A/N: One last entry until my trip in two days. Excited much? Yes, yes I am. This is dedicated to my amazing best friend Kassie. Tomorrow is her birthing day party, and this is my gift to her. Because I know that deep down she loves HP fanfiction, hard. Aha, and she also liked my Wanted fic, so I figured I'd give her something just for her. Happy Fourteenth, Kassie! I love you more than noodles!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would most definitely not be giving my best friend a crummy fic for her birthday.

It Feels Like This

"How does it feel, Harry?"

Hermione broke the brief silence, a silence that was only tainted by her sniffling. Harry turned his head to face her. Through the shine that stained her cheeks, her eyes were gravely serious.

When Harry didn't respond, she asked, "When you see Dean with Ginny?"

For a moment, Harry was flabbergasted.

"Oh- um…" he released a breath, a nervous attempt at being nonchalant. Hermione sniffed and looked up.

"I know," she said thickly. "I see the way you look at her. You're my best friend."

Harry could only nod dumbly. He was at a loss for what else to do. How could he admit aloud that his infatuation with Ron's sister was steadily growing stronger? It was impossible. The chances of Ginny ever feeling the same way were minuscule, nonexistent.

Harry stared straight ahead, lost once again in fantasies of Ginny, how she'd never belong to him. In the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione do the same, but for a completely different person.

The two were a perfect pair, silently pining over their unrequited loves, until they were interrupted.

A loud, pealing laugh echoed throughout the chamber. Before the sound could fully reach them, in stumbled none other than Ron and Lavender Brown. She was curled around him, grasping tightly, her fingers visibly crushing his arms. They looked almost intoxicated, smiling and giggling madly, until they finally realized that they weren't alone. Ron skidded to a slow stop, grasping Lavender's hand and causing her to bump into him.

A loud and awkward silence pressed itself against all four of their bodies. Harry almost stood, prepared to defend Hermione, even from his best mate. Lavender released a single giggle.

"Oops!" she squealed, her high voice completely unmatched with the scenario. She placed her head on Ron's shoulder, even shook him a little.

"I think this room's taken!" she stage-whispered.

After one last look at Harry and Hermione, she skipped away. And with another jingle of her bangle bracelets, she was gone.

"What's with the birds?" Ron asked, still somewhat oblivious to Hermione's condition. The crying Gryffindor stood, her hands in fists, her face hardset.

"Oppugno!"

With a squawk, the materialized birds arranged in midair, then flung themselves at Ron. Their speed was incredible. Ron could barely dodge them before they slammed into the wall behind him and dissolved. Only an explosion of feathers was left in their wake.

Ron stood from his dodging crouch, and looked at Hermione, aghast. She looked directly back at him, allowing her face to fall, but only slightly. Without another word, Ron sidestepped out of the chamber.

Hermione began to sob once more, her shoulders shaking. From his spot, Harry watched her crumble, unable to look away.

Hermione's entire frame seemed to sag, as if she was exhausted. Her maroon Gryffindor shirt– meant to be so light and cheerful–looked as if it was fading, losing its color, along with its wearer. Her eyes, usually so fiery, went dull behind their tears.

Harry knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget the image of a broken Hermione.

She sunk back down to his level, and he adjusted himself to keep her comfortable. Hermione grasped his hands; he squeezed hers in response. Her sobs grew, and she buried her head into the crook of his neck. Instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around her quivering frame, subtly amazed at how easily her body melded into his.

He could feel the emotions boiling up inside of him. The worry over Hermione's distress, the quickly dissolving curiosity about whatever the hell Malfoy was up to, and most of all, his anger towards the idiot that was Ron.

Honestly, how thick was he? How could he fall over someone like Lavender, and not even see the soft perfection that was right before him? How could he be so oblivious to something that had been bubbling for years now? Harry wasn't the brightest wizard, but even he could see it.

Like the way Hermione's already shining eyes would dance every time Ron smiled at her. Or the way she'd watch him whenever the three of them studied in the library, using her chestnut tresses as a curtain to hide her admiring smile.

How could Harry see all this, but not Ron, the single person whom the affection was aimed towards?

Hermione was strong-willed, sharp, intelligent, brave, and so stunningly beautiful…

She was like Ginny…only, better…

Better?

Harry didn't have time to inspect this impulsive thought, for Hermione's sniffles began to steadily subside. She didn't let go of him, though. Her arms remained wrapped tightly around his neck, as if his simple embrace was strengthening her. Harry doubted that he'd let her pull back, even if she tried.

Slowly, tenderly, Harry leaned his head downward, until his nose was buried in her curls. Her hair smelled of cinnamon and parchment. He felt his eyelids flutter shut, the most natural of movements. And then, even slower than his previous action, Harry found the muscles in his lips, stretched them forward, until his mouth just barely touched the sweet-smelling surface.

Hermione gasped quietly, but didn't budge from her spot. For a brief moment, it actually felt her grip on Harry had tightened. But, no, he was most likely just imagining it. Hermione fancied Ron, not him. Just like he fancied Ginny, not Hermione.

Not Hermione.

But his brain felt completely disconnected from his body. Its demands to stop were so feeble, so meek. Harry himself could barely hear them. And this was why he mustered up the courage to move his mouth downward, and place another tender kiss on Hermione's temple.

He felt his lips catch fire.

A bit lower, on the bridge of her nose.

Then another one, on the very tip.

A quick one on one of her closed eyelids.

And back down, to the very corner of her mouth.

Harry then hesitated, his mouth mere centimeters from her waiting one. Slightly frenzied breaths left their lungs in tiny pants, escaping from their mouths and mingling in the air between them. His conscious picked then to interrupt.

What was he even doing? He was betraying Ron, even If the redhead wasn't aware of it yet. He was betraying Hermione, toying with her feelings when he was supposed to be comforting her as a friend. He was betraying himself, adding confusion to the already abysmal muck that was his hormones… He wasn't supposed to be doing this…

All of this pondering was thrown to the winds when Hermione groaned quietly, and impatiently crashed her mouth to his.

And earlier he thought his lips were hot. Now, his lips were Hell.

With vigor he didn't even know she was capable of, Hermione pushed her body closer to his, quickly gaining dominance in their embrace. He almost broke away when the alien surface of her tongue brushed against his lip. But he didn't. He couldn't have if he wanted to.

For maybe the first time in his life, he was feeling something. Something other than anger or sorrow or loss or pain…

And he didn't ever want this feeling to go away.

It was much too soon when they broke apart, gasping for air and clutching their chests. Hermione numbly leaned back, until her back hit the stone wall behind her. She sunk lower to the ground, using the wall as a crutch, the only thing holding her up properly. Harry found himself doing the same.

The two Gryffindors sat there for an immeasurable amount of time, appraising each other from opposite sides, as if they hadn't just embraced in one of the most intimate ways. Harry only mustered one statement in this entire time span.

"It…it feels like this."

And he knew that she agreed with him, though she didn't even try to voice her opinion. He could just tell, by the way her eyes widened lazily, as if his words were visible objects in the air between them. She didn't even have to reach out to touch them, to taste their meaning. Hermione understood.

Another silent agreement passed between them. They'd forget about this night. They'd forget that they had ever even entwined in more than friendly ways. They'd go on with life, with their school work, with the people that they were supposed to be in love with. They'd continue pining for people that would probably never love them back. They'd pretend that they never meant something more to each other.

It was only to keep things simple. Easy.

At least, that's what they would keep telling themselves.

Fin.