AN: I am the worst person ever when it comes to updating, I know. But I've been working on this for a while, and I've got the layout for chapter 10, which I'll publish right after this unless I have something to add to it. Again, I'm sorry, but it's exams and my life is falling apart. Thanks so much for taking the time to even read my shitty writing. ~Hanz

Harry wasn't a moron. He knew she was going to pull away, and he knew he was going to fucking get it. Knowledge didn't stop his stomach from turning into the Titanic when she gasped and moved back so quickly he would've slammed his face into the bench (or even more embarrassing, her skirt) if he hadn't put his hands in front of him.

She stared at him, those beautiful brown eyes wide (surprisingly not with fear or anger or hell, even hatred. Just pure shock. Might've been funny if he wasn't so fucked over), and it felt like every sound in the world had simultaneously shut up, leaving a dark silence filled with the thoughts of what a fucking stupid thing he'd just done.

"H-Hermione, I'm sorry. Shit, I'm really-"

She held up a hand, looking like he'd just pissed her off. A lot.

"Harry, I am a good girl. I go to church on Sundays. I'm in a bible study group with Louise Midgen. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't swear, I'm always home by curfew. When I talk to my parents, I say yes or no, ma'am or sir. I don't get into trouble, and I most certainly don't kiss boys in the school bathroom."

He just nodded. What the fuck else could he do? She'd confirmed what he'd known, he was worthless, not good enough for her, for anyone...

A force that he hated jerked his head up.

Hermione was smiling. No, grinning. A secretive smile like the Mona Lisa, and even the look in her eyes was laughing. For a second, there was something... almost sad, there. No, no way. Imagination, that's all.

You're an idiot, Harry. A sentimental fool. She doesn't like you and she won't. Ever. Get the fuck over it.

"But where's the fun in that?" she whispered, like it was some big huge secret. Actually, it was just damned confusing.

Except it wasn't.

Harry looked up, and she was right there, so close to him, and he just laughed. She was giggling, too, and he was happy, just then.

"Well, good girl, I don't see what you would want with a smoking, non-believing, potty-mouthed, disrespectful curfew-skipping idiot like me."

"You aren't an idiot, Harry." Her voice was solemn, quiet. Nothing like his own joking voice a split second ago.

"Miss What's-Her-Name thinks differently."

"Miss What's-Her-Name is a paint-faced floozy." Hermione blushed (that goddamned blush) when she said it, like she should have prayed for forgiveness right then and there, though her look was fierce.

"My stars, Hermione Granger, I think I'm a bad influence on you," Harry pressed a hand to his chest, fighting the grin that was trying to ruin his impression of a stunned, bitchy, closed-minded church woman.

"I don't mind."

"But you didn't answer."

"Answer what?"

"Why you would want to be around me. 'Cause... you're you, and I'm... the crazy greaser kid."

He was not fucking hurt he was not fucking embarrassed of course that grin was real he was fine fine fine

"We all have our demons. Most people tend to call 'logical' or 'different' crazy." Her voice was bitter, something it shouldn't have been. She was so goddamned beautiful (a word never used by Harry to describe a bird before just then), she had no right to sound like that.

"You have more of a back story than I know about, don't you?"

"You have more of a back story than I know about."

"Touche. But you avoided the question again. That takes talent."

"Well-spotted."

"Well, are you going to answer?" They were both grinning ear-to-ear now. Harry hadn't ever talked like this with a girl before, like a best friend, an equal. Usually he was being looked at like something on the bottom of a janitor's shoe, or trying to avoid contemplating suicide after listening to babble about dresses and movie stars and he-stopped-paying-attention-after-that.

"No," she smirked and winked (fucking winked!) at him.

He opened his mouth to protest (it wasn't very fair, after all), but her lips were on his and gone again so quickly he had to go on fucking blush-control again. It was the first time a girl had kissed him, and not the other way around.

"Bell's going to ring," she murmured, still very close, which he was very aware of. "We should go."

"Damn," he breathed, and she chuckled.

"We'll talk later."

"Meet me at the diner?" He stood, and they were chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose, toe-to-toe, and all the other fucking cliché sayings.

She shook her head (fuck, her hair was something). "Louise goes there. Do you know the park by the library?"

"Pretty well, yeah." At her confused look, he grinned. "I used to be a big reader." It wasn't humiliating anymore.

"See you at... seven?"

"Seven."

Their mouths briefly pressed together, and she was gone, leaving Harry with the smell of her perfume and the sense that he needed to get out of the girl's shitter.