A/N: Written for the I'm Falling in Love... Again competition as well as the Easy level of Round 4 of Cheeky's Weekly Drabble Challenges, both to be found over at HPFC. Also, this is my first AU fic in the HP fandom, so... eek! I hope you enjoy.

–

At first it was nothing more than a certain sort of passing glance- he'd catch her staring for just a little too long, or she'd notice him watching her particularly closely when she ate pizza with him and Harry. Then, slowly, she felt it become something else. Lately, when Harry would have friends over for a party in the attic (the only place in the house he could play music as loudly as he pleased), Hermione, not the biggest fan of the crowded atmosphere, would find herself downstairs with James, discussing anything and everything- her dates and his dates (each was set up on blind dates by friends quite regularly, and neither seemed to have much luck with them), their interests, films, music, even the occasional novel- anything.

One day, in fact, he had been preparing for just such one previously mentioned blind date when she arrived. Harry had greeted her at the door and attempted to drag her upstairs quickly, knowing that she would be distracted by his father, but she stopped in the kitchen anyways, much to Harry's chagrin, where she found him adjusting a tie in his reflection in the microwave. Upon witnessing said adjustment, she snorted slightly, and James spun around to face her, pouting.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. "I'm going to dinner with some woman again- I need all the self-confidence I can muster," he added, still pouting.

"Nothing," Hermione lied, "nothing is funny." She shook her wrist free of Harry's grip (hearing Harry sigh deeply) and strolled over to come face to face with James. "It's just, well, you," she admitted. As she began to unknot and remove his tie, she continued, "You never take them somewhere nice, I know you don't, so you don't need the tie. And let's unbutton this- you look so stuffy," she muttered, setting the tie on the granite countertop so she could begin to open the top button of his shirt. "And what on earth have you done to your hair?" Hermione demanded, poking one stiff piece and watching it waver back into place. "It's like plastic!"

"I used some of Harry's gel- sorry-" he added when Harry rolled his eyes, "but I might have used to much."

"Might have," Hermione said lightly, wetting her hands slightly at the sink before motioning for James to move in her direction. "I'll be just a moment, she said to Harry, who felt that he was entirely too not-bothered by the sight of his best female friend attempting to work out the gel- his gel- in his father's hair to possibly be normal.

Harry, however, simply threw his hands up in front of him. "Just... come up when you're done. Want me to call Ron?" Hermione nodded absentmindedly, focused on James's crown now, and just to test if she was paying attention, he asked, "What about Lavender?" At Hermione's withering glare, he was at least reassured that she'd been listening.

Several moments of silence later, Hermione took a kitchen towel to James's hair, making it stand in every direction- they laughed, said hello when Ron came in- "Harry's upstairs," Hermione offered through giggles- and then settled down as Hermione began to smooth his hair back down, this time with the proper amount of hair gel.

"But that's so little!" James had objected when she showed him the small amount in her palm. "That can't possibly be enough!"

"Read it and weep," Hermione had said, simply gesturing toward the bottle. Sure enough, there it was, printed with the rest of the usage instructions: Ten pence size dollop. "It's extra strength hold," she had explained rather exasperatedly at his further confusion.

When they had finished and James was satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed her by the shoulders and held her at arms' length. She found herself unable to look away from his eyes, heart aflutter, and for a moment he seemed to lose his train of thought. She was disappointed when he took things a different direction than she would have liked. "I don't know how you do it," he said, "but you make me look good for these things- thank you. Remind me to get you some ice cream or something as a thank-you gift," he added over his shoulder, now turned to retrieve his keys from the key bowl on the table nearest the door. She smiled as he pulled on a jacket and launched himself out the front door. Before she went upstairs to join her friends, he opened the door, stuck in his head, and cried, "Don't wait up!" then promptly slammed it again. Through first the frosted glass of the door and then the window she could see him sprinting to his car, and this set her smiling even more widely as she set up the stairs for Harry's room.

When she reached the appropriate door, it was tightly closed, and Harry and Ron were speaking in hushed tones within; as such, Hermione could only hear snippets of their conversation, but what she did hear made her rather suspicious: from Ron, "I swear, she's already basically your step-mom, and..." then something muffled, followed by a loud "Ugh!" from Harry. She took this as her cue to interrupt, and Hermione jiggled the door handle loudly, calling out, "Make yourselves decent!" and "Put away the Playboy!" before entering. (After one fateful evening at age fourteen, well... she had to give a warning.) Both boys had a suspicious glint in their eyes when she entered- yes, they were hiding something, and it wasn't a Playboy. (They preferred Hustler.) Who had they been talking about?

She forced herself to push it to the back of her head as they whiled the evening away, singing along to the CDs each had brought, Hermione watching the boys playing Donkey Kong against one another- all the things they'd done together throughout school. As they'd graduated only a month before and were doomed to go separate ways, they were eager to hold onto their youth for one more moment, draw it out for as long as possible... or, at least, the boys were. Hermione had found herself growing tired of the entertainment of her childhood. She wanted- needed- something more, something deeper.

As the boys argued over who had really won their round, Hermione listened closely for the tell-tale sound of James's car pulling in. Several times she thought she'd heard it, but to no avail. Finally, a sound close enough- and there was the door, open and close. "I'm going to go get something to drink," Hermione excused herself. Harry rolled his eyes, but Ron simply nodded, too engrossed in his game to really notice or care about her absence.

She stopped lightly but quickly down the stairs, eager to listen to yet another tale of a disastrous date and certain James would be willing to share. Sure enough, Hermione found him in the kitchen, scooping out two bowls of ice cream. "Is this my reward?" she asked, and he turned around and nodded tiredly before returning to his scooping, yawning widely. "Sounds like you're pretty tired."

He let out another yawn before replying. "Observant. You should be a detective," he added as she took the blue bowl from his outstretched hand. "Let's sit in the living room, I'll tell you all about this one."

It was a glorious tale of an absolutely nutters young accountant who, halfway through the date, informed James that she wasn't wearing any panties but that she also hadn't been tested for any STDs lately, so if she had sex with him, he'd have to use a condom. She also didn't even pretend that she'd been planning on paying for her share and was absolutely bonkers conservative, not to mention her laugh was akin to the cry of a hyena. Needless to say, she and James had not gotten along well; needless to say, Hermione was pleased to hear this. Lately, she'd been afraid that he'd end up married to one of those women. Not that she didn't want him to be happy, just... not like that.

"Who set you up with that chit?" Hermione demanded. Then, realization quickly dawning on her, she answered her own question at the same time as James: "Sirius."

"Who else would know someone like that?" She tittered at his rhetorical question. "Honestly, God knows it wasn't Remus."

"Why do you go on those dates?" It had always bothered Hermione; none of them even went anything vaguely similar to the concept of well, but still- after so long- he subjected himself to the nonsense.

"I dunno," James said, listlessly spooning ice cream from his bowl to his mouth. "I just want to meet the perfect woman, I suppose." He shrugged, adding after swallowing, "Who doesn't want that?"

"Straight women and gay men," Hermione replied. When he raised his eyebrows at her over his bowl, she continued. "We want to meet the perfect man." He snorted. "What constitutes the perfect woman, anyways?" Not that she was going to compare herself. She just wanted to know.

"Well, she'd obviously have to be pretty- intelligent! Pretty intelligent!" James added, hands thrown up in defense at Hermione's sharp glare/raised single brow combination. "Not even necessarily intelligent, maybe just intellectual," he mused. "Intelligence behind that is pretty important, though, I s'pose. She'd have to be able to have conversations, you know? And be attractive as well, of course. I dunno," James said, stirring his partially melted ice cream without purpose, "I can't think of anything specific."

"Maybe you don't really have to search for her," Hermione muttered under her breath.

James leaned in closer. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied quickly. She hadn't meant for him to hear her, of course.

"Oh," he said, leaning back into the couch, looking slightly dejected. "I thought you said- never mind."

"What did you think I said?"

"I just-" he looked so uncomfortable, and at first Hermione thought that he had heard her correctly and was disturbed, but he looked almost... hopeful? "I just thought you said- I thought you said that I don't really have to search for the perfect woman for me," he said, entirely in one breath, looking down into his ice cream, now fully melted.

"And, er, what would you say if I had said that?"

He looked up sharply, making blazing eye contact. "I would ask who you meant."

"You'd know who I'd meant." The corner of his lips curled up uncertainly, and hers curled into a small smile to match.

"I'd ask if I could kiss you."

"I'd say yes."

They were speaking in whispers now. "I'd lean in." He did so.

"I'd come a little closer." She did so as well.

"I'd get impatient," James said, "and kiss you." He did so, and although Hermione's mouth was far too busy to let her say it, she'd kiss him back with vigor- and she did so.

–

"You not get the crisps, Harry?" Ron questioned without looking away from his game, the distinct lack of a crinkling back not quite enough to draw his eyes from the television screen.

"I- I-"

"What is it mate?" Ron was still not concerned enough to look up at his friend. "Out of crisps? It's fine."

"I didn't get the crisps," Harry said quietly, "but I think I might get sick to my stomach."

The redhead did look up now- without pausing his game, and the oof! cry when his character was punched out was clearly heard in the silence. "What is it?"

"They- they-" Harry couldn't find the right words, but Ron knew what he meant.

"Mate," Ron said, shaking his head at his friend, "even I saw it coming."

A/N: I dunno why, but I naturally wrote James using the regular old preterite (you said) and Hermione using "to have" + past participle (I had said). I know that probably matters to 0% of you, but I'm kind of a grammar nerd, and so reading back over and realizing I'd written them so, completely unwittingly, made me smile. Weird characterization.