A/N: Hey, everybody! Hope you all enjoy this little plot bunny! Not sure where it's going to take me, but I'm excited to find out! :D
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Let me just begin by saying that I am not a slut.
Though, personally, I think the term is hideous and ridiculous in every way. There is no such thing as a slut. There are women with questionable morals, there are girls who like to wear more revealing attire, and then there are those who just simply have an active love life. But "slut" is a disgusting word that shouldn't be used.
In any case, I am none of these things.
Or, at least, I wasn't . . . until I graduated from Hogwarts.
It was exactly a year after the great Battle, in which my best friend, Harry Potter, killed Voldemort, and saved the wizarding world. After the battle (well . . . sort of during the battle, too), I started courting Ron Weasley, my other best friend. We'd been fighting our feelings for the better half of the previous seven years, with a classic love-hate relationship. Finally, we gave a relationship a try. And it was great, for most of our repeated seventh year.
Over the Easter holidays, though, Ron fell in love with Luna Lovegood. I didn't blame him; she was beautiful, strange, and apparently, extremely captivating. And she was quite smart, despite her . . . oddity. And she'd been an unwaveringly loyal friend.
Ron, thankfully, had enough chivalry and presence of mind to at least try to ignore his mounting attraction to the blonde. Unfortunately, on the last day of the holiday, he realized that his feelings could not be disregarded. He came to me, assured me that he'd been faithful, but he no longer felt the spark between us that had been there for over seven years. I felt the same way, and we parted with greater respect and appreciation for each other.
The "Golden Trio," as we discovered we'd been dubbed, graduated with honors, and I was the top of the class. Both Harry and I were asked to give a brief speech at the ceremony. Mine was . . . well, not exactly brief. I had a lot to say about the things I had learned, the friends I'd made, and the teachers I'd had the privilege to associate with. This took a total of about fifteen minutes. Harry's really was brief, and far more moving. He simply stood at the podium, looked over his fellow graduates for a few seconds, then talked about how Hogwarts had been his first true home. He didn't blubber, but I thought I saw a few tears escape those emerald-colored eyes. And the audience cheered for him as he returned to his seat beside me on the stand.
Then, the Hogwarts Class of 1999 tossed their pointed caps into the air, celebrating the end of the best seven years of their lives.
Later that night, a colossal party was thrown in the Great Hall for the graduates (the other students had gone home just after the ceremony). The Weird Sisters played for a few minutes, and Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas deejayed between their performances. There was food, games, dancing, and lots of . . . illicit activities. Half our class was drinking or snogging, or both. I even spotted Ginny Weasley getting very comfortable with one Draco Malfoy. (I wasn't sure if Ron had noticed this yet, but for Ginny's sake, I decided not to inform him of it.)
It didn't take long for me to get bored of the party. Within twenty minutes, I was on my way up to the Room of Requirement.
On the way, however, I heard a loud "Psst!" as I walked past a suit of armor. Warily, I glanced at the statue. "Erm . . . you talking to me, there, Lancelot?"
A moment later, Harry's head appeared in front of the helmet. "Very funny," he deadpanned. "Where are you off to?"
"Room of Requirement," I told him. "Why are you masquerading as a knight?"
He glared. "I'm not. I'm hiding."
I raised an eyebrow. "May I ask from what?"
"From my fangirls."
Sighing, I nodded my head in understanding. Harry had always had a small bundle of fangirls that wanted to get close to him, simply for his fame. And that number had increased exponentially with the event of Voldemort's defeat—by him. Harry could barely even leave his dormitory in the morning without being bombarded by a dozen or so squealing girls, ages 13-17, trying desperately to get a piece of him.
"You poor thing," I tutted, then I smiled. "You know, you could come with me. I could use the company, and I'm sure you won't mind being that much harder for the little bimbos to find."
He beamed. "Thanks, Hermione! You're brilliant, as always."
Re-covering himself with the hood of his cloak, Harry disappeared from view, and the only evidence that he was even following me, was the sound of his footsteps just behind me. I smiled cordially and even vocally greeted a few passersby, but none of them paused for longer than it took to say "Hello." They were all hurrying to get to the party that we had just left.
Before long, we were on the seventh floor, which was, fortunately, deserted.
Harry removed his cloak as I did the necessary pacing. The usual door appeared, and he opened it for me, ushering me inside.
The room was simple and quaint, just what I knew we'd need. It was a similar setup to the sitting room in my own home, but slightly larger, with lighter colors, and a few more pieces of furniture. It had a large, tan sofa, made of microfiber, I believed, and four matching chairs, placed symmetrically on either side of the sofa. A dark oak coffee table was placed in the center, and opposite the sofa was a grand fireplace. And covering most of the usual stone floor was a beautiful, Persian rug.
Harry let out a low whistle. "Gotta hand it to you, 'Mione," he said with a grin, "this is better than anything I could've come up with."
I smiled. "Thank you, Harry. Now let's sit, shall we?"
The hours passed comfortably as Harry and I conversed and reminisced. When it got cold, I started a fire, and Harry, through his thoughts, produced a large afghan for us to snuggle beneath. As it got later, and we grew warmer, our conversation died down, and we simply sat on the sofa, cuddled together under the blanket, staring into the flickering flames.
"This is nice," Harry said suddenly. "Thanks, Hermione."
I smiled up at him. "My pleasure."
The right corner of his lips turned upward in a half-smile, making him look incredibly handsome in the fading light of the dying embers. I was suddenly hyper-aware of how close our faces were, and of the curve of his lips.
"Hermione?" he whispered, and my mouth went dry. I swallowed thickly, and forced myself to look away from his lips and into his eyes. They were a bit glazed, as if he was confused by something. Could it be that he was experiencing the same, strange emotions that I was?
"Yes, Harry?"
He licked his lips, then he said in a low voice, "I, er . . . for some time now, I've. . . I've been wondering . . . what it would be like . . . for me to kiss you."
I gasped. "Kiss me?"
"Well . . . yeah. It's just . . . something I've been curious about for a while, and . . . I kind of want to try it. But only if you do, that is," he added hastily. "I'm not going to just force myself on you and start snogging you against your will. I just . . . I want to try it. Just once. Just to see what it would be like." He bit his lip. "Your call."
My mind spun with the enormity of what he'd just suggested. He wanted to snog. He wanted to snog me. He wanted to snog me, just once, to see how it would feel, and then never do it again. Part of me wanted to be miffed, and even slightly offended, but I knew that Harry wasn't trying to hurt me. He was just a curious, hormonal teenage boy, who wanted to try something new. And he was also my best friend. So what harm could it do?
"I suppose . . . we could try it," I whispered. "Just this once."
Harry's eyes sparkled with excitement, and he smiled that little half-smile, before slowly leaning toward me. I took a shaky breath to brace myself, unsure of what this could do to our friendship, and our future. Would he regret asking? Would he think I was a bad kisser? I hadn't had a whole lot of practice; even when I was with Ron, we kept the snogging to a minimum, because we were both studying for N.E.W.T.'s and such. Yes, both. Ron got mostly E's and O's on his exams, and he did it with only a little help from me.
But anyways, back to the situation at hand: my forthcoming snog with Harry.
Would he like it? Would he like me? Did he fancy me? Or was this really just a one-time curiosity fling? And why was I stressing over it so much? Why did I care what he thought about my kissing?
I didn't have any more time to dwell on these thoughts, though, because right at that moment, Harry's lip brushed, ever so softly, against mine.
And then, my whole world shifted.
The kiss was very brief, and completely chaste, but it sent my mind reeling, and my pulse racing. His lips were soft, and his scent—fresh, clean air, warm grass, and the slightest hint of cologne—was magnified by our close proximity. The combination was intoxicating. I felt myself leaning in, moving closer, and inhaling deeply that heady aroma that was so thoroughly Harry. And then, he was kissing me again.
And again.
And again, and again, and again.
And his arms wound around my waist, pulling me even closer. His lips claimed mine yet again, and lingered there for several glorious seconds. My head swam from the adrenaline rush his kiss provided. I had never known such ecstasy, such rapture, as I was experiencing right then.
He whispered my name, and I momentarily lost control. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and crushed his lips with mine, silently begging him to close what little distance remained between us. He did . . . just not in the way I expected.
I let out a small "Meep!" of surprise as something closed around my left breast. His hand froze there, and his whole body stiffened. We sat completely still, staring at each other, neither of us sure what to think.
Then, abruptly, the stillness broke, and we flew apart like shrapnel. Harry ran his hands through his hair as I hugged my knees against my stomach. We were both facing the fireplace now, the afghan lying forgotten in a heap on the floor.
"Wow," Harry rasped out.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Yeah," I muttered through tight lips.
"That was . . ."
"Interesting," I finished for him.
"Yeah."
Several beats of silence followed, and then I found myself turning to look at him. As I did, he mirrored the action, and our eyes met for a split second. Then, at the same time, our heads snapped forward, both of us staring pointedly at the fireplace.
"I'm tired," he said, standing abruptly. His behavior contradicted this announcement, but I thought it best not to point this out. "See you tomorrow."
I gulped. "Yeah. See you."
Harry couldn't get out of the room fast enough. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in his absence. I shivered and reached down to grab the afghan, and then I wrapped it around me. It was another hour or so before I started getting sleepy, and made my way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was empty, thankfully, and I sprinted up the stairs and into my dormitory, closing the door quietly behind me. The other girls were either already asleep, or missing. For once, I couldn't bring myself to care. I quickly changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed.
But once my head hit the pillow, I was wide awake, and one thought was echoing in my brain, the same thought that had been plaguing it for the last hour, since Harry's lips left mine:
What in the bloody hell was that?
A/N: Ooh, intrigue! ;D This is already so much fun to write! Hopefully, I'm better at getting chapters up in this one than I am in my others. Sigh. I'm sorry, you guys. But I hope that, instead of storming my house with tar and feathers, you leave a review, telling me what you think about this story! Sound good? Excellent! Loves!
