Summary: Hermione's admitted it. Harry's admitted it. Now all they want is just one kiss. Unfortunately, Fate (and the entire Hogwarts populace) is not being very helpful.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and associated characters and events do not belong to me. They belong to the marvellously talented JK Rowling (published under Bloomsbury Press). They are being used solely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this work (trust me on this one). No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is a side-effect of my slight case of writer's block … the inspiration hit and I was just too happy that I had to write something! I originally started this two days before PoA came out but something came up (quite a lot of somethings, actually) and I never ended up finishing the damn thing. So, despite my many distractions (who really needs to pass exams?), the movie gave me the inspiration to actually finish this :) Can't wait to see it again. And again. Next time I think I'll take notes – Cuaron has to be one of the biggest closet H/Hr shippers on the face of the planet.
I'm not quite sure how long this will be – probably no more than three parts, but we'll see where the muse takes me.
Also, I must warn that this is a flufflet. Lots of fluff. Lots and lots of fluff. It is also a bit silly. It is a silly flufflet.
Just One Kiss
Chapter One :: Out of the Closet
Like all good tales of romance, this one started in a broom closet.
Well, it actually started several months before the broom closet but, for the sake of conciseness, that is where the story picks up.
Hermione Granger was quite a diligent student and thus spent a fair amount of her time reading, as everyone of her acquaintance was well aware of. With the approaching NEWTs, the studious girl had taken to reading at every available opportunity; lunch, dinner, trips into Hogsmeade, and even while walking to and from class. Classes had ended for the day and Hermione was making her way to Gryffindor Tower, intent on nothing more than a relaxing night with her best friends in front of the fire.
Her nose was dutifully buried in her rather hefty Arithmancy textbook as she walked and she was only vaguely aware of the noise and bustle in the hallways around her.
"Hermione!"
Hermione frowned slightly and glanced up briefly from her book, looking around for the source of the hissed whisper. Her gaze landed on one Harry Potter, Head Boy and all round wonderful guy, standing inside a broom closet, accompanied by a rather sinister looking mop and bucket. He was holding a crumpled piece of parchment in his hands, his wand tip alight and his eyes wide. He stuck his head around the door, glanced furtively from side to side, and then stuck his head back inside.
He then carefully scrutinised the parchment and his face paled considerably. "Oh no."
Hermione recognised the parchment as the Marauder's Map. She was quite alarmed at the look of horror on his face and she raised her eyebrows at this rather odd behaviour. Closing her book and clutching it against her chest, she took a reflexive step toward him. She hadn't seen Harry since just after lunch; he hadn't been in their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson – and she couldn't quite imagine what he was doing in a broom closet on the third floor. "Harry, are you –?"
"Shh!" he hissed loudly. And, quick as a flash, he reached out, grabbed her arm and yanked her into the closet. The door slammed shut.
Hermione suddenly found herself in complete darkness, her nose pressed into the sinister looking mop and her front squashed against a very tense, very silent Harry.
"Harry, what –" she began, but was quickly silenced as his hand came up and pressed against her mouth.
"Shh," he repeated urgently.
As her eyes adjusted to the almost complete darkness of the broom closet, Hermione managed to tilt her head back enough to look at Harry's face. By this point, the poor girl was quite at a loss but she refrained from talking. She hadn't a clue what was going on and found the entire situation rather disconcerting. Harry was acting very odd indeed.
Hermione then heard the distinct sound of girly chatter and giggles passing by. Those giggles sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place them.
When the giggles had subsided Harry slowly lowered his hand and relaxed slightly against the wall.
"Would you like to explain that, Harry?" Hermione said, whipping out her wand with a flourish. "Lumos."
"They're after me," Harry said, rather succinctly considering his vexation only moments before.
Hermione blinked, and then she shrugged. "Harry, I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific. At the present moment there are a lot of people after you. Professor Snape wants to 'discuss' your Potions essay – which I'll admit was definitely below par but it wasn't that bad – both Malfoy AND McGonagall are out for your blood after that fiasco with the French knickers, I hear that Professor Trelawney predicted your death – seventh time today, I think – and that girl from Hufflepuff wants you to sign her school bag."
This time it was Harry's turn to blink as he digested this information. My, he was a popular fellow, wasn't he?
But Hermione wasn't quite finished yet. "And then, of course, there's Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but I assume you're not talking about them."
"Are you quite done?" Harry asked dryly. "Well, I'm very happy to report that Voldemort hasn't been Apparating in the hallways –"
"But you can't –"
Harry waved her off her protests. "Yes, I know Hermione. Where was I …?"
"Lord Voldemort Apparating in hallways," Hermione supplied helpfully.
Harry nodded slowly. "Ah yes. Anyway, it's not that git, Malfoy. It's not Snape. It's not Voldemort. This is much, much worse."
"Worse?" Hermione asked, somewhat incredulously. She was at a loss as to what could actually be worse than Professor McGonagall in a tizzy over French knickers. Oh yes, and the murderous Dark Lord, too.
"Much worse," Harry said with a decided nod. He held up the Marauder's Map and prodded at the parchment with his wand. "Them."
Hermione held up her wand and lowered her eyes to the Map curiously. There, just past the Arithmancy classroom only doors away from the broom closet which she and Harry were currently occupying, she saw a small huddled group of girls. One of the miniature figures was waving her little arms about in a rather agitated manner. As Hermione read the names of the group that had so terrified Harry, the realisation dawned and she had to stop herself from laughing.
"I see," she said slowly, trying to keep a straight face.
"It's horrible, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed in extreme agitation. "They won't leave me alone. They're in the hallways, they wait for me around corners, and yesterday, they were waiting for me in Transfiguration. If Professor McGonagall hadn't been there to shoo them out, I can't imagine what would have happened."
"Harry," Hermione said. By this time she'd given up trying to be serious and the amusement shone clear in her eyes. "They're just girls."
Harry looked somewhat taken aback at that comment, but then his eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. "Hermione," he said in a very low voice. "They followed me into the Prefect's bathroom last night. There I was, wrapped in towel and dripping wet, when suddenly the door swings open and all five of them trample in. They had Omnioculars and a camera and I was very traumatised. I may never have another bath again."
Miranda Appleby, Hillary Chalmers, Willow Emmanuels, Audrey Aurelia and Kelli-Ann Mason were intent on getting dates for the upcoming Halloween celebrations. And each girl had her eye set on the infamous Harry Potter (well, at least it seemed that way to Harry). Actually, there were a fair few girls that were pursuing Harry in hopes of a date, but none so much as that group of five girls. For the last two weeks they'd managed to pop up all over the place, most often quite unexpected.
Harry had attempted, rather ineffectively Hermione couldn't help but notice, to dissuade the girls. But apparently, none of the girls was taking no for an answer. Harry had begun to develop a nervous twitch in his left eye anytime anyone even mentioned the aptly named Samhain Soirée. While Hermione was sympathetic to her best friend's plight, it was still funny.
This time, Hermione couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. Loudly.
Harry hadn't been expecting this reaction and thus looked, quite rightly, less than amused. Then his gaze flicked to the Marauder's Map in his hand and his eyes widened behind his glassed. He let out a very unmanly 'eep!' and, with reflexes undoubtedly brought about by his years of Quidditch training, promptly slapped his hand back over Hermione's mouth, grabbed her wand and extinguished it, all while pressing himself into the corner of the broom closet. In his travels he sidestepped the bucket, kicked over a container of Sparkle Shine Mirror Polish, and found himself rather intimately acquainted with the mop (which had admittedly seen quite a fair bit of action today). It was admittedly quite a multi-tasking effort.
After spitting out a mouthful of mop, he moved his face close to Hermione's ear and hissed an urgent, "Shh!"
Hermione couldn't help but think that perhaps his constant shushing would inevitably lead the girls straight to him. She then heard the telltale giggling (did they not have another way of communicating with each other that didn't involve giggling, for goodness sake) and felt Harry's arm tighten around her. From the pitch and frequency of the giggles, the girls sounded to be right outside the broom closet.
She shifted slightly in his arms in an attempt to get more comfortable. Broom closets are excessively uncomfortable no matter the company or the otherwise luxurious nature of the castle in which said broom closet is in. They aren't by rule particularly large either. And, while Hermione was stuck in what was quite possibly the smallest broom closet in existence with her best friend – who just happened to be the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world – she was anything but comfortable.
But that wasn't what had her head in a spin.
There was also the small, teeny, insignificant fact that she may well have been kinda sorta head over heels for her best friend. However, this hypothesis was still in the early theoretical stages, so Hermione wasn't quite sure just yet – she needed to analyse it just a little bit more.
And yes, her face was squashed against the front of his robes and, to make matters worse, she was still clutching the Arithmancy textbook.
'But he smells so very good,' her mind supplied less than helpfully. Making a mental note to steal his cologne at the next opportunity, Hermione attempted to pull away, even just a little. Harry's arms, however, didn't move a single inch and so Hermione found herself stuck. Of course, one could argue that she didn't particularly make that much of an effort, but really, that was also pure speculation at this time.
She only vaguely registered the fact that the giggles were subsiding, this time in the other direction, until they were completely gone.
She felt Harry collapse against the wall, and his arm her waist relaxed slightly. Almost without realising, she tilted her head up to look at him. His hand was still pressed against her mouth and she blinked up at him silently.
Something, Hermione wasn't sure what, flickered across Harry's eyes and he bit his lip. He slowly lowered his hand, his fingers brushing gently across her lips as he did so. Hermione felt her heart stop and then it promptly broke into an overzealous rendition of the tango as his hand slid across her chin and down her neck, finally coming to rest on her shoulder.
They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, brown eyes clashing with green.
Three seconds later she decided that she'd analysed the situation as much as she wanted to.
At that point, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his shoulders and kiss him absolutely senseless. However, she was somewhat hampered by the fact that her arms were currently still around her book, and Harry simply had yet to let go of her long enough to allow her to disengage herself from the damned thing. As much as she adored books and all things literary, she really did have her limits.
And this was certainly it.
"Harry …" Hermione whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear her. She bit her lip as she looked up at him.
Harry's eyes darkened noticeably and he smiled slightly. Hermione felt her face flush.
And then slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his face to hers. Hermione's eyes slipped shut; her heart raced. She felt his breath skim lightly across her mouth …
The broom closet door was arbitrarily flung open and the late afternoon sunlight filtered inside.
"Harry! Hermiohhhh –"
Hermione nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Her eyes snapped open and she pushed herself backward. In her surprise she dropped the book – a rather hefty volume – right on Harry's foot.
"Ouch!" Harry yelped. His wand, which was in the back pocket of his trousers, suddenly emitted red and gold sparks and fell to the floor.
"Harry! I'm so sorry!" Hermione cried. She ducked down to retrieve the book just as Harry bent down to retrieve his wand. Their foreheads slammed together and they both fell backward, clutching their heads.
"Ouch!" they said in unison.
"Oh Merlin, that was a classic!"
Harry and Hermione turned to glare.
Ron Weasley, their dear and beloved friend, was leaning against the opposite wall laughing his head off. "You were … and then she …" he gasped between giggles. He was laughing so hard that he couldn't quite string together an entire sentence. "And then you both – oh, Merlin … never seen anything so funny. Hysterical! I tell … Fred and George will love this …"
Hermione sat back against the wall and buried her head in her hands, but not before shooting Ron a murderous glare. She steadfastly refused to even glance in Harry's direction.
She was so close! So damn close and then –
She looked up suddenly – Ron was still laughing – and glanced at Harry. He was shaking his head as though trying to clear it. Then abruptly his gaze landed on her. Hermione's eyes widened slightly and, almost unconsciously, she bit her lip.
Harry blinked and then looked away, a slight smile on his face.
Hermione's eyes narrowed.
Now, all those who know Hermione are well aware of the fact that the girl is quite stubborn (and those who really knew her were aware that that was the understatement of the decade) and does not stop until she gets what she wants. And this was no different.
A wickedly sensual smile played across her face. He owed her a kiss.
And by Merlin she was going to get it.
… tbc