Classic Perfection Syndrome

My night has become a sunny dawn because of you. Ibn Abbad

She's perfect, he decides as he quietly settles next to her on the blanket in front of the telescope they're about to share for Astronomy. A selfish part of him wants nothing but to take her away from the linger eyes of the male population from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. A selfish part of him wants to stake his claim by any means. He wants to say that she's his and only his.

But she's perfect.

She's perfect just sitting there with her legs tucked to her side. Her eyes are startling gold warmed by the glow of the candles that are cast around them. He holds his breath as she meets his gaze for a brief moment. He wonders vaguely if she knows, but tonight her eyes are unreadable and cloaks her further in blanket of mystery that has held her since their fifth year. But then again, she always seems to know.

He watches as she shifts back, her reaching to grab at her hair. So many curls, he thinks in wonder. So many curls that he longs to reach and run his fingers through. He bits his lip as he continues to watch her hangs expertly twist her hair back with a spare quill. She has beautiful hands, small and able, soft and the color of the moon. Her hands are perfect.

"Harry? You look a bit lost," she spoke softly, startling him out of his thoughts. A heated blush rose to his cheeks, drawling a small grin from her.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, suddenly glad that Ron had skipped this class. If he knew what Harry was thinking, he'd never here the end of it. He always claimed to Dean that he had some sort of perfection syndrome.

Harry had no complaints.

Hermione stands with her notebook in one hand and turns to offer him her other. It's selfish, but he likes being her partner. He can watch her closer, look for things that he has yet to discover. Hermione constantly threw out surprises.

She was perfect.

"You know what we're supposed to do, right?"

He bites his lips, an effort to cover his rising embarrassment. Did she see him watching her? He finally shakes his head and replies with a half honest response, "I wasn't paying attention. Quidditch practice really took a whirl out of me."

Her lips curved into a grin. "Uh-huh. We have to draw the moon and label it's lighting positions in different places throughout the castle in the next couple hours. It's quite simple actually. Should have paid attention."

He nods, his eyes still cast on her lips.

Her very kissable lips.

.which happened to still be moving.

All it took was for him to lean over.

"Harry?"

He looked up, semi-upset that he was distracted from her lips.

"Did Colin hit you with a bludger again?"

He winced at the distant memory of Colin's attempt of impressing him by hitting a bludger and at the same time using his camera to capture his hit.

"No. why?"

His eyes wandered to back down her lips as the formed a phrase. "No particular reason, spacey."

"Hey 'mione?" He tore his gaze to glance at her for a moment. She was drawling quickly on the provided parchment, eyes on the moon.

"Hmm?"

"Can I kiss you?"

He barely noticed the pieces of parchment flying off the side of the castle, as he took his opportunity to claim her lips. In the back of his mind, he registered the fact that he hadn't waited for her initial response, as a proper fellow would do. But all his thoughts melted when he felt her respond back to his advances.

Her lips tasted like tea and honey.

.and her body fit right into the crook of his own.

"Perfect," he murmured into her mouth and then pulling back to see her reaction.

Her bruised lips, all thoroughly kissed, turned up into a small smile. His fingers danced over her smooth skin, brushing back her stubborn curls.

Perfect, he decides.

She was perfect just like this.

**

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