Welcome, welcome. This is my first Pumpkin Pie fic, and I'm so glad I got that out of the way.

Interestingly enough, this is part of a little project I've worked myself into. Basically, I think up different things that you should do/take/think/etc in moderation, and apply them to whatever shipping I want. If you have any ideas for things to be *blanked* in moderation, shoot me a PM with the idea, and whatever shipping (in this fandom) you can apply it to, and I'll see what I can cook up. ^_^

Thanks to Robyn (raspberry-rave), Karla (Double-Caramel), and Jess (idreamofdraco) for giving me feedback on this fic. You guys are the best!

This fic's moderation theme: Studies

Studious Interlude

Harry collapsed on top of his open book. If only he knew what page it was on – better yet, what exactly he was studying. He grudgingly remembered how Hermione had scolded him and Ron during their History of Magic class, warning how they were going to regret it in the long run. Harry and Ron hastily promised that they wouldn't miss a thing even as they studiously ignored their transparent professor to play tic-tac-toe and other mindless games. It wasn't until Harry was leering dazedly at his textbook did he now acknowledge how Hermione was right – again.

Embarrassingly enough, just the mere mention of Hermione – and not even aloud! – had Harry's heart lurch painfully. Ah, Hermione. He didn't know when he'd started feeling for her romantically – it could've been the first moment he'd met her, when she barged into his and Ron's compartment on the train, asking for Neville's toad. Or maybe it was the next year, when he thought she'd nearly died from petrifaction. Every year, Harry could think up an excuse as to why his feelings climbed and climbed until they reached dizzying heights.

Harry, now awake, tried to stare at the blank parchment paper, willing his mind to put in as much effort as it did when thinking of his bushy-haired (thought not so much – she'd finally managed to tame the beast that was her hair; although Harry was secretly partial to her once uncooperative hair, he had a strong affection to this newer, sleeker style), scholastic crush.

A slight shuffling in the back of the room distracted Harry from his admittedly spotted concentration and he blinked wearily at the source of the noise – or at least where it came from.

"Hello?" Harry called groggily, grabbing for his wand.

"Honestly, Harry, it's just me." Harry's heart gave a painful tug, the voice all too familiar. He put his wand back down, took off his glasses, fervently rubbed his eyes and placed said glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry, Hermione – I'm so tired, I can barely see, let alone think," Harry said apologetically. Hermione sat on the free spot on Harry's seat, and when she saw what he was working on, she sniffed disapprovingly.

"Working on that paper, I see," she commented in that superior tone that Ron would whinge about incessantly. Harry, though, didn't mind it so much. Harry grinned sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

"And where's Ronald?" Hermione always addressed Ron by his full name when she was thoroughly irritated with him. "Surely he can't be in bed? I highly doubt he got any farther than you."

Harry snorted and replied, "He gave up halfway. He should be deep into slumber land by now." Hermione snorted delicately, rolling her eyes around, clearly displeased with Ron's work – or lack thereof.

"Well, let's see what you have," Hermione said in a gentler tone, reaching for Harry's parchment.

"It- it's not much," Harry stuttered, his mind clouding as Hermione reached over him to get the paper.

Hermione reached her hand out for the quill, her eyes trained to the writing. Harry placed the quill in her hand, and observed the girl's work. When Hermione worked, it wasn't just her brain at work; it was her mind, and her body. Her face scrunched up (adorably, in Harry's opinion) and she would etch out something on the parchment; her eyebrows would raise quizzically before circling something; her lips would quirk up at either something she approved of, or something she thought was funny (though usually the former) and she'd tap the quill on the paper. Watching Hermione was like watching a silent film – so much enjoyment, but not a word spoken.

"Do I have something on my face?" Harry, startled out of his observing, blinked rapidly before zoning in on Hermione. He flushed lightly when he'd realized that he'd been caught staring.

"No, you're fine," he responded gruffly, turning to look at the book busily. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione's lips quirked up in a smile – did she approve of his staring, or did she think it was humorous? Minutes of silence passed as Hermione corrected Harry's assignment and Harry struggled not to stare so blatantly at her again. It was a more trying challenge than he thought – more so than the ridiculous assignment Binns had assigned – but somehow he managed until Hermione sighed.

"Done," she said, her tone reflecting the pleasure Harry was sure she felt. Harry thought of other ways he could elicit such a tone, and he flushed at the thought, fighting even harder not to meet Hermione's gaze for longer than he thought was acceptable.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry sighed, accepting his paper. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Hermione replied with a slight smile on her face. Harry returned it with a smile of his own, though he consciously tried to dim its brightness so not to make Hermione suspicious.

Hermione, it seemed, was the only person who hadn't realized Harry's feelings for her. Over the years, more and more people caught on to Harry's none too subtle longing looks, wide smiles, and other clues. His mates urged him to make a move – even Ron, who admitted to having a crush on their friend (before he met Luna, of course), advised that Harry should do something before "some other wanker snags her". They only had a couple more months together before the end of the term, and then graduation would be just around the corner – and Harry refused to wait until the last minute.

But for now, Harry needed rest, as there was no way he could work on anything with Hermione's presence, or his own exhaustion. Stretching, Harry let a loud yawn fall out of his mouth before turning to Hermione.

"Well, there's no way I can work on this. I'm sure that I'll be able to whip something up during breakfast." Without thinking, Harry threw his arm over Hermione's shoulder and kissed her softly on the cheek. "You truly are a keeper."

He rose, and for a split second, he played back what had just happened and whipped back around. Hermione was staring up at him in shock, her hand on her cheek – the cheek Harry had just kissed. Flushing brightly, Harry spluttered out an apology, his words running across, under, and on top of each other before he managed to say, "Oh, Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry – I don't know what I was thinking! It just . . . I just . . . ."

"Harry." Hermione's voice cut into Harry's unintelligible mumbling. Harry thankfully shut up, his eyes locked on Hermione's as she slowly stood up and walked over to her still friend.

"Hermione, I-"

Hermione put her finger on Harry's lips and said, "Stop talking," before she replaced her finger with her lips.

To say that Harry Potter was surprised was an understatement. One second brown eyes clouded his vision, and the next, these full, soft lips were covering his. It was quite the adjustment to make! Harry, too slow to respond, began to realize that Hermione was pulling away, obviously turned off by his unresponsiveness. Fueled by desperation, Harry pulled Hermione back to him, smashing his lips to hers again.

The gasp Hermione emitted when Harry pulled her back to him made his lips curl up in a smile; so rare it was to catch her by surprise. It wasn't like Harry was a complete prude – he'd had his share of girlfriends (Cho, and briefly Ginny); but with Hermione, he felt like he was fourteen all over again, experiencing his first kiss. Though when Hermione's lips pressed against his again, he heard a roaring in his ears, and was determined to make up for his lack of a response; to make up for everything he'd been missing out on.

He felt something wet trace his bottom lip and he shuddered, happily realizing that this was a challenge he was eager to accept. He opened his mouth to her, their tongues familiarizing themselves with each other before battling, a fierce dance that left both participants hungry for more.

Harry wasn't aware of any movement from within Hermione's embrace, but when he paused to take a breath, he was all to aware of the position he and Hermione were in; her warm body was pressed to his, their bodies sprawled against the couch they'd been sitting in just seconds before. Harry, well aware of his erect member, tried his best to keep Hermione from noticing it, but the way she was moving made it quite impossible to do so.

"'Mione," Harry groaned when Hermione's crotch brushed against the tent in his pants.

"'Hermione,' what?" Hermione replied just as breathlessly, repeating the motion. Harry screwed his eyes shut, tempted to throw all his morals out the window and take Hermione the way he'd been wanting to for years now. But aside from being The Boy Who (Barely) Lived, he was The Boy Whose Morals Were Too Damn Pure.

"Hermione," Harry continued in a ragged voice, "I promise you that as much as I'd love to make love to you, it won't be in a public common room." Hermione looked up at him, and Harry was so tempted to ignore what he just said and take her; her eyes were shining with lust, her lips red and bruised, her hair a shadow of her once bushy hair.

Hermione huffed impatiently, and Harry rolled off of her, trying to calm himself down – literally. "Do you know . . .?" Hermione's soft voice caught Harry's attention. When he turned to look at her, he was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Hermione," Harry sighed, his hand already lifting itself up to cup Hermione's cheek. But Hermione turned her cheek the other way, her lips trembling.

"I can't believe I did that," she hissed, almost to herself. "God, I feel like such a sl-"

"Don't you dare," Harry injected, "finish that sentence." Hermione looked at Harry sullenly, her tears refusing to fall. "You are not a slut – you are intelligent, and bright; helpful and caring; you are beautiful, and a great friend. And I love you, so much." Hermione let out a gasp before covering her mouth, as if the noise had slipped out without her approving it.

Harry laughed shakily, unsure if the reaction was positive or negative, and continued: "You, the brightest witch of our age, were so oblivious to it – everyone had caught on, but you. And it was the most infuriating thing, because I couldn't ask you how to woo yourself, but-"

Harry, aware that he was rambling, was relieved when Hermione cut him off. He was even more pleased at her actions when he realized she was kissing him fiercely once more. "I love you, too," she mumbled against his lips. Harry felt like he was floating on clouds of ecstasy; he all but crushed Hermione to his chest, pressing his lips firmly against hers.

She was his. The revelation had Harry's heart thudding in his chest. When they finally broke apart, Harry noted the time on his watch and frowned.

"I'm definitely not going to be able to work on that assignment," he muttered into Hermione's hair.

"Oh?" Hermione replied, giggling as Harry's lips tenderly brushed her ear lobe before trailing down her neck.

"Yes – I've discovered that I have more interesting things to study." Harry said, smiling as he pressed his lips against a sensitive spot he'd discovered.

Hermione shuddered in response and replied slyly, "I guarantee you'll be getting high markings in those studies."

La, la. My first Pumpkin Pie fic! Okay, I'm not counting the one I wrote when I was, like, nine (not really). That one is long gone anyways.

You all know what to do. Review, or I'm taking Draco (who we all know is superior to Harry. *no comment on Hermione*)

Sid