It was late. The stars were glimmering faintly in the ceiling of the Great Hall, and Harry sat there and thought. Next to him sat Hermione, her face buried in a book. Harry hadn't asked the title - he didn't want to distract her.
Harry sat there and thought. He thought about the girl sitting next to him with her face buried in a book.
He'd always liked her, ever since he was eleven. She was one of his best friends - of course he did. But now he was sixteen, and he'd never liked her this way.
The night before, he'd woken up suddenly realising how beautiful she was. How colourful and glossy her vibrant hair was. How glowing her eyes were. How attractive she was when she wanted something.
How much he wanted her.
He'd spent the entire day frustrated, unable to concentrate on anything but her. He'd hunted her after class, and asked her to come and sit with him in the Great Hall. And now she was, and he couldn't think of what to say. He wished she hadn't brought a book; it might have made it easier to say if she was focused on him.
At that moment, she slammed down the book, her face brisk and business-like.
"Well, Harry, I've finished my book."
"Um-uh, Hermione..." He was wrong. It made it harder.
"Yes, Harry?" She was expectant.
"Hermione, I like you."
"Um, I knew that already, I mean, we're best friends, but, uh, thanks."
"N-no- I like you."
Her face lit up with realisation, and her face turned a light pink.
God, he wanted her so much.
"I- I like you too, Harry."
He turned to face her, incredulous.
"You like me too?" He couldn't believe it. This was everything he'd ever wanted.
She nodded nervously, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He dragged her to the common room, and kissed her in front of the roaring fire. She turned a darker red, and didn't look up at him for the rest of the night, except to press small, occasional kisses to his hand.