"Insomnia and Confessions"
By: Yelhsa D
Disclaimer: The story is mine; the characters are not. I'm just trying to advance the plot! (How do you like my nifty disclaimer poem? :-D)
Author's Note: I've written fan fiction before, but this is my first shot at HP related fanfic. This piece of "Pumpkin Pie" is a bit fluffy so bear with me please. The story takes place around the middle of The Order of the Phoenix, but I don't think there's enough in there to ruin the story for you! Hermione's thoughts are italicized. Also, the term, "nerdy cute" that I use to describe Harry is my own. I tried to find another term to use there, but nothing seemed to fit. Besides, I find "nerdy cute" guys to be the most attractive anyway! ;-D Much thanks to Nokomiss for beta- reading all my work and fixing my grammar and pointing out possible plot holes! Everyone go read her stuff! And finally, positive reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! Enjoy!
"Insomnia and Confessions"
As I lie here, I can't help but think about him. For one thing, I can't sleep, but I believe he's the cause of my insomnia. All the memories keep flooding back. The recollections of all those times I've held his hand, hugged him, that one brave moment where my sense of fear fled and I placed a small kiss on his cheek...the numerous times I've sat and been his listening ear...and those few times that I treasure the most, those brief moments where he held me in his arms.
The way it felt, being that close to him. His arms pressing my body close to his...my own arms wrapping tightly around his waist, never wanting to let go...my face buried in his chest, making me feel incredibly small, yet secure. I want to believe I feel him resting his head atop mine, but I'm not sure if this is an actual memory.
Nevertheless, this is the greatest feeling. It's not a lustful feeling; it's a feeling of deep compassion and complete trust. Never mind that the predominant amount of my most cherished memories occurred when we were on the edge of death and certain doom. If it were possible, I would've used my Time Turner to make the moment last forever, however, it would've entailed releasing him from my arms to turn the switch. Now I'm left with bittersweet memories of near demise and longing to feel his embrace again. I squeeze my pillow, savoring the feeling, hoping to take enough comfort from it to finally go to sleep. No avail. Perhaps reading in the common room will aid me in my quest for slumber.
But what if he's there? What will I say? I can see it all now, "Oh, hi there...didn't expect to see you up. Why am I up, you ask? Oh, I was just suffering from insomnia and I figured some light reading would take you off my mind, but since you're here I won't be able to stop thinking about you, now will I?" Then I'll laugh nervously and he'll think I've gone insane. I'll be forced to run back up to the dorm where he can't follow and have to do a memory modifying charm to keep him from knowing my secret.
I would hate to have to stoop to that. Maybe I should just stay here...I just don't know. I hate not knowing things. I hate my indecisiveness, but I hate keeping this to myself even more. I feel like a silly little girl who has fallen in love with a guy who is way beyond her reach. Yet another part of me knows this guy so well that I don't believe he would ever treat me like a silly little girl, but his equal, his friend, maybe even like a sister.
Does he think of me like a sister? I hope not...I think most guys think of me in that light, save for Viktor Krum. He was very nice and kind, but not really my type of guy. If most guys really do think of me in a sisterly sort of way, is it because I refuse to be some flaky git of a girl with more brains in my head than make-up on my face? Is that why guys always seem more interested in fabulous looking girls that don't have a shred of intelligence about them than girls who are about more than just appearances, girls who can carry on a conversation about something besides the fashion column of The Daily Prophet. It doesn't matter...my mental rant isn't going to change anything. Whether he's there or not, I'm going down to the common room. I doubt he's even up now...he had a rough Quidditch practice today and we'll be lucky to wake him in the morning from his comatose slumber.
Now let's see, where's my book? Ah, here we go, Potions, something that will definitely put me to sleep. Now to sneak a peek in the common room, just to see if he's there...good, he's not, no one's here. I can read in peace and perhaps even pull off a few hours sleep. Now all I need is the couch to curl up in and Crookshanks snoozing on my lap, a perfect potion for slumber. I bet I can't find a better potion in this book.
I began rereading through the night's Potions homework. It wasn't too complicated, just a simple wakefulness potion, not something I need right now.
Perhaps I should've chosen my History of Magic book instead...
The faint sound of bare feet on carpet broke my concentration.
"You couldn't sleep either, could you Hermione?" came a yawning voice from behind me. There he was. Tall, skinny, and although those physical attributes were not commonly deemed "hot" by most of the female population, he was so attractive just the same. His hair, often unruly and disheveled, was twice that after tossing and turning in vain attempts at sleep. His unkempt hair suited him...it made him even more attractive. His circular glasses, slightly askew, completed him. There was something else about him though, something almost intangible. Most girls would describe him along the lines of "nerdy cute," not exactly the most macho guy around, but not ugly either.
Perhaps this is what attracts me to him. He doesn't have to be able to lift a million pounds to prove himself. He has an inner mystique that intrigues me...I'm captivated whenever he takes off his spectacles and I get a glimpse of his flashing green eyes. It's almost like seeing a piece of that inner mystique...
"No, not really, Harry. I thought if I read a little bit it would help me sleep." I replied, careful not to incriminate myself.
"Mind if I sit down?" he inquired, nodding to the empty spot on the sofa. "No, not at all," I half-mumbled nervously, sitting up and startling Crookshanks in the process. The cat jumped down and took over one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. The fire had died down, but a few remaining embers still glowed among the ash.
"How are you?" asked my unexpected, but not unwelcome, company. "I've never seen you up this late before." Glancing at the textbook on my lap, he inquired, "Trying to get ahead in Potions?"
"Actually, just hoping it would put me to sleep," I laughed and suddenly shuddered. It had been much warmer in here with Crookshanks on my lap, even with the dead fire. I turned to see Harry eyeing me with concern.
"Here," said my handsome friend, scooting a bit closer to me and carefully placing his left arm about my shoulders, pulling me closer to himself. The thoughts that flooded my mind at that point were innumerable.
How could this be happening? The guy of my dreams is sitting right next to me, has his arm around me, and is even pulling me close! I am most certainly asleep! But, this is too real to be a dream, far too vivid to be imagined. What in the world am I doing?!! I can't let an opportunity like this pass me by! What am I saying? Have I become such an opportunist strumpet that I am willing to use any situation to further my goals? Ugh...I'm no better than that veela slattern, Fleur Delacour! But Harry is my best friend...he probably only sees this as a best friend sort of thing anyway.
"Thanks," I said softly, resting my head against his chest. A few minutes pass in silence as we sit there, Harry with his arm around me, slowly stroking my upper arm and lightly caressing the ends of my hair and myself curled up next to him leaning against him, savoring every second of this bliss.
"Hermione," Harry looked down at me, a gentle quizzical look about him.
"Mmmhmm..." I responded, gazing up into those penetrating green eyes, not lifting my head from its newfound pillow.
"Can I ask you something?" A more serious tone now overtook his voice. His gentle caress ceased and he removed his arm from its resting place around my shoulders. I sat up and a knot the size of a Swedish meatball formed in my throat.
What is he going to ask me? I nod, the knot in my throat preventing speech.
"Well," my handsome friend began, fiddling with his untidy hair as he spoke. (Was that a nervous gesture? No, surely not.) "Last year when we got off the train at Kings Cross, you...umm...kissed me on the cheek. Then, before Ron's first Quidditch match, you did the same to him..." he paused, looking at me inquisitively. I felt my face go scarlet as his gaze fell on me. "...And I was just wondering...what that meant."
This was it. The guy I have felt more for than anyone, the guy I trust with my life, was asking me to explain the deepest secret of my heart to him. How could I possibly explain motives behind actions to the guy I love that could barely explain to myself. Kissing Ron was like kissing a brother, a way of saying, "Good luck; I know you can do it!" Kissing Harry was something different, something more than just a symbol of brotherly affection. When I kissed Harry's cheek, I had wanted to do nothing more than wrap my arms around him again and kiss his lips like I had never kissed anyone before. Actually...I never have kissed anyone before, not even Viktor, although Ron was very suspicious of it at the end of fourth year. The curse of being an intellectual female and not a flighty one, I suppose. That's not important now. Harry is waiting on my response.
"Well..." I began, looking at my feet instead of his face, "when I kissed Ron, it was more of a brotherly sort of affection." I paused nervously.
"And when you kissed me?" Harry inquired further, placing a finger under my chin and lifting my gaze to meet his. He withdrew his finger and I felt like my heart would slam a hole through my ribcage.
This is insane! I am about to bear my soul to a guy I am certain that does not return my affection, but even if he doesn't, he is still my best friend. I can trust him to be just as gentle with my feelings as he was only a few minutes ago when he gently held me close, chivalrously keeping me warm with his embrace. I suppose it would be best to go ahead and get it over with. I've kept this to myself for much too long.
"When I kissed you Harry, it meant something different. I guess it meant that I care for you in a way separate from the way I care about Ron. I honestly don't know what compelled me to kiss you, but I am not sorry that I did," I paused to look at the object of my affection momentarily. Seeing that he did not have the look of a man about to run for his life, I continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...is that I think I might be in love with you. I have been for ages; I just never found the words to say. I know how you feel about Cho--"
"Wait," Harry interrupted. "If you felt this way about me before, then why were you so willing to help me with Cho? You even told me to tell her I thought you were ugly, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I think you're beautiful and it's not just because of your looks. You're caring, kind, and clever. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have made it through all those situations with Voldemort and we couldn't have freed Sirius and Buckbeak. Cho may be pretty, but she's a hag compared to you."
My jaw dropped. [I]How in the world could this possibly be happening? Harry Potter just told me that I'm beautiful, he is no longer interested in Cho Chang, and it is very possible that he might feel the same about me as I do about him. I think I am going insane.[/I]
"Harry, I believe that is the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me. I don't--"
Before I could say another word, I found myself lost in the arms of Harry Potter, him kissing me softly and gently. He released me from his kiss and I sat there in bewildered amazement.
"For once in your life Hermione, you were wrong," Harry laughed and gave a small grin. "And I'm glad."
"Me too Harry, me too," I replied, snuggling back into his embrace and finally drifting off to sleep.
By: Yelhsa D
Disclaimer: The story is mine; the characters are not. I'm just trying to advance the plot! (How do you like my nifty disclaimer poem? :-D)
Author's Note: I've written fan fiction before, but this is my first shot at HP related fanfic. This piece of "Pumpkin Pie" is a bit fluffy so bear with me please. The story takes place around the middle of The Order of the Phoenix, but I don't think there's enough in there to ruin the story for you! Hermione's thoughts are italicized. Also, the term, "nerdy cute" that I use to describe Harry is my own. I tried to find another term to use there, but nothing seemed to fit. Besides, I find "nerdy cute" guys to be the most attractive anyway! ;-D Much thanks to Nokomiss for beta- reading all my work and fixing my grammar and pointing out possible plot holes! Everyone go read her stuff! And finally, positive reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! Enjoy!
"Insomnia and Confessions"
As I lie here, I can't help but think about him. For one thing, I can't sleep, but I believe he's the cause of my insomnia. All the memories keep flooding back. The recollections of all those times I've held his hand, hugged him, that one brave moment where my sense of fear fled and I placed a small kiss on his cheek...the numerous times I've sat and been his listening ear...and those few times that I treasure the most, those brief moments where he held me in his arms.
The way it felt, being that close to him. His arms pressing my body close to his...my own arms wrapping tightly around his waist, never wanting to let go...my face buried in his chest, making me feel incredibly small, yet secure. I want to believe I feel him resting his head atop mine, but I'm not sure if this is an actual memory.
Nevertheless, this is the greatest feeling. It's not a lustful feeling; it's a feeling of deep compassion and complete trust. Never mind that the predominant amount of my most cherished memories occurred when we were on the edge of death and certain doom. If it were possible, I would've used my Time Turner to make the moment last forever, however, it would've entailed releasing him from my arms to turn the switch. Now I'm left with bittersweet memories of near demise and longing to feel his embrace again. I squeeze my pillow, savoring the feeling, hoping to take enough comfort from it to finally go to sleep. No avail. Perhaps reading in the common room will aid me in my quest for slumber.
But what if he's there? What will I say? I can see it all now, "Oh, hi there...didn't expect to see you up. Why am I up, you ask? Oh, I was just suffering from insomnia and I figured some light reading would take you off my mind, but since you're here I won't be able to stop thinking about you, now will I?" Then I'll laugh nervously and he'll think I've gone insane. I'll be forced to run back up to the dorm where he can't follow and have to do a memory modifying charm to keep him from knowing my secret.
I would hate to have to stoop to that. Maybe I should just stay here...I just don't know. I hate not knowing things. I hate my indecisiveness, but I hate keeping this to myself even more. I feel like a silly little girl who has fallen in love with a guy who is way beyond her reach. Yet another part of me knows this guy so well that I don't believe he would ever treat me like a silly little girl, but his equal, his friend, maybe even like a sister.
Does he think of me like a sister? I hope not...I think most guys think of me in that light, save for Viktor Krum. He was very nice and kind, but not really my type of guy. If most guys really do think of me in a sisterly sort of way, is it because I refuse to be some flaky git of a girl with more brains in my head than make-up on my face? Is that why guys always seem more interested in fabulous looking girls that don't have a shred of intelligence about them than girls who are about more than just appearances, girls who can carry on a conversation about something besides the fashion column of The Daily Prophet. It doesn't matter...my mental rant isn't going to change anything. Whether he's there or not, I'm going down to the common room. I doubt he's even up now...he had a rough Quidditch practice today and we'll be lucky to wake him in the morning from his comatose slumber.
Now let's see, where's my book? Ah, here we go, Potions, something that will definitely put me to sleep. Now to sneak a peek in the common room, just to see if he's there...good, he's not, no one's here. I can read in peace and perhaps even pull off a few hours sleep. Now all I need is the couch to curl up in and Crookshanks snoozing on my lap, a perfect potion for slumber. I bet I can't find a better potion in this book.
I began rereading through the night's Potions homework. It wasn't too complicated, just a simple wakefulness potion, not something I need right now.
Perhaps I should've chosen my History of Magic book instead...
The faint sound of bare feet on carpet broke my concentration.
"You couldn't sleep either, could you Hermione?" came a yawning voice from behind me. There he was. Tall, skinny, and although those physical attributes were not commonly deemed "hot" by most of the female population, he was so attractive just the same. His hair, often unruly and disheveled, was twice that after tossing and turning in vain attempts at sleep. His unkempt hair suited him...it made him even more attractive. His circular glasses, slightly askew, completed him. There was something else about him though, something almost intangible. Most girls would describe him along the lines of "nerdy cute," not exactly the most macho guy around, but not ugly either.
Perhaps this is what attracts me to him. He doesn't have to be able to lift a million pounds to prove himself. He has an inner mystique that intrigues me...I'm captivated whenever he takes off his spectacles and I get a glimpse of his flashing green eyes. It's almost like seeing a piece of that inner mystique...
"No, not really, Harry. I thought if I read a little bit it would help me sleep." I replied, careful not to incriminate myself.
"Mind if I sit down?" he inquired, nodding to the empty spot on the sofa. "No, not at all," I half-mumbled nervously, sitting up and startling Crookshanks in the process. The cat jumped down and took over one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. The fire had died down, but a few remaining embers still glowed among the ash.
"How are you?" asked my unexpected, but not unwelcome, company. "I've never seen you up this late before." Glancing at the textbook on my lap, he inquired, "Trying to get ahead in Potions?"
"Actually, just hoping it would put me to sleep," I laughed and suddenly shuddered. It had been much warmer in here with Crookshanks on my lap, even with the dead fire. I turned to see Harry eyeing me with concern.
"Here," said my handsome friend, scooting a bit closer to me and carefully placing his left arm about my shoulders, pulling me closer to himself. The thoughts that flooded my mind at that point were innumerable.
How could this be happening? The guy of my dreams is sitting right next to me, has his arm around me, and is even pulling me close! I am most certainly asleep! But, this is too real to be a dream, far too vivid to be imagined. What in the world am I doing?!! I can't let an opportunity like this pass me by! What am I saying? Have I become such an opportunist strumpet that I am willing to use any situation to further my goals? Ugh...I'm no better than that veela slattern, Fleur Delacour! But Harry is my best friend...he probably only sees this as a best friend sort of thing anyway.
"Thanks," I said softly, resting my head against his chest. A few minutes pass in silence as we sit there, Harry with his arm around me, slowly stroking my upper arm and lightly caressing the ends of my hair and myself curled up next to him leaning against him, savoring every second of this bliss.
"Hermione," Harry looked down at me, a gentle quizzical look about him.
"Mmmhmm..." I responded, gazing up into those penetrating green eyes, not lifting my head from its newfound pillow.
"Can I ask you something?" A more serious tone now overtook his voice. His gentle caress ceased and he removed his arm from its resting place around my shoulders. I sat up and a knot the size of a Swedish meatball formed in my throat.
What is he going to ask me? I nod, the knot in my throat preventing speech.
"Well," my handsome friend began, fiddling with his untidy hair as he spoke. (Was that a nervous gesture? No, surely not.) "Last year when we got off the train at Kings Cross, you...umm...kissed me on the cheek. Then, before Ron's first Quidditch match, you did the same to him..." he paused, looking at me inquisitively. I felt my face go scarlet as his gaze fell on me. "...And I was just wondering...what that meant."
This was it. The guy I have felt more for than anyone, the guy I trust with my life, was asking me to explain the deepest secret of my heart to him. How could I possibly explain motives behind actions to the guy I love that could barely explain to myself. Kissing Ron was like kissing a brother, a way of saying, "Good luck; I know you can do it!" Kissing Harry was something different, something more than just a symbol of brotherly affection. When I kissed Harry's cheek, I had wanted to do nothing more than wrap my arms around him again and kiss his lips like I had never kissed anyone before. Actually...I never have kissed anyone before, not even Viktor, although Ron was very suspicious of it at the end of fourth year. The curse of being an intellectual female and not a flighty one, I suppose. That's not important now. Harry is waiting on my response.
"Well..." I began, looking at my feet instead of his face, "when I kissed Ron, it was more of a brotherly sort of affection." I paused nervously.
"And when you kissed me?" Harry inquired further, placing a finger under my chin and lifting my gaze to meet his. He withdrew his finger and I felt like my heart would slam a hole through my ribcage.
This is insane! I am about to bear my soul to a guy I am certain that does not return my affection, but even if he doesn't, he is still my best friend. I can trust him to be just as gentle with my feelings as he was only a few minutes ago when he gently held me close, chivalrously keeping me warm with his embrace. I suppose it would be best to go ahead and get it over with. I've kept this to myself for much too long.
"When I kissed you Harry, it meant something different. I guess it meant that I care for you in a way separate from the way I care about Ron. I honestly don't know what compelled me to kiss you, but I am not sorry that I did," I paused to look at the object of my affection momentarily. Seeing that he did not have the look of a man about to run for his life, I continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...is that I think I might be in love with you. I have been for ages; I just never found the words to say. I know how you feel about Cho--"
"Wait," Harry interrupted. "If you felt this way about me before, then why were you so willing to help me with Cho? You even told me to tell her I thought you were ugly, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I think you're beautiful and it's not just because of your looks. You're caring, kind, and clever. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have made it through all those situations with Voldemort and we couldn't have freed Sirius and Buckbeak. Cho may be pretty, but she's a hag compared to you."
My jaw dropped. [I]How in the world could this possibly be happening? Harry Potter just told me that I'm beautiful, he is no longer interested in Cho Chang, and it is very possible that he might feel the same about me as I do about him. I think I am going insane.[/I]
"Harry, I believe that is the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me. I don't--"
Before I could say another word, I found myself lost in the arms of Harry Potter, him kissing me softly and gently. He released me from his kiss and I sat there in bewildered amazement.
"For once in your life Hermione, you were wrong," Harry laughed and gave a small grin. "And I'm glad."
"Me too Harry, me too," I replied, snuggling back into his embrace and finally drifting off to sleep.