"Harry, you know that's not what I mean," Hermione protested. Her lips were still tingling. She folded her arms across her chest, avoiding Harry's eyes. She could still feel them burning through her.
"Then what did you mean?" He said desperately, losing his angry composure. She didn't know what she meant. She meant... She meant that..
"We can't do this. With Ron, and.. With Ron and me, and- Harry, you know we can't. And you know why. I mean that-- Some things happen, and some things need to be forgotten. Things happen, and they don't mean anything. Things that are hormone driven and not emotion-provoked and-" Hermione stumbled on her words. Who was she talking to, now? More to herself than to Harry, she realized. She dropped her arms to her side. "Harry, it would be too much. I'm not ready to face that."
"Hormone provoked?" Hermione waited for a second, trying to decide if he sounded hurt.
"I'm not sure what provoked it. I'm not sure, Harry." She felt weak.
"So we're going to pretend that nothing happened." Now he did sound hurt.
"I'm sorry Harry. I don't want this."
"You don't want.. this?" Harry pointed at the both of them, looking exasperated.
"No, I... I.." She stumbled again. She hadn't been prepared for this conversation. She had mentally avoided this conversation. "I don't want this to... to break us apart," she finally got out. She looked into his eyes for the first time. He was staring at her, with a softer gaze than before. He understood. "Harry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened. I wish we could just erase it. Nothing happened. I wish nothing ever happened."
"I don't." Harry's eyes fell from her and he turned to leave. Hermione slumped and leaned sideways into the corridor wall. She let her cheek rest on the cool stone, closing her eyes in attempts to erase what was said. To just erase it, let it be erased.
"Oh, the drama." The voice made Hermione jolt up and regain her composure. She looked around at the empty hallway for the source of the stranger's voice. She spotted a portrait near the fork of the hallway, chuckling.
"Oh, sod off," Hermione muttered under her breath, the curse resting like a coin on her tongue. She hated cursing. She let out a frustrated groan and left to the common room.
With a mass of confusion and lust, they threw themselves toward eachother, clumsily and recklessly. Nothing else mattered except the contact of the skin, the pressure of the lips. Nothing else mattered. The surroundings were a blur, a buzzy silence replaced with a high ringing in their ears. His fingers tangled in her hair, her hands pressed up against his chest. He pulled her closer, closer, nothing was close enough. There was too much distance between them even when her body was pressed tightly up against his. They were meshed together, clinging, touching, wanting. The dizziness and heaviness of it all sent them crashing into the wall behind them. Neither of them noticed.
Hermione jumped up, her hair sticking to her face. She shakily felt around for her watch. 4:32. She attempted to calm her breathing as she smoothed her slick, wet hair out of her eyes. Throwing her hot sheets off of her, she stood and went for the bathroom. This has to stop, she thought, as she splashed the cool water onto her face. This has to stop.
"It was Ron, you were dreaming about Ron." Her own voice startled her. Turning off the water, she started for the bedroom again. It wasn't Ron. You know it wasn't Ron. The wild hair, the awkward glasses, the lanky arms. It wasn't Ron, it wasn't Ron, it wasn't ever Ron. She flung herself onto the bed, letting her arms hang partially off the side. Shutting her eyes as tight as she could, feeling like she was in second grade again, she tried to vanish it from her head. You can't see me, she thought stupidly. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. This has to stop.
Harry was reading a book. You wouldn't think that wouldn't be interesting to look at. But, Hermione realized, when it was Harry, there was everything to look at. He was laying on the couch as if he had just fallen from the sky onto it. He looked lose and comfortable, something that Hermione never got to achieve. She always felt stiff, straight, and unrelaxed. Harry had one arm over the book, holding his page open. His eyes were concentrated hard onto the page. Hermione noticed that his eyes weren't moving, and that his eyebrows were furrowed. He seemed to be thinking many things over, none of which concerned the words of the book he was reading. Hermione sighed and turned her eyes towards her own book. She didn't even remember what she was reading, her eyes kept glazing over the same sentence. She tried to think, but even that was hard. Her mind was full of white noise, a buzzed feeling. She blinked hard a few times, and was surprised when she saw Ron fall in the seat next to her. She looked up at him and smiled, in spite of herself.
"Hi."
"Hi." Harry coughed somewhere behind her.
"How are you?" Ron asked, though not sounding to interested.
"Oh, tired." Hermione looked away.
"Aww, sorry-- hon. Didn't sleep well?" Hermione cringed at the pet name. It didn't suit Ron, and he knew it. But he really tried, she knew he tried.
"Yeah." Harry coughed again. "So, where were you?"
"Oh, out on the feild with Ginny. She can really kick my ass at Quidditch, and she knows it. We figure the team will be really nice now, what with Harry back on the team," Ron continued. Hermione nodded, glad to get the subject off of her. "It's really a nice day, you and Harry should leave the common room once in a while. It's a Saturday, put down the books already." Ron eyed Harry. "Especially you, mate. I don't think I've seen you all day."
"Hello, Ron," Harry said tightly. Hermione's insides squrimed. Come on, Harry.
"C'mon mate, let's go out side." Ron took Hermione's hand and got up.
Harry put the book down on the floor beside him, stretched, and got up off the couch. She noticed how he kept glancing down at their laced fingers. Hermione avoided his eye contact, her hand starting to sweat. "Yeah, yeah.. Let's go." Harry smiled at Ron and lead the way through the potrait hole. Ron started to head off, but Hermione couldn't move her feet.
"Come on, hon." Ron cocked his head to the side, looking very uncharacteristic. She didn't like this Ron. It was sweet that he was really trying on this relationship, not like he did with poor Lavender. Her insides churned. Thinking of Lavender made her feel sick. Surprisingly, not of jealousy. It used to be jealousy, but when she pushed all of her emotions to the side, she felt sorry for Lavender. Poor Lavender, Ron never tried this hard to be a good boyfriend. Now, Ron is trying very hard. Because Ron likes her very much. Ron likes Hermione. Very much. She squeezed her eyes shut. And you like him too, you like Ron very much.
"... Hermione?" Hermione snapped her head up. "Er... Are you okay?" Ron stood gawking at her. At least he stopped calling her 'hon.
"Yeah, let's go. Er- Sorry." She unglued her feet off the floor and they crawled through the portrait hole.