Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Harry Potter and all its elements belong to J.K. Rowling, and I found a picture of this online. I'm not sure who made it, but if you happen to see it, whosever it is, they get the credit. I just took inspiration from it.
"Life is not the amount of breaths you take, it's the moments that take your breath away."
~Will Smith, Hitch
It was a calm November night, and Gryffindor tower was quiet—for the most part, that is. Only three students remained in the common room, laughing and joking, and being teenagers. Ron sat on the ottoman, holding a lollipop in his hand, occasionally bringing it to his mouth to taste the sweet candy. It became harder to do so, though, as his laughter required an empty mouth and plenty of air. Harry was positioned on the couch, his arms folded, his feet balancing on a quaffle, which Ron had gotten last Christmas, his eyes trained on one particular blurry form. Hermione stood in the center of the room, one hand on her hip (as far as he could tell) and the other pressed to her forehead as she mocked him, glasses and all.
"My name's Harry Potter!" she mimicked, her voice deepened dramatically. "I'm the Chosen One! I don't need to study, I'll just copy off Hermione!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha," he said sarcastically.
"Malfoy sucks!" she continued. "Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch! You can't come with me, I have to do this alone!"
At that moment, Ron let out a hearty guffaw, leaning back until he almost fell off the ottoman. "You say that, Harry!" he chortled. "You are always saying that!"
"You're hilarious, the both of you," he muttered in the same acerbic tone. He didn't mind, really. It was all in good fun. Besides, it wasn't often they could just laugh and be normal like this. Even now, the threat of the coming war nagged at the back of his mind, and part of him itched to go ask Dumbledore all kinds of probing questions, though he'd already pestered the headmaster with so many. But he pushed it back, deciding to relish the moment—this deliciously normal moment—since they were so few and far between.
Hermione turned around to face him, and from what he could see, her posture was a bit slouched, which meant she was nervous—and that she was done taunting him. A moment later, she was sitting next to him, her hand extended. He gratefully took his glasses and put them on, happy to see the world clearly once again.
"Sorry, Harry," she mumbled with an apologetic smile. "Just a bit of fun."
He grinned at her, slinging an arm over her shoulders in a quick, one-armed hug. "I know," he assured her. Then, after a moment, "But seriously, can I borrow your Transfiguration notes?"
Rolling her eyes, she shoved him away, making him laugh all the more. As it died down, though, the room became still, and an all too familiar tension crept in. One glance at each of his friends' faces, and Harry knew they were all thinking about the same thing: the war. The moment was over. Back to reality.
Suddenly, Ron shot to his feet. "Bugger! I was supposed to meet Lav at 10:00! Gotta go!" he shouted, tearing from the room.
Harry looked over at Hermione, who rolled her eyes and shook her head, reaching for the book she'd set aside for the sake of bonding with her friends. It had come as a bit of a shock to see her do it in the first place, which was why he had made a teasing remark about it... which then led to her stealing his glasses and putting on her little show. Now, it seemed, she was back to her old self. Harry frowned, and he felt a slight twinge in his chest. He wanted the moment back. He wanted that slice of normalcy, that glimpse of what his life could have been like, if not for Voldemort.
Just then, an idea popped into his head, and he grinned. He waited, making sure that Hermione was completely immersed in her book, before snatching it away. She stared at her empty hands in surprise for a moment, then glared at him. "Harry!" she scowled at him. "Give it back!"
"No can do," he smirked, hiding the tome behind his back.
"Harry!"
"Sorry," he shrugged, not feeling sorry at all. "You stole my glasses. Payback time."
Her eyes narrowed. "Right."
Harry wasn't sure he liked that look. But before he could ask what she was plotting, she whipped out her wand, and sent a spark his way. With the reflexes of a Seeker, he dodged whatever it was she had cast (probably just a mild stinging hex), only to tumble off the couch and onto the floor. Remarkably, he managed to pull the book out from behind his back, so that it would reside beneath his stomach, where he had landed. "Ow," he grumbled, as the edges of the book poked his ribs.
A sudden weight on his back made him grunt, and his eyes flew wide open. She was lying on him! "Give. It. Back!" Hermione emphasized each word with a smack. Harry wasn't about to give in so easily. Rolling onto his side, he smirked at the squeal that Hermione let out as she tumbled off him, and in one deft move, he was leaning over her, holding her hands above her head with one hand, and holding the book above his head in the other.
He smiled wickedly down at her. "Nice try."
But Hermione didn't seem to be paying attention to the book anymore. Instead, her eyes were locked on his, growing wide as saucers. Only then did Harry realize what a compromising position they were in. Should anyone happen to walk into the common room, they would think that...
A flash of images waltzed across Harry's mind, causing him to expel his breath in a quick whoosh. They were of him and Hermione, engaged in various activities, most of them involving this particular position. His face warmed, and he shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of such thoughts. This was Hermione, after all. Hermione, his best friend. Hermione, the girl who helped him solve all his problems. Hermione, who was currently looking at him through her eyelashes, her eyes darkening as if she was thinking the exact same thing.
Maybe she was.
Hesitantly, Harry bent his head down, and brushed her lips with his. The effect was like lightning; a shock coursed through him, causing him to suck in a breath, and to pull back abruptly. He stared at Hermione, unable to believe what had just occurred. She stared back, equally astonished, her face flushed. Then, she did something that affected him so... it was his undoing, really. That one simple act seemed to push him over the edge of reason, and into the blissful oblivion of insanity.
She bit her lip.
The sight of it was so adorable, so alluring, so sexy... he did the only thing he could think to do. He dropped the book on the floor, took her face between his hands, and kissed her again. This time, he let his lips linger, and was pleasantly surprised when she began to kiss him back. Merlin, where did she learn to kiss like that? He groaned as her lips teased his, his body responding quickly to her fervor.
Hermione gasped as evidence of his arousal pressed against her, and she looked him in the eye. Harry met her gaze, taking note of her labored breathing and blushing cheeks. She was just as affected by him as he was by her. The thought made him want to dance with joy.
"W-we better slow down," she whispered, then swallowed hard.
Harry sighed. "Yeah," he said, and reluctantly pulled away from her. He drew his legs up in front of him, forcing himself to think of unpleasant things. Slowly but surely, he felt himself calming down.
He looked up at Hermione, who was in a similar position to him, seemed to be doing the same thing. Their eyes met, and he offered a nervous smile. She laughed softly, and put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, Harry... what are we doing?"
"I, er..." he stammered, unsure what she meant.
"We're friends," she emphasized. "Friends don't snog each other in the middle of the common room."
Harry's insides turned cold. "Right, yeah," he mumbled, looking at anything but her. He knew she was watching him, though. He could feel her eyes on him. Determined not to show his disappointment, he took a deep breath and stood. "Well, off to bed, then, I suppose," he said, and quickly made his way toward the stairs.
"Wait."
He paused, his foot on the first step. Hermione sighed, and he could almost picture her gnawing on that lip. Unable to resist the temptation, he turned, and saw her sitting in exactly the same place, hugging her knees, head resting on them. She let out a groan, then lifted her head.
"Harry, I just... er... well, I-I thought... are we just... friends?" she finally asked.
As he watched her struggle to form a sentence, he could see that she was just as confused and tormented by this as he was. And there was no denying that she'd enjoyed their little encounter. And now, here they were, toeing that invisible line between friendship and... more. Did he want more? Did he want to risk his current relationship with her—and with Ron, since he knew he fancied her—for a snog? Was it more than that? And what about the war? He wasn't sure what was going to happen to him, and his friends were already in enough danger. If Voldemort knew that he was involved with... well, any girl, really, but especially Hermione...
No, Harry shook the thought out of his head, refusing to dwell on that. Wasn't that the whole reason he'd stolen her book, and thereby started this whole thing? He'd wanted to stay in the moment, to feel normal. And oh, what a moment it had been! His body hummed and tingled at the memory of it.
Just like that, he knew how to answer Hermione's question. Slowly, he made his way over to where she sat, holding out a hand to her. She accepted it, and he helped her to her feet. He looked into her eyes—those beautiful, chocolate brown eyes—before answering, with a smile, "Friends don't snog each other in the middle of the common room, do they?"
Her eyes lit up, and she beamed at him. Harry wanted nothing more than to snog her senseless right then and there, but he didn't trust himself not to get carried away again. Then again, with the way she was looking at him now, he wasn't sure he could keep away from her much longer. Just as he was about to reprimand her for being a tease, she whispered, "Room of requirement?"
Nodding mutely, Harry let her lead him by the hand out of the common room, and down the corridor. They thanked the stars that Filch seemed to be elsewhere, and reached the familiar room in no time. As they explored each other in new ways, not once did they think of the war, or of Voldemort, or of anything but each other. And later that night, as Harry held a sleeping Hermione in his arms, he was grateful he'd followed that impulse to just live in the moment.
A/N: Not the best ending, but everything else I tried was worse. What do you think? Please, please, PLEASE review!