Disclaimer: nothing of my own. They're all in JK Rowling's possession. The sole reason for playing is that I just need to see the world in Harmony
"Where will the future lead us, Harry?" queried she, her voice hollow.
" I don't know...always the mystery that keeps us going on to find out...J-just let things flow naturally, lead your life whatever the way you like, bravely and peacefully..." he said softly, not looking at her, but training his eyes on the horizon.
She stole a glance at him from beneath her long lashes, allowing herself few moments to cherish the feel of him near her, before the knot in her chest tightened yet again.
"I am scared. I like hazy clouds better than the concrete earth..." she trailed off, her voice wobbly.
Unable to finish her chain of thoughts, she looked up at him, wordlessly beseeching him to say anything to assuage her mounting fear, yet greeted only by silence, deafening silence that gave her heart a painful lurch.
Even he found her irrational psyche tiring, even he's wearied of her…
The thought crashed over her in waves. She flicked her eyes to the ground, unconsciously rubbing her chest, trying to fight back tears.
"You've changed." She lifted her head at his gentle voice to see he was standing directly in front of her, his gaze unwavering, his stoic figure printed on the glorious halo of amber sun.
"I know," she let out a soft sigh, her eyes drawn to his swirling emerald depths, which fleetingly gleamed with something akin to pain upon hearing her defeated admission.
He briefly knelt down, one hand brushing her cheek, his eyes boring on her face, now churning with deep concern, his voice barely a breeze in her ears. "Why?"
She shook her head, biting her lower lip hard, and one lone tear streaked down her face at the expense of keeping him in the dark. His face immediately scrunched up as if he was enduring physical pain, eliciting an involuntary whimper out of her throat.
"Tell me, Hermione!" He pleaded, and her tears were pouring down unchecked. "Please, I-I want to help."
Neither made an effort to wipe her wet cheeks while his moist eyes were also glistening as he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight, still remained in the awkward position of him on his knees and her sitting on the log wrapping her flail arms around his neck. For one moment that held an eternity, both of them stayed content in the warmth of each other, he inhaling her familiar lily scents and she nuzzling in the crook of his neck, her lips sensing vibrant pulses underneath his warm skin.
He turned to place a gentle kiss on her temple before letting go, both hands gripping her shoulders, forcing her to look straight at him.
"Tell me," repeated he, his voice more assertive, hinting that he wouldn't let it go until he got the answer.
She frowned at him in mock disapproval, grazing lightly at his tousled mop, and heaved a heavy sigh as if dealing with an impudent child. "It's fine, Harry, doesn't really matter." Her voice turned so bubbly that she internally winced at how fake it sounded. "Ah, how did Quidditch practice go?"
To her dismay, he suddenly leapt up to his feet and paced the small clearing, dead leaves crunching beneath his restless gait.
"Harry?" She began tentatively, and he spun around to face her, his mouth opening to reply but her ingrained anxiety now alive in her previously lackluster eyes caught him frozen. He stood gaping at her, his throat tight, his chest heaving rapidly, inexplicable nervousness washing over him when he perceived the lucidity restored to his best friend, from her furrowed brows in contemplation and her nibbling lower lip in disquiet.
"Harry, what's wrong?" She raised her voice, carelessly pushing untamable brown locks out of her face, rendering him so itchy to mimic the action that he gulped audibly, his clammy hands fisting inside his pants pockets.
His weak heart was doing that again—constricting tenderly, relentlessly, poignantly till he felt suffocated and melted at the same time, intoxicating bitterness spreading from his chest to the core of his forlorn soul— morbidly ravenous for her sweet care that she used to lavish on him for so long, so unfailingly that he had taken it for granted. This felt like a chronic heart disease that kept recurring whenever he dared let his eyes linger on her longer than a cursory glance. The indefinable feelings grew from a mild tickling charm, that sent pleasant chills down his spine when she was near, to the Crucio curse in his chest, startling him awake panting heavily, hair matted in sweat and tears, blood-shot eyes staring at his bed canopy in horror, his soul ripped out of his body, twisting in excruciating pain at the reminiscence of the repetitive nightmare—she kept getting slipped out of his grasp and strangled in Voldemort's bony hands, no matter how he tried reaching for her, calling out her name in total despair.
He hastily looked away upon the onset of his heart's misbehavior, his mind trapped in unexpected dense fog. He found himself silently wondering the same thing, yeah, what the bloody hell is wrong with him?
Like a ton of bricks, it crashed back to him, the reason he sought her out in the first place. He squashed his own trepidation, determined to confront her for her own good. Somehow, he had a gut feeling that it was his best friend who needed him rather than the other way around as usual, and he would not miss the chance to return her faithful support for the world.
"It's you," he said quietly and heard her suck in a sharp breath, "I am worried about you, Hermione."
"Why should you be? I am fine." Her denial was a half-hearted attempt, yet she stubbornly went on, not quite able to look into his eyes, though his hand gentle on her shoulder was nudging her eyes to meet his. "Really, don't worry about me, Harry! You've got enough on your plate already."
"How can I not?" He sounded plain hurt, channeling his agitation to the strain added to her shoulder, causing her to wince slightly, but he deliberately ignored it, his heart torn further by her brusque dismissal of his sincerity, and thus let everything come out in a splintered rush of emotion. "Hermione, you are my best friend. I think I know you like the back of my hand, yet recently, I haven't been able to even recognize you anymore. You skipped classes three times in a row. You stare off into space more often than you open 'Hogwarts, A History'. You go out here brooding instead of beavering away with homework in the library. You don't eat and sleep right…" he paused to control his rasp breathing, willing himself to keep a steady hold on her widened eyes, filled with shock and pain, and continued hoarsely, "you think I don't notice, Hermione, that you wander aimlessly around this lake deep in thought or that you often sneak down to the common room sobbing in the dark at nights; that you are avoiding Ron and me? And it's killing me not to know the bloody reason why..."
"I'm having a lot in my mind is all." She tried to pull away, her voice barely kept firm, "there is no need to make a big fuss, Harry."
"Deny no more, Hermione, please!" He tightened the squeeze on her shoulder in response to her resistance. His half-commanding, half-pleading tone made her knees go weak. "I won't give up until you let me know what's gotten into you."
Her eyes stinging with tears again, she raised her hand to remove his on her shoulder harshly and took several steps towards the lake edge, leaving him staring blankly at his hand for a prolonged moment, shoulders slumped in utter dejection, memories of the ill-fated night one month earlier afresh in his ailing heart.
His eyes went round as saucers as Ginny flung her arms around his neck and captured his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, nearly knocking him flat had he not reflexively clutched her lithe body to keep his balance. He was momentarily stiff under her vigorous assault before kissing her back-amazed at how her succulent lips skillfully steering his-and enjoying the sweet strawberry taste until he suddenly felt her tongue wet on his lips, a prickling sensation shot to the nape of his neck, engendering him to spring back without thinking, faint nagging voices whirling in his head, his heart throbbing unbidden in his chest although she was nowhere in sight.
He blinked at the vexed-looking Ginny, his forehead creasing as his torpid mind gradually registered the meaning of what had just happened, loud cheers and wolf-whistles from his housemates making his head rather hurt.
"What's that for?" he asked bluntly, a touch of annoyance in his voice, focused on not so much the pretty redhead in front of him as his unpredictable heart condition.
Ginny sent him a wounded look, which was apace replaced with a seductive smile plastered on her cherry red lips. She grabbed his hand, a blush quickly forming on her cheeks to match her coppery hair, "d'you even need to ask, Harry?"
Remaining somewhat disturbed by the vestige of the former emotional onslaught, he swept his eyes over the common room distractedly, striving to recollect himself and work out the motive behind Ginny's brashness when he spotted Dean Thomas gaping overtly at the redhead, his face contorted in a blend of a scowl and a grimace. Right away did he know what he was feeling, guilt intensifying in his chest as now clearly identified. He jerked his hand away as if on fire, muttering to himself in a daze, "oh no, this is wrong, this is so wrong!"
"Oy, what the bloody hell do you two think you are doing, eating each others' faces off?" A familiar growl snapped him out of his semi-trance. He looked up to see Lavender trying to pull Ron's arm in vain. In fact, it appeared that his best friend, red in the face with unmistakable anger, was dragging the poor girl along as he marched to where he and Ginny was standing. Another growl was heard, louder this time as Ron was coming nearer every second. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, off to your dorm, now!"
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes flashing in challenge, her face in deeper shade of red to rival her brother's. She feigned sugary voice, "and what can you do if I don't, my dear brother?"
"Ginny," warned Ron, towering over his headstrong sister, but the latter didn't even flinch, a smirk slowly appearing on her face, her stony eyes gaining a wicked gleam while the lanky redhead held back a groan, making a show to lean in and play his trump card in a stage whisper, "You don't want your hero to see your bat-bogey hex directed to his best friend, Gin. Be obedient if you want to stay in Harry's good books"
Ginny pushed Ron back, with a force rather astounding for a petite girl, and ground out her submission between her clenched teeth, "fine!"
He watched with Ron as Lavender put one arm around Ginny and crooned soothing words, leading the surly redhead away to the girl's room. His best friend didn't turn around until the two girls slipped out of sight at the top of the stairs, a wide grin stretched on his freckled face. "You owed me one, mate. Next time, watch out for flying red hair!" Ron's face hardened in mock threat, belying the twinkles in his azure eyes, "but if you have real intention to put your gruff hands on my little sis, Harry, it would be an entirely different story, remember?"
He let out a labored breath, feeling like a giant weight lifted off his chest, his face breaking into a grateful smile as Ron patted on his shoulder and said casually, "Hermione's looking for you."
"Hermione?" His brows knitted in genuine confusion, his inside stirring at the mention of her name. "Isn't she in the library now?"
"Nah, she came back just before the party began." Ron shook his head to emphasize his negation and added nonchalantly, but for unreadable expression flashing across his face, "she seemed bloody hyped up, talking about some half-veela…" Ron scratched his head, not particularly explaining his increasing perplexity, "half-prince, I guess…oh bugger I cannot remember…Hermione's dying to tell you all, anyway."
Ron sounded pleased enough with his conclusion, twirling his wand in one hand to redeem any lost confidence. He looked around lazily, "odd, I saw her just minutes ago, wonder where she's gone?"
"Hey! Did anyone drink the firewhiskey?" both he and Ron turned to the direction of the loud question in a heavy brogue striking against the rowdy air and there, indeed, was Seamus Finnigan shaking one stout glass bottle, "it's empty me lads."
Together, he and his ginger friend turned their heads to meet in a knowing gaze before Ron spoke in a low voice, "Harry, mate, I think you should -"
"I'll go look for her, Ron." He gave one curt nod before Ron could finish, and turned on his heel, oblivious to the fond smile on his best friend's face as the redhead murmured, "two idiots."
Meanwhile, he was inching his way through the partying crowd and unceremoniously bumped into no one other than Dean, who glowered at him after initial shock, yet soon looked nonplussed when he grinned broadly in return.
He winked at Dean, jumping at the chance to clear the misunderstanding of his dorm mate. "No worry, mate. Redhead beauty is all yours." He then sprinted off, pushing open the portrait hole without missing a beat and vanishing into the dark corridor.
Within a matter of a few minutes, his fevered feet brought him to the top of the Astronomy tower, where he was abruptly hailed with a strong gale. He automatically took off his glasses to rub the dust off his watering eyes before adjusting them securely on his nose bridge again, and finally let his vision riveted to the silhouette of a slender girl leaning over the banister, her soft feminine curves delineated against the obsidian darkness, her head drooped forward, swaying back and forth, wayward tresses snuck out of her loose buns, brushing the hollow of her neck and-he could imagine from this considerable distance-tipping her collar bones. He simply stood motionlessly for an indefinite span of time, beholding the sight before him in silence, his heart amazingly dutiful beneath his rib cage, only the perpetual warmth rising steadily in fervor and anon he felt his chest burning with unknown desire. Blood rushing southward, he started to take slow, calculating steps towards the girl, who looked dangerously close to pitching over the balcony.
"Hermione." He put one hand on her forearm, and she snapped her head up, the glint in her eyes throwing his heart off-kilter; and he spontaneously clutched his left chest, her name now a shaky whisper from within, "Hermione."
She nodded brightly, covering his hand with hers, dainty fingers caressing his calloused knuckles while he didn't need a mirror to see a sappy smile spreading across his face. The heavenly rush stopped short as she halted without notice, fingernails buried into the swelling of his scar momentarily before she stumbled back, one hand gratefully remaining its grip on the railing.
Squinting at him, she slurred. "Who are you?"
His stomach dropped as strong firewhiskey wafted into his nostrils. Hooking an arm under hers to steady her teetering body, he soothed, "Hermione, you are juiced up. Let's go back!"
"Leave me alone!" She screamed, wrenching out of his grasp, and staggered at the attempt, and he could feel his heart emulating her fall.
"Easy there, Hermione!" He swiftly caught her by the waist, his sotto voice, if possible, softening, as he lifted one hand on impulse to tuck one strand behind her ear but she quickly grabbed it and grazed her lips against his palm, hot breath on his skin driving the rush of blood berserk.
She started fiddling with her hair and in a jiffy, thick curls cascading down her shoulders in slow motion, leaving him totally awe-struck, a bittersweet sigh rasped out of his slightly parted lips. Mischief dancing in her dark orbs, she rose on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. His still open mouth promptly slipped shut to swallow the lump down his throat.
She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing him before shaking her head furiously and he felt, rather than saw frizzy curls capering behind her back.
"You are not him," she stated firmly.
Him? His heart made a single twitch.
"You mean Ron?" asked he softly even though he thought he knew the answer.
She took no heed of his subtle query but verbalized her own train of thought. "You are sweet and gallant," her eyes suddenly full of tears, she croaked, "but he is a clueless and thoughtless prat. He never ever sees me." She started pounding her left chest, her anguished stutter peeling his gut layer by layer, "h-here, right here, h-h-hurt, h-hurt a lot, h-he doesn't know, h-he c-can never…never k-know."
He hurriedly snatched her hand, pain of his own materialized in hot tears burning his sore eyes. "Enough, Hermione," he coaxed, "I don't know what happened between you two, but I am sure Ron'll understand."
He was rather startled when she started to weep freely, her small hand ineffectually fisting his shirt as he closed his eyes, standing rigid for her to thump his chest feebly.
"Why does it always have to be him?"
Thousands of miniscule needles from out of blue were piercing all over his heart, as if acupuncture were applied in the wrong places, and it went numb with an excessive amount of raw pain.
"Why can't I stop loving him?"
All the needles now seeped into his heart, clashing together and breaking the capillary vessels, pain simply bleeding fast and hard; and his knees would have crumbled under his own weight had it not been for the quivering girl in his arms.
"Hmm, you look just like him." She mumbled, her fingers trailing his lightning-bolt scar whereas heady firewhiskey scents escalated its raid on his senses. She turned pliant in his hold, snaking both arms around his lower back, tugging him closer, her voice low and silky, tickling his blood again. "You also feel like him."
She was roaming his back and snuggling against his heaving chest, where blood coagulation was depressing his entire soul, and not until her moan of pleasure, 'you even smell like him' filtered through his thundering eardrums was he aware that she had been taking snuffs of his front shirt, her warm lips pressed insistently on his left chest, filling his hollow heart with glowing kisses of fire.
He just held her, stroking her bushy hair hesitantly, tenderly, fondly as some treasure that tempts a delicate touch, yet his clutch around her torso was coarse, urgent and desperate as if he could never ever let go. She was always his rock keeping him grounded to harsh reality and even now, inebriated, unconscious, flabby in his embrace, he garnered strength from the warmth and softness of hers to stand firm, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing in the dark- molten emerald swirling with a plethora of emotions- translucent windows into his yearning soul.
His hushed voice was mingled with her even breathing and indistinct humming of night breezes, yet held in it no less certain a statement, "you're in love."
He pulled her closer to him, nestling her in his arms, and remained stationary for a perpetuity, torn between lingering in this snug position and getting back so that she could take the much needed rest.
Eventually, he propped her up against the stone column and sat down beside her, carefully placing her head on his shoulder, intent on waiting until the party was over for fear of prying eyes back at the Gryffindor common room. He banged his head softly against the cold stone, breathing in deeply, allowing ample crisp air to fill his lungs, but for some reason, unable to breathe out as if trying to arrest the ephemeral freshness within his chest. Impulsively, his eyes swerved slightly to the left, and the breath he was holding wheezed out on its own accord so suddenly that he nearly choked, erstwhile grogginess completely evaporating, replaced with tautness in all of his muscles, agony warred with warmth inside his racing heart.
She had shifted on his shoulder, giving him an unrestrained view of her cleavage peeking out under her unfastened collar. After transfixed to the enticing image for a tad too long for his weakening resolve, his eyes fell shut upon receiving sufficient details to rage the erotic part of his mind for many months to come. He hurriedly looked away, releasing her hand unwittingly clasped in his and pressing the other hand hard against the rough ground to brace himself, ignoring the grit pinching on the sensitive skin of his palm.
He deliberately looked out to the star-studded indigo sky and began to count the diamond dots quietly, trying to think of anything but the girl leaning on him. He was not intrinsically a stargazer, nor an avid admirer of natural beauty, yet something in the air tonight added spices to his emotional turmoil, inspiring him in some way and rousing alarm in others. He eased a little, letting nature invade all his faculties and thereby unburden his mind temporarily. It was among rare times that he noticed the striking resemblance between the full moon and professor Trelawney's crystal ball-an opaque pearl sphere suspended in the interlude between heaven and earth, a prophecy written in the heart of the universe's mysteries. He could also make out the tip of other towers spearing up into the cloudless arch, sewn with patches of stars, some luminous and winking at him, the majority, however, dimmed by the radiant moon, spreading out like someone accidentally sprinkled white dust onto an inky potion.
He sighed sedately, Moonlit nights are always beautiful.
And also romantic, he swallowed loudly, the unbidden thought giving his heart a violent jerk, all efforts to stay away from perilous temptations going up in smoke. His mildly trembling hand on his knee curling in a tight fist, fighting the urge to reach for her hand brushed lightly against his left ribs, he willed his eyes to fasten on the stars once more, but all he could see was her sparkling eyes whenever she smiled. He peered up at the silver globe, and the vision of her profile soaked in the moonlight flooded his senses. Shifting his gaze directly to the railings at eye level only proved to quicken the rate at which jigsaw puzzles of smothered memories of what had transpired earlier fell into place. He was tossed back to the starting point, painfully aware of her presence, the gentle pressure on his shoulder, the warmth emanating from her body pressed to his side, the softness of her hair titillating his neck and her rhythmical breathing correlated with the soft rising and falling of her breast.
Once night chills sailed into the open tower, she shivered and turned fully to him, still sound asleep, draping her arm around his waist, groaning softly into his chest; and he resented the relief flitting through him as he groped that as an excuse to throw caution to the winds, all but succumbed to his carnal cravings. He took a deep gulp of fresh chilly air before enfolding her in both arms, rubbing her back tenderly in hopes of warming her up a little, but he thought she might have felt uncomfortable with her head dangling over her shoulders. Another pathetic excuse to condone his intentions was all needed for him to effortlessly adjust her on his lap, one arm pillowing her, the other casually winding around her stomach, his eyes feasting on her sleeping form with abandon.
The angle was just right for moonbeams to dance over her face, highlighting the artless serenity possessing her facial features with thick curly strands fluttering against her ivory cheeks, relaxed brows vaulting delicate crescents fringed with silken eyelashes, her lips closed tight, pallid against the silvery light yet velvety to the touch, casting a shadow of melancholy on her portrait. He would be delighted to see the exquisite curve of her upper lip smooth in everyday heart-warming smiles or her fuller lower lip protrude out in cute pouts, but he was caught utterly entranced by the intangible secret held between her unconsciously sealed lips, whose peculiar enigmatic beauty also kindled some hidden passion from the deepest, darkest recesses of his heart.
Her lips drew him like magnet. The earlier kiss from Ginny crossing his mind only augmented the burning hunger for the secret taste held in the pale rosebud that was flaunting its lusciousness just a slight dip of the head away, so he did the exact thing to slowly reverse the offensive distance only to halt sharply, wholly petrified, still hovering above her face, heart beating in his throat, when her lips suddenly parted and the softest of a whisper caressed his ears, "Harry"
She showed no sign of waking, though. Eyelids still closed peacefully, her countenance unchanged, she snuggled closer in the crook of his arm, one hand now clinging to his shirt while he patted lightly on her arm, allowing some time for his erratic heartbeat to steady, in rhythm with her breathing, until one certain point, he thought he might have mistaken the rustling of the winds for the call of his name. Thus, he began to loosen up, securing the girl in his arms again, and finally settled for a feather-light kiss on her forehead. He closed his eyes, his lips lingering on her skin, his olfactory senses immersed in the balm of mellow lily fragrance with a hint of sweet, musky sandalwood, heady fire whiskey aroma engendering a pool of warmth in his chest as if he had actually consumed the intoxicating liquid courage. He grudgingly drew back to see her lips easing into a faint smile and he felt he would be gratified to just sit there and watch her sleeping like this forever.
Time, unfortunately, was wont to fast-forward whenever he enjoyed himself, so he should have foreseen it when his visionary forever with her was cut short by a familiar sound unnervingly similar to Mrs. Norris yowling like a banshee upon catching a delinquent in school ground. Under no circumstances did he want to encounter the grumpy Hogwarts caretaker and his obnoxious pet, let alone with her in this drunken state, so he speedily pushed off the stone pillar, scooping her limp body up, and treked down the staircases stealthily while keeping vigilance of the dull lantern led by a slate feline. He took one of the secret passages behind the tapestry and dabbled with an amateur disillusionment incantation, staying alert to arrive at the Gryffindor tower without getting into any trouble, yet it never occurred to him to cast a featherweight charm on her the entire time; the soft feel of her warmth in his arms, he privately took as better a prize than thousand Gryffindor Quidditch cups for his venture that night.
It must have been way past curfew. The empty common room was swathed in soft darkness, interwoven with the sheen of pearl moonlight, garnished with incandescent firelight from the hearth at one corner. Other than floating enchanted balloons and ostentatious scarlet and gold banners draped over the walls, the ordinary warm and cozy atmosphere was returned to the quiet room.
Gently laying her on the couch, he conjured a thick quilt and tucked her in before sitting beside her, indulged himself in his new favorite pastime—watching her sleep. She was deep in perfect repose, wrapped in a glow of autumn foliage color, luxuriant brown curls shining gold in the warm fire, dark long lashes fanning out against her cheeks that were flushing a lovely shade of crimson from firewhiskey, her heavenly scents saturating the enclosed corner. As he already reckoned, sleep never came. For the better half of the night, he was rooted in place, his mind neither blank nor occupied, jumbled thoughts he never came to grasp whirling in the back ground, only a noticeable flurry of emotions tightening around his chest, released in the form of occasional heavy sighs into the silence of the night.
He derived comfort from holding her hand loosely, running his thumb absent-mindedly over the tiny writer's bump on her middle finger, his eyes never leaving her face, yet he soon got agitated; stroking her hair or even stealing a kiss on her cheek failed to quench the blistering flame in the pit of his stomach. His heart was put at rest but he could feel blood trickling discretely from open gashes; his entire being ached to lie down beside her and mould her small frame against him, his lips athirst for her velvety skin and his fidgety hands undulating soft mounds of her breasts, driving him insane. He cursed loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, resolutely blocking off the devastatingly luscious spectacle too close for comfort while having his skewed glasses slide off to his lap. Setting them on the nearby table, he briskly put out the fire before turning back to her, his naked eyes strained in the dark to seek her moonlit face, his cold lips pressed to her soft hand throughout the rest of the night.
Dawn manifested itself with the typical pale tint of blue slivering the murky expanse outside the window, yet he was too distracted to notice until he heard someone pad down the stairs, footsteps distinguishable the way the said person barely bothered to lift their feet when walking. Surreptitiously letting go of her hand, he didn't waste any moment to stand up and grab the table corner with lightning fast reflexes before looking towards the staircases, appearing as if that he had just arrived there to retrieve his forgotten glasses. He was somewhat surprised to see a sluggish Lavender in pink floral pyjama yawning loudly, her corkscrew hair in a total mess. She rubbed her eyes and blinked furiously at him as he instantly took advantage of her lethargy to fabricate a trite explanation, asked Lavender to take his best friend to the Hospital wing in haste, and practically dashed to his dorm's room, never looking back to catch the smug grin on the face of his gossipy housemate, full alertness in her bright eyes.
He waited in bed until everyone had come down to breakfast to start getting prepared for the day, inexplicably apprehensive about seeing her. Against his expectation, she never showed up at the Great Hall that morning and trudged into the dungeon, for the first time without a hefty rucksack on her back, roughly half an hour into the beginning of Slughorn's potion class. She sat in the far back and was later to pair up with Terry Boot in practical session. With due attention could he take heed that she frequently squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples, presumably suffering from hangover headaches, but she seemed otherwise fine, even a tad too perky when partnering with the snobbish Ravenclaws.
Little did he know that wasn't the last time she skipped breakfast and came to class late. Needless to say, when he had the chance to voice his concern, she brushed him off with a mechanical reply, and he proved one truly inconsiderate simpleton to buy her lie, horridly relieved that she had no memory of the previous night alongside Gryffindor winning the Quidditch cup…
He was snapped out of his reverie by a loud sneeze.
"Excuse me!" She sniffed and scrubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.
"Are you sick?" His brows drawing together, he inquired her earnestly and strode towards her once receiving a wordless head-shake, his eyes searching her face intently, "Hermione?"
She half-consciously rubbed her arm held close to her chest. "No, I am fine. It's just-" with a short, convulsive intake of breath, her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth slightly ajar, the pink on her nose smearing across her cheeks, her nostrils flaring visibly as the inevitable sneeze came.
"It's just you've been out in the cold for hours in that flimsy jumper of yours." He supplied matter-of-factly, pulling off his scarf and swiftly wrapped it around her neck. Taking the salient wave of heat permeating his system as an indication of her fever, he instinctively felt her forehead, more or less baffled by the extra coolness of her skin, and withdrew his hand, before any comprehension could take over his mind.
Fingers gliding through his messy ebony hair, he averted his eyes from her keen aloof gaze, his stomach seized with another bout of the familiar wretched jitteriness, a hint of steel nonetheless in his voice. "Whatever problems you've got, you are not fine, Hermione!" He stared deeply into her eyes, brushing her fingertips on purpose, mutely asking for solace from her soft hand, which was then lifted up to worry the scarf on her neck nonchalantly, so he hid his clenched fist in his pocket again and mirrored her by fixing his eyes to the ground, vulnerability underlying his hesitant speech, "but you still have me…and Ron…friends who care deeply for you. Don't...keep it to yourself, Hermione…sharing with others helps you feel better…so talk to me…I am…right here…"
"I told you, Harry, that I was fine." She maintained her argument, silently begging him to drop the subject.
The sheer weariness somehow lent credence to her response, leaving him at a loss for words, whereas her eyes travelled warily from her shoes upwards to fall upon his pained grimace. She inadvertently clasped the scarf tighter, her heart cringing inside her chest, where emptiness was somehow replaced with smoldering grievance, masked by a flash of exasperation at his brotherly overprotectiveness. She opened her mouth, uncertain whether to reassure him further or give him an outright lecture, when another fit of sneeze that she failed to contain rose up her throat, rendering her nose inflamed. A sudden dizziness gripped her; her hand automatically flew up to her forehead as she squeaked, feeling his piercing eyes on her, "allergy, flower pollen thing…I…I'd better go ask Madam Pomfrey for a relief potion, Harry...um…see you!"
She made to leave but his hand clamped on her wrist stopped her from making any further step.
"Harry," she was shaking from both anger and frailty, "let me go!"
One full ten seconds elapsed before he started to speak in a thick voice, never loosening his vice-like grip on her, "I take it that you haven't told him how you feel yet."
"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" She looked at him, mouth agape, the need to struggle out of his grasp quite forgotten.
Feeling her arms relaxed in his hold, he slid his hand down to give hers a light squeeze, "you should look at yourself, Hermione!" his rhetorical advice was expressed sincerely enough, followed by a more subdued voice, the ghost of a smile hovering his lips as he looked at her sympathetically, "you're acting like a lovesick teenager."
She gasped, snatching her hand out of his, but instead of running, she sank to the ground, feeling as if his honest comment just drained all energy from her, unable to restrain the quaver sweeping through her entire body. She heard herself saying defensively in so strange a high-pitched voice, "Well, I am a teenager—"
"In love," he chimed in coolly, flopping himself next to her on a damp patch of lakeshore lawn.
"You are barking mad, Harry." She rolled her eyes dramatically.
Yet, he knew better than falling for her lame act, his gaze affixed to a tuft of grass crushed mercilessly in her small hand. The wobble in her voice was his cue to plough on, "you should tell him your feelings, Hermione. He might be pining after you himself, you know." He sat with his hands hanging slack between his knees, too mesmerized by the curtain of lush hair falling down her slim shoulder to note his dazed murmur, "who isn't?"
"Jeez, you're a fine one to talk!" Her acrid scoff shook him out of his momentary stupor. He could barely blink before she wheeled around to face him, still wearing the constant vacant look, a hard edge to her voice that incidentally tensed him. "What about you? Do you plan to ever tell Ginny that you are madly in love with her?"
"Urgh…not you, Hermione," he lamented immediately, "I've had my fair share of our nosy housemates already." His scruffy trainer dug into the earth in a huff, hitting a large pebble, which he, on a whim, picked up and tossed into the lake, "why nobody believes that there is nothing whatsoever going on between me and Ginny?"
"Coz it's one hell of a kiss you shared in front of the entire Gryffindor." She deadpanned, her eyes eluding his startled gaze.
She had barely finished when came his redundant question, "you saw?"
"Everything." was all she could manage to utter, her voice oddly strangulated.
He blinked, memories of what had happened before he came looking for her all but a haze in his mind, yet his stomach sunk low at the idea of missing something very important that only his best friend sitting right under his nose could elucidate for him. His heart doing all sorts of bouncing and tripping, he tried to shake off the unexpected hankering for confirming his doubts on her lips and inadvertently vocalized his frustration. "Damn it!" She turned sharply to look at him, unease penetrating her veneer of apathy, catching him almost stunned. He stammered, not fully knowing what he was saying, "How? I mean…why?...I didn't see you, but I could…"
Sense you, is that even remotely possible? He gulped, choking back the lunatic thought that was gnawing at his chaotic mind.
"I was right behind you." She clucked her tongue, shaking her head pitifully.
Bloody freaking hell! It became rather obvious to him, and the impetuous fantasy of 'sensing her' in the flesh was now belly dancing in a pink tutu before his mind's eyes.
"No wonder you didn't see me at all, Harry." She gave a humorless chuckle and met his gaze, the half-teasing smile not quite reaching her haunted eyes, "bet everyone was invisible, except the gorgeous girl glued to you at the mouth, huh?"
There were oceans of feelings inside his chest, the crest of sorrow and regret slamming against his heart. He inquired insistently, desperate to hear her confession again, "did it bother you, Hermione, seeing me kiss another girl, did it bother you?"
The only rejoinder he got was the uproarious flapping of wings as the post owls were diving through the gray billows to head for the owlery. He was staring at her profile and she straight ahead, her breasts heaving incessantly, when out came a long, deep, trembling sigh that he knew contained one full month of secret heartache from the very depth of her soul. She shifted from her current cross-legged posture, hugging her knees to her chest, brown ringlets dangling down over her still face, her eyes never moving away from some stale spot on the ground, strands of long eyelashes descending like a demure mimosa frond, yet curled gracefully at the ends like petals of a budding flower.
"Why, Hermione?" He was extremely tempted to unfurl the secret veiled by her bewitching lashes with his lips, but too reluctant to invade the aura of pensive tranquility enveloping her.
She remained perfectly stationary, probably too deep in thought to hear him, and when he was just one breath away from shaking her to get her attention, her lips started to curve slowly. "No, Harry." She continued monotonously, "It can't bother me. It just doesn't make sense. My best friend has found the best girl."
"Then why are you bothered that much, Hermione?"
"I am not!" she shrieked, her voice muffled with the first sign of tears. Pushing herself to her feet, she pronounced with finality. "I am not having this conversation with you, Harry, not now, not ever."
"Who is the guy," he rose and asked to her back anxiously as she was getting further away from him, "whom you fall in love with?"
She put her arms up in the air and screamed, "For the love of Merlin and all our holy magical ancestors!" To his horror, her feet picked up speed as she mumbled something like, "bollocks!"
Before he knew what he was doing, he snatched her shoulder, turning her around crudely, and received her shrill yelp of surprise and a pair of widened brown eyes, which made his heart skip a beat even though he was on the brink of losing all his tempers. He was fully mindful of crushing her waist, yet he couldn't help the bursting dam of hurt in his chest, not in the least contrite for growling his warning. "Don't you dare lie to my face, Hermione!" He commanded. "Tell me, who is the one?"
"There is no one. Take your hands off of me!" She threw him a deathly glower, wriggling furiously out of his arms, her lips quivering, "you're hurting me, Harry!"
His tantrum deflated like an untied balloon. He cupped her cheek with one palm, his face mere inches from hers, his abject plea dripped with the tenderness he didn't know he possessed. "Hermione, please! I want to…need to know who is affecting you so much you can't concentrate on schoolwork. Who has turned you into this emotional wreck?" His arms now wrapping fully around her waist, he pulled her closer, his voice sinking into a whisper, "Please tell me, who kills the light in your sparkling eyes; who wilts the smiles on your lips?"
She neither leaned in nor fought against his touch, and simply returned his unrelenting gaze, her eyes laid bare for him to see crystal tears welling up in her brown orbs, where all secrets were revealed in swirling tides of warm affection. Her hands slipped up his chest initially to push him away, but went stiff before starting to fondle his tight pectoral muscles much like the night she was drunk, while he stopped breathing altogether, slowly bringing his face down to what he could only see as a rosy blossom enticing him to taste its fragrance, giving her all the time to protest. And so she did, whipping her head away, dashing madly at the tears streaking down her face, as he exhaled out loud in utmost disappointment.
"Trust me, Harry," she finally gave him a tremulous answer, "you don't want to know."
It took a moment for him to cotton on what she meant. Inwardly cursing his hesitancy that further complicated matters, he cradled her chins gently, coercing her eyes in direct line of his intense gaze, and spontaneously attempted at dry humor, one acute question, however, burning on his lips. "I do, tell me so I can beat him to a bloody pulp for hurting you."
The corners of her lips tugged imperceptibly into a hint of a smile. His heart lifted at the amusement glistening in her eyes. There was an undercurrent of tenacity in her soft voice. "I am afraid I can't, Harry. It's all for the best."
"No, it's not!" he reacted at once but soon softened, "Hermione, it's not! You don't understand…" Catching the bewilderment written all over her face, he realized that he had gone too far to back away, the image of her lonesome figure ensnared within the arms of darkness on top of Astronomy tower making his heart twist brutally in his left chest. The bitter question burst out of his lips as if it had been ambushing in his throat to launch its attack all along. "Why didn't you ever let me know, Hermione, that I was a despicable clueless and thoughtless prat, that I was hurting you this bad without even knowing it?" Her solitary cry gave him the certainty to come clean, not a shadow of accusation but only a sweet mixture of sorrow and endearment in his guttural voice. "You could have saved both of us all foolish miseries. You could have saved me years of hopelessly pining after you."
Color drained from her face, she was mouthing some interjection he couldn't quite make out, her teary eyes combing his face like a hawk and halting to lock in the vehement sincerity of his gaze, and within a heartbeat, she buried her face in her hands and started to weep. He wordlessly took her in his arms, where she sagged against his chest, her body wracking with smothered sobs. He squeezed her lightly, alternating between rubbing her back and stroking her hair, but ended up resting his lips on the top of her head and gleaning a rush of her delightful scents. Thus, he waited in perfect contentment, until she had quieted down, to tilt his head backwards, carefully prying her fingers off her face and naturally intertwining them in his hands. She peeked up at him from between the drape of her tumbling hair, which he swept aside to unveil her tearstained cheeks reddening at his affectionate gesture. He watched with rapt admiration as her tongue unconsciously ran over the slight dent in the middle of her bottom lip, making it shine with moisture.
"You're so beautiful!" He breathed, unaware that he was thinking out loud, which gifted him a timid smile gracing her lips, teardrops glittering on her eyelashes, red-rimmed eyes beaming with the brilliance of her mind and the warmth of her heart. She was the epitome of all-round beauty that he felt an intense longing to cherish for all his life.
"It's all for the best, Hermione," he echoed her words with glee, a goofy grin broadening on his face, "coz the thoughtless and clueless prat you are in love with just happens to fall head over heels for you."
Her smile got brighter, her face positively aglow with ecstasy, but the passion alight in her eyes was, more powerfully than anything else, demonstrative of her love for him. His lips found hers with great ease and suavity rather foreign to a callow young boy of almost no experience with girls, while she welcomed him modestly, her tantalizing reluctance gradually boiling his desire. He nudged her as softly and leisurely as his rapidly evaporating forbearance could handle. She started to yield, her warm lips pressing firmly against his, when he felt it, so instantaneous that he, despite having already anticipated its mind-numbing effects, was thoroughly staggered by the the rush of electricity to the back of his neck, allowing no room for rational thoughts. He found himself unable to decide whether he had been whisked away to a sandalwood forest, where downy autumn freshness blended with tangy fragrances, or a regal garden full of lilies that tasted sweet and sensual on his lips.
He deepened the kiss, overwhelmed with a potent lecherous instinct that guided him to mesh his lips with hers, both hands interlocking behind her back to keep her body ground against him, while she reciprocated with no less fervor, her arms slithering around his neck, where tingles worked in tandem with heat. Warmth suffused his entire being and accumulated in his heart, which was chorusing a serenade with its other half. Shining underneath his hysterical bliss were a gemstone of victory, glorious feelings of one who found the key to every Riddle, and a torrent of peace, the peace standing invincible in the thick of the most violent storm, the peace of melding with truth and right amidst injustice and evil.
He was flying with milky cloud as wings to his broomstick; he was soaring up to heaven; he was on top of both Wizarding and Muggle worlds; and above all, he was with her wherever he wandered, their bodies fitted together in an eternal embrace, their mind interlinked with one unwavering conviction, their heart and soul tied in one true love.
He was at the height of reveling in their kiss, never even dreaming of separating from her divine lips, when she began to resist, her hand pushing gently on his chest. He could feel her shaking her head, her lips brushing his back and forth, so he entwined one leg round hers to keep her still in place so that his tongue could persevere in caressing her elusive one. She mumbled her objection on their fused lips while he merely tightened his arms around her waist until he felt her breath getting caught as if she was being choked, her breast convulsing against his chest, striking him with a flood of concern. No sooner had he broken the kiss—both of them still joined from upper chests downward-did she give an explosive sneeze, causing her head to collide with his forehead. He instinctively rubbed at the source of pain, hissing under his breath, wary of mortifying her in already considerably humiliating a situation.
She brought her palms to her face in panic, her voice heavily stifled, indicating her stuffy nose and perhaps a sore throat. "Merlin, Harry! I tried to tell you. I am so sorry." She bestowed her feather-light touches on the afflicted spot as he noticed the pink tip of her nose matching with a faint red blotch just below her hairline. Her soft eyes focusing on his forehead before meeting his, she murmured her tender care. "Are you okay?"
His heart was still as restless as ever, vibrating resonantly in tremors of fondness and gratitude, all of him aching for her whole. He told her what was seemingly beyond his head. "No, I am not. There is this ever-present bittersweet ache all over…" He fell silent, his brain largely muddled by her extreme nearness, but he could tell that he hungered for more of her sublime lips, which he knew with certainty would do wonders for his sore bump on his forehead.
"What is that cliché again? Hmm…" He was racking his brain for what he recalled seeing in Muggle movies that befitted this circumstance, and when it hit him, he said huskily in hope of her granting his wish, unconscious of giving her what could only be called a lascivious look. "Care to kiss away my pain, Hermione?"
He was hoping for the soothing warmth and tingling on his forehead, but she obviously had a much better idea. She jumped into his arms, her legs fastened around his waist, both hands cupping his face, her thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. With a caustic shimmer in her eyes, she crushed her supple lips against his open mouth, her tongue, wet and hot, devouring his fiercely, her hands now threading into his messy hair as he looped his arms around her waist, absorbing everything of her into his soul. They barely parted just to feel each other's breaths warm on their mouth before their lips met again in more torrid kisses.
tbc.
