in her eye. “How romantic.”

Ron snorted. “Romantic? They’re planning on when they’re going to have problems. This has Hermione written all over it.”

Hermione was indignant. “Just because I like to have a little structure in my life doesn’t mean--”

“I meant how they said they loved each other and they both just accepted it,” Lavender interrupted, looking at Ron. “They just knew it was right. No need to agonize. Romantic,” she sighed.

“I think the word you’re looking for,” Ron said, “is boring.”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry muttered as Hermione grew redder and redder. No one could wind her up like Ron and he was looking at a full scale meltdown if he didn’t do something.

Lavender continued as if she hadn’t heard anything. “Oh, and it happened by the lake and the wind was probably playing with your hair, Hermione, and the sun was just beginning to set so the light was all soft and Harry probably thought you were so beautiful…” she trailed off, sighing again.

“Lavender,” Hermione said firmly, apparently deciding to ignore Ron for now, “stop. You’re scaring me.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Ron contradicted, trying to rile up Hermione. “Go on. In excruciating detail if you want. I want to hear this. What about the grass? Any woodland creatures about? What about the clouds? What were they like?”

“Shut up, Ron,” Lavender said serenely. “I’m happy about this and I’m happy for my friends. But if you want to know about the clouds,” she said, pausing to look up at the sky, “well, look, that one looks a bit like an elephant, doesn’t it? And the sunset makes it look rather pink. A pink elephant was over Harry and Hermione!” she giggled.

Several things happened at once. Ron began choking. Hermione began snickering. Harry immediately took his hand off Hermione’s hip and stuffed both hands into his trousers and blushed something fierce. Why did it have to come back to pink elephants?

Lavender was looking at them all in surprise. “What? What did I say? Ron, are you—goodness, you need to breathe! Hermione, why are you laughing like that? What’s going on?” she asked in frustration.

“Pink elephants,” Ron managed to gasp finally, “mean Harry’s penis.”

Lavender frowned. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me Harry has a name for his penis? You mean Harry has a penis?”

Silence immediately reigned. Harry thought everyone was in shock. Had Lavender just made a joke? About his penis?

“Seven years I waited to toss off a joke like that,” Lavender muttered. “Seven years. And this is what I get. Silence. You know, you guys aren’t doing much to bolster my self-confidence.”

“It’s a little hard to laugh when you’re cracking jokes about my bits,” Harry retorted.

Ron and Hermione started to snigger. “Actually, it’s not,” Ron said.

Harry slid his gaze over to Hermione. “Well?” he asked crossly.

Hermione just shrugged and attempted to hide her laugh behind her hand. “It was a little funny, Harry,” she mumbled.

“Harry, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lavender said gently. “I’m told most boys have names for their bits.”

Harry was sure this was another dream, just like fifth year, because he could not believe that Lavender was consoling him about naming his genitalia. It was simply outside the realm of reality. And he didn’t even have a name for it! And if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be Pink Elephant. It sounded like some sort of girly drink.

“Harry Potter and the Pink Elephant!” Ron hooted. “Lavender, you’re a genius!”

“Shut up, Ron!” Harry bellowed. “I suppose you have a name for yours? Let’s hear it!”

“The Eighth Weasley,” Lavender promptly replied. Ron looked at her in astonishment. Then Lavender pretended to screw up her face in confusion, and started to make counting motions with her fingers. “Or wait, would it be…uh, the Fifteenth Weasley? Or possibly the Sixteen or Seventeenth if you count Ginny and your mother first and then go back through the boys. But that wouldn’t make much sense, now would it?” she asked innocently.

Harry watched as Ron gave Lavender a speculative glance, wondering if she had anything else hidden underneath besides a wicked sense of humor. Ron glanced back over at Harry and the two shared a purely male look. Harry raised his eyebrows. Ron grinned. He spun back to face Lavender.

“No one insults the Fifteenth Weasley!” Ron roared and lunged at Lavender. Lavender shrieked and bolted off, laughing in delight, Ron close on her heels.

Harry chuckled, seeing them run off and turned to Hermione. She was looking after them with an affectionate smile on her face. “Who knew?” she murmured. A smirk appeared on her face then and she glanced up at Harry. “A pink elephant, hmm?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I can’t seem to get away from them.”

She smiled and gently brushed his hair from his forehead. “I don’t think they’re so bad.”

A smirk twitched at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I didn’t know you were that kind of girl, Hermione,” he leered.

“Oh, honestly, Harry,” she said, blushing a bit. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She paused and looked up coyly at him. “Well, maybe a bit.”

Harry grinned and raised his hands to gently cup her face. His thumbs tenderly swept across her cheeks to her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I really, really want to kiss you,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes. “You don’t have to ask, you know.”

His gaze flickered down to her mouth and he slowly lowered his head. His heart was pounding in nervousness and excitement. This was Hermione, he thought. His best friend, the girl he loved more than he thought possible. And he was going to kiss her. Just before their lips met, he stopped, wanting to memorize this moment. His eyes shot up to hers. He could feel her breath puff across his mouth.

“Potter, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’ll do something immensely nasty involving your pink elephant,” she muttered.

“Temper, temper, Ms. Granger. Patience is a virtue,” he replied softly. He leaned forward slightly and his lips finally met hers.

It was everything he could have hoped and nothing like he had dreamed. Her lips were soft, moving underneath his, urging him to continue. Her lips opened and suddenly the kiss deepened and Harry thought he was drowning in Hermione, which wasn’t a bad way to die. Their minds, their hearts, their souls were intertwined and Harry couldn’t imagine anything more freeing.

She was everything.

FIN