Hi, everyone. I know I haven't written anything in a while. Sorry about that. My muse is being very uncooperative lately, and while the eighth chapter of Of A Feather was written long ago, it don't think it's up to the mark. I've been tweaking it some, but like I said, my muse is being unhelpful. So I decided to write some mainly plotless, fluffy Harmony drabbles. Most of them are inspired by a humongous list of prompts I found over on Tumblr.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this. Also, a belated happy fortieth to one Harry Potter. :)
*.*.*
Not Cold Anymore
(prompt: holding hands even when there isn't a crowd)
"— and Ginny got an offer to join the Harpies, by the way, and she's been going on about it ever since. You wouldn't believe — "
Harry and Hermione share a discreet grin, oblivious to their lanky red-haired best friend who is rambling about Quidditch. The three of them walk together down the road in the middle of Hogsmeade, wrapped in scarlet and gold scarves and jumpers and hats. Hermione is decidedly happy — happier, in fact, than she has been in the last four months. She hadn't seen either of her best friends since she started her 'eighth' year at Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron joined the Auror Academy. And she doesn't know if she can go back to being alone until Easter after this.
A gaggle of sixth years walk past them, talking quietly, but the moment they see Harry they start giggling. Hermione looks at Harry to see his cheeks turn pink, and her stomach feels heavy. She shakes her head to get rid of the strange new inexplicable feeling (not new, really, she's been feeling that way ever since the war ended — but maybe that was only because she didn't like the idea of leaving him for school).
Harry shoots the girls a winning smile, and one of them — the tall one in a sparkly pink hat — winks at him. Hermione desperately wants to tell the girl to bugger off, but that would be stupid of her.
She can't look at Harry even after the girls are gone. But then something — his hand — touches her cold fingers, and his fingers intertwine with them.
She is compelled to look at him then, and her heart skips a beat when she finds him grinning that lopsided, absolutely charming grin down at her.
"Is this OK?" he asks softly, tentatively. She grins and nods.
Honestly, Hermione, he's just holding your hand, she tells herself when her cheeks grow hot.
He squeezes her fingers, and all of a sudden, her hand isn't cold anymore.