Three Spoonfuls of Sugar: HERMIONE

How long have I been awake?

I, Hermione Jean Granger, Master of Arithmancy and "the smartest witch" of my age, could not count the minutes I laid there listening to hail beat against the roof of our nylon and canvas cage. I focused intently on the drips and random pitter-patter, but still found it difficult to ignore the sounds of Harry pretending to sleep. I supposed I wasn't much better, what with me pretending not to listen. I almost re-surrendered to the dark, but if my internal clock was worth anything, it must be dawn and we ought to get going sooner rather than later.

He runs hot like a furnace, I realized, and I was sure I sweated through the night because of it. Sleep must have lessened his grip because what once was a vice now felt like the nonchalant weight of "Hello, good morning". Feeling the repetitive motion of his foot rubbing against the sole of mine, I laughed that nervous laugh people laugh when they're ticklish but don't want to say it outright. I mentioned something about the vulnerable spot on his side and needless to say, the assault on my feet retreated. Surely my opponent was already plotting his next move, but I changed tactics.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked.

"In an' out since one-ish I think. Dunno," he mumbled. He sounded knackered enough to sleep the day away. Going by the howling winds outside, there would not be a problem in him doing just that. Maybe I'd join him. And maybe, just maybe, centaurs will learn to fly.

I could feel his hand absentmindedly rubbing the morning chill out of my exposed shoulder. It had been a while since we danced and the lingering intrigue from last night was quickly turning into confusion. I shifted a bit, trying to recover some space between us whilst I gathered myself.

"So you haven't slept at all?"

"An hour or two is enough for me most times."

"Liar."

He had been abusing Dreamless Sleep for months. I pretended not to see the missing bottles, the random nodding off, the late night trips outside under the guise of a quick leak. He wasn't sleeping not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. Even sleeping next to me hadn't helped much, it seemed. His probable addiction was the least of our worries if the potion was starting to fail. My mind spiraled. Whether it was spiraling into or out of control was a matter of opinion.

How long does he have until Voldemort notices his uninhibited mind? Can he tell? Does he even need Voldemort to give him nightmares or can he do that all by himself? I thought of lists upon lists of alternate potions, each more dangerous than the last, all of which we did not have. We could raid an apothecary but the amount of planning and risk involved was stupendous. I was halfway through a hasty plot to infiltrate Diagon Alley when the cause of all this trouble interrupted me.

"Relax, I'll be fine." He patted my arm. "Just need a stronger dose or something."

"You know, there are other ways to deal with your problems besides drinking yourself to sleep."

"Really?" he asked. "Do share."

I didn't, because I was still working that out for myself. I neglected to mention that a stronger dose would be counterproductive, and that it might actually be better if he weaned himself off the stuff completely.

"How did you know I was worrying?" I said instead.

"You take it upon yourself to worry as much as possible. Also you're very easy to read. An open book, really."

"Rubbish. What am I thinking now?"

"That we're not heading out today," He offered. "Or if we were, we'd make snow angels like last time."

"Absolute rubbish." His smile was infectious even though I couldn't see it.

If by last time he meant a week ago when we sank into several inches of snow in exhaustion after wrestling with the tent, then we could make as many snow angels as he wanted. The slush seeped through my pants and had somehow gotten into my socks as we flailed and laughed ourselves hoarse trying to get up. Wet flakes clung to my lashes and melted on my tongue when I eventually decided to just lay there and catch my breath. Next to me, Harry seemed to have the same idea. He was staring at puffs of white above his face. All our struggling left Harry and Hermione-shaped imprints in the snow. I didn't remember who started first but we waved our arms up and down to give them wings.

Maybe he forgot that Ron's sour look was the reason we quit while we were ahead. Remind him where we found the time to behave like children, Ron said. He'd like to borrow some too.

"I'll go make us some tea."

Sitting up and prying his arms from my middle should have been an easy task, but he sat up with me. His hair stuck up even more oddly than usual because of the way he slept on it. He'd make a fine duster, I decided.

"Only you'd want to get out of bed at a time like this," he whined. His arms tightened in what he must have thought was a playful gesture until our bodies were close enough to be glued, my back to his front. When he nestled his head in the nook between my neck and shoulder, I felt the scratchy brush of stubble.

"Harry," I started. The nervous laugh that came out next had less to do with the fact that I was ticklish and more to do with my shrinking sense of calm. The familiarity displayed here wasn't unwarranted, as we've seen the other in the sort of states you'd expect from people who spent the last seven years saving the world. However, it was untested. And sudden, and new. Uncharted territory without a map. I like maps, and plans, and order. This, this was something else entirely.

"It's too cold for you to be moving about anyway." he said. I could feel him tipping back over onto the mattress, inadvertently (or advertently?) taking me down with him. I held us both up.

"It's not a problem. I insist," I replied over my shoulder. He stared at me, brow knotted in bewilderment. I couldn't tell whether it was feigned or earnest, or whether it was directed at my actions or his own. I came to the startling realization that I couldn't tell anything anymore.

"Well at least let me do it then," He offered.

"You have no idea how I like my tea."

"Your options are Earl Grey, and Earl Grey", a declaration he was seemingly quite proud of. I was about to follow up with something as equally witty when Harry brushed his lips on my shoulder in what I can only describe as a peck, a decidedly non-platonic peck, before getting to his feet and toeing around for shoes.

With the amount of times I flushed red these past few hours, you'd think it'd be permanent. The pinkness spreading up from his shirt's creased neckline betrayed him as well.

"When are we going to talk about this?"

At first I wasn't sure he heard me. His arms were over his head, indenting the tent top as he yawned and stretched his limbs. I thought I heard a few pops from his joints but blood was pounding in my head so hard that I nearly missed his response.

"Talk about…tea?" he asked hesitantly. My eyes hardened.

"You think this is about tea?"

"A wise witch would say we've yet to rule out the possibility," he replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I'm being bloody serious." I said. My voice rose a bit in my efforts. It's amazing how hard it was to get his attention when I was the only other person in the room. "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what on purpose?"

"This," I said. He opened his mouth to say something ridiculous but my expression must have convinced him otherwise.

"I don't follow," He begin slowly. His ability to be so oblivious made me want to squeeze the words out of him with my bare hands. Instead I stood. His forehead felt slightly cool under my palm.

"Have you been feeling strange lately?"

"No. I mean, I don't know." I inspected his eyes but his pupils were clear. Any dilation was because the sun hadn't found its way through the canvas yet. "Maybe a bit."

"And I as well. Do you think it's a jinx?"

"No, probably not," he replied, brushing my hand from his head.

"A hex then?"

"No."

"Then some sort of potion, or –"

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" He asked. His adam's apple bobbed as he tried to find more words, while his fist tugged at a tuft of hair behind his neck. I watched his incessant fidgeting, wondering what exactly I wanted him to say and why I didn't anticipate what he said next. "I think I like you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, of course you like me. I'd be surprised if you didn't," His mouth fell open and I pressed it closed so I could finish. "I'm your friend, aren't I?"

"You don't understand," He cautioned. I pressed it closed again.

"Friends in close quarters, sharing long days, longer nights. I understand just fine."

I could blame a lot of things for the series of events that followed, in which both of us ended up stumbling back onto the lumpy bunk, with my back pressing on a particularly bumpy lump. Bad berries, a Confundus Charm, lack of sleep, Harry's inability to save me from my shame and just get off me, ect. I briefly thanked the forces that be for the Quidditch reflexes that had his arms on either side of my head, holding up his weight. Briefly, because by then whatever Gryffindor courage that came over me a moment before was gone and being crushed right then actually didn't sound too bad.

His lips touched my lips, softly, because when your face was this close to someone else's it seemed like the only acceptable course of action. I could make peace with this, but not with the fact that he did it like I was some small woodland creature that he didn't want to scare off. I caught him in the rabbit trap instead.

The barrier between us vanished as if it was never there at all. Perhaps it wasn't, or perhaps it's degradation was slow enough that we hadn't noticed the last brick toppling over ages ago. In either case it was down for good, leaving nothing but the cheap polyester blockades of clothes in its place.

The kiss didn't last long but it left me breathless and excited and confused and exhilarated, all at once. I shared a moment with my rabbit whilst we both evened out our pulses.

Was I the predator, and he the prey? Weren't we both trapped?

"So, about that tea?" he asked, turning his bruised, ruby-red lips into a crooked smile. I rolled my eyes and pulled the blankets over our heads, the same ones we were probably in over. I spent less time thinking about how this would work and less time thinking in general.

It was just me and him, in our own little corner of the world. Right there. That moment. Us. I had a feeling we'd be spending the day making up for lost time. We could deal with everything else later.