Hermione, Her-my-oh-knee, Hermione Granger.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. The incomparable J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe.
Hermione Granger
She's right beside me, twitching in her seat, hurriedly writing notes, as Professor Binns droned on and on about the politics behind the formation of the knights of the round table.
"Contrary to popular belief, there was indeed corruption behind the formation of the knights of the round table; Merlin knew all about this, but had no say—"
From writing fifty thousand words per minute, out of nowhere she raises her hand. And as expected, Professor Binns didn't notice. So she called out,
"Professor Binns".
Bloody Professor Binns. Boring, deaf and dead. He didn't even hear his name called. He just continued on and on about King Arthur being pressured by both parties to accept a certain knight.
"Professor Binns," she called out again in a louder tone.
"Lancelot, on the other hand marked the start of the regime's downfall--"
"PROFESSOR BINNS!" I finally shouted. I heard her gave an "eep!" while the student behind us snickered. She was staring at me. And so was Professor Binns. That caught you attention, didn't it you bloody son—
"Mr. Popper?"
"Potter, sir."
"And why did you think it was appropriate to shout out my name when I'm in the middle of a lecture?" Amazing, bloody amazing really. I didn't know that ghosts could let off steam. His face was now only a few inches away from mine, and for a second, I wished that it were Moaning Myrtle who was in front of me instead. But before he could continue with his little interrogation, she cut in,
"Er, Professor Binns, I have a question."
Binns gave me one last lingering look, as if trying to remember my face since he couldn't bloody remember my name, then turned to,
"Ms. Gunther?"
"Granger, Professor."
"Pardon me?"
"It's Granger, Professor Binns. My name's Hermione Granger."
Hermione
She's reading Hogwarts, A History. Surprise, surprise. We're sitting in the library. Surprise, surprise. Ron's asleep-- drooling. Surprise, surprise. She's got her eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought. Surprise, surprise. She's got the end of the quill on her mouth, she's tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she's tapping her foot on the floor, she wrinkles her nose, she—
"Harry, why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?"
Surprise, surprise, the lovesick git that I am is caught once again. I can feel my face burn.
"No, uh, there's, uh, nothing, uh, on your face," Nice Potter. How smooth. Really, even Casanova will fall for that. Bloody hell, who am I kidding? She's staring at me as if I'm one of those disgusting specimens we have in Herbology. She has her eyebrows furrowed once again (stop staring Potter), her chocolate brown eyes glistening with curiosity (stop staring Potter), her tongue moistening her lips—OH BLOODY HELL POTTER, STOP STARING! I buried my face on my hands, fighting the urge to stare, to wallow in her beauty—damn it, I am pathetic.
"Harry? Are okay?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled. I doubt if she heard it, Ron's snoring was becoming louder by the second.
"Oh for goodness' sake Harry, you don't look good," she stood up. I can feel my heart beating really, really—SHE'S TOUCHING ME. SHE'S HOLDING MY ARM. I CAN DIE HAPPY. GOOD LUCK WORLD, I LEAVE VOLDEMORT TO YOU!
"I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can help you,"
"Yeah, sure, Hermione."
Her-my-oh-knee
She's dragging me down the hallway. Talking non-stop about something, about everything. Frankly, I don't know what she's talking about because I'm dying. Any minute now I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm feeling woozy and light-headed. I feel jolts of electricity passing from her soft fingers to my arm. If this is dying, then those tears are for nothing!
She stopped. I'm conscious again. We're not in the hospital wing yet, but she already stopped.
"Er?" was all that came out of my mouth. I may be conscious, but I'm still incapable in speaking.
"Harry?" she asked. Harry what? Oh dear Lord, she's looking at me as if something has just dawned on her. She's beaming. Glowing. Radiating. Once again, my knees are turning into jelly. Cheesy person that I am, but that is exactly what I'm feeling. She's... an... angel. Oh dear Lord, I need HELP.
Bloody Hell, what is she doing? She's looking at me as if she knows something. Oh heavens, she's smiling. I'm definitely going to experience a cardiac arrest any second now. I think grandfather Evans died from that— DID SHE JUST PUSH ME TO THE WALL???
"Harry?"
OH MY GOD. SHE KNOWS.
She's smiling, really smiling. Her eyes are twinkling. She's GIGGLING. And I'm red and burning.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Harry but..."
Breathe, breathe, breathe! She doesn't know anything. She's just happy about something. She can't wait to tell it to you. Just breathe. There you go—OH DEAR LORD, HER FACE IS AN INCH AWAY FROM MINE.
Self-control Potter, self-control is the key to not screw things up! As much as I'd like to "accidentally" press my lips against her, I have to bloody... STOP.... MY.... SELF.
"Harry, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
"Her—"I couldn't finish saying her name. I had to grasp for air.
"Yes?"
"My—"
"Go on Harry,"
"Oh—"Oh why oh why oh why is she doing this to me???? She's teasing me! The vixen, the scarlet woman, the---
"Potter????" Half an inch away from my face! I can't think anymore.
"Knee." Her-my-oh-knee. I couldn't even say her name without emphasizing every syllable. Her-my-oh-knee. OH DEAR GOD, FORGIVE ME!
And with one swift motion we traded places, I pushed her to the wall and KISSED her. SENSELESS.
You are the man, Potter.
"I AM THE MAN" Bloody hell, did I just say that out loud? Apparently I did. Hermione Granger is staring at me, chocolate brown eyes gone, hawk like eyes present.
"Chauvinist!" she muttered under her breath. And—
SLAP!
"That Potter will teach you how to respect women!" But before she could say anything again, before I could be stupid and ruin the moment once again, I pressed my lips against hers and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.
THE END.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. The incomparable J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe.
Hermione Granger
She's right beside me, twitching in her seat, hurriedly writing notes, as Professor Binns droned on and on about the politics behind the formation of the knights of the round table.
"Contrary to popular belief, there was indeed corruption behind the formation of the knights of the round table; Merlin knew all about this, but had no say—"
From writing fifty thousand words per minute, out of nowhere she raises her hand. And as expected, Professor Binns didn't notice. So she called out,
"Professor Binns".
Bloody Professor Binns. Boring, deaf and dead. He didn't even hear his name called. He just continued on and on about King Arthur being pressured by both parties to accept a certain knight.
"Professor Binns," she called out again in a louder tone.
"Lancelot, on the other hand marked the start of the regime's downfall--"
"PROFESSOR BINNS!" I finally shouted. I heard her gave an "eep!" while the student behind us snickered. She was staring at me. And so was Professor Binns. That caught you attention, didn't it you bloody son—
"Mr. Popper?"
"Potter, sir."
"And why did you think it was appropriate to shout out my name when I'm in the middle of a lecture?" Amazing, bloody amazing really. I didn't know that ghosts could let off steam. His face was now only a few inches away from mine, and for a second, I wished that it were Moaning Myrtle who was in front of me instead. But before he could continue with his little interrogation, she cut in,
"Er, Professor Binns, I have a question."
Binns gave me one last lingering look, as if trying to remember my face since he couldn't bloody remember my name, then turned to,
"Ms. Gunther?"
"Granger, Professor."
"Pardon me?"
"It's Granger, Professor Binns. My name's Hermione Granger."
Hermione
She's reading Hogwarts, A History. Surprise, surprise. We're sitting in the library. Surprise, surprise. Ron's asleep-- drooling. Surprise, surprise. She's got her eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought. Surprise, surprise. She's got the end of the quill on her mouth, she's tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she's tapping her foot on the floor, she wrinkles her nose, she—
"Harry, why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?"
Surprise, surprise, the lovesick git that I am is caught once again. I can feel my face burn.
"No, uh, there's, uh, nothing, uh, on your face," Nice Potter. How smooth. Really, even Casanova will fall for that. Bloody hell, who am I kidding? She's staring at me as if I'm one of those disgusting specimens we have in Herbology. She has her eyebrows furrowed once again (stop staring Potter), her chocolate brown eyes glistening with curiosity (stop staring Potter), her tongue moistening her lips—OH BLOODY HELL POTTER, STOP STARING! I buried my face on my hands, fighting the urge to stare, to wallow in her beauty—damn it, I am pathetic.
"Harry? Are okay?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled. I doubt if she heard it, Ron's snoring was becoming louder by the second.
"Oh for goodness' sake Harry, you don't look good," she stood up. I can feel my heart beating really, really—SHE'S TOUCHING ME. SHE'S HOLDING MY ARM. I CAN DIE HAPPY. GOOD LUCK WORLD, I LEAVE VOLDEMORT TO YOU!
"I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can help you,"
"Yeah, sure, Hermione."
Her-my-oh-knee
She's dragging me down the hallway. Talking non-stop about something, about everything. Frankly, I don't know what she's talking about because I'm dying. Any minute now I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm feeling woozy and light-headed. I feel jolts of electricity passing from her soft fingers to my arm. If this is dying, then those tears are for nothing!
She stopped. I'm conscious again. We're not in the hospital wing yet, but she already stopped.
"Er?" was all that came out of my mouth. I may be conscious, but I'm still incapable in speaking.
"Harry?" she asked. Harry what? Oh dear Lord, she's looking at me as if something has just dawned on her. She's beaming. Glowing. Radiating. Once again, my knees are turning into jelly. Cheesy person that I am, but that is exactly what I'm feeling. She's... an... angel. Oh dear Lord, I need HELP.
Bloody Hell, what is she doing? She's looking at me as if she knows something. Oh heavens, she's smiling. I'm definitely going to experience a cardiac arrest any second now. I think grandfather Evans died from that— DID SHE JUST PUSH ME TO THE WALL???
"Harry?"
OH MY GOD. SHE KNOWS.
She's smiling, really smiling. Her eyes are twinkling. She's GIGGLING. And I'm red and burning.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Harry but..."
Breathe, breathe, breathe! She doesn't know anything. She's just happy about something. She can't wait to tell it to you. Just breathe. There you go—OH DEAR LORD, HER FACE IS AN INCH AWAY FROM MINE.
Self-control Potter, self-control is the key to not screw things up! As much as I'd like to "accidentally" press my lips against her, I have to bloody... STOP.... MY.... SELF.
"Harry, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
"Her—"I couldn't finish saying her name. I had to grasp for air.
"Yes?"
"My—"
"Go on Harry,"
"Oh—"Oh why oh why oh why is she doing this to me???? She's teasing me! The vixen, the scarlet woman, the---
"Potter????" Half an inch away from my face! I can't think anymore.
"Knee." Her-my-oh-knee. I couldn't even say her name without emphasizing every syllable. Her-my-oh-knee. OH DEAR GOD, FORGIVE ME!
And with one swift motion we traded places, I pushed her to the wall and KISSED her. SENSELESS.
You are the man, Potter.
"I AM THE MAN" Bloody hell, did I just say that out loud? Apparently I did. Hermione Granger is staring at me, chocolate brown eyes gone, hawk like eyes present.
"Chauvinist!" she muttered under her breath. And—
SLAP!
"That Potter will teach you how to respect women!" But before she could say anything again, before I could be stupid and ruin the moment once again, I pressed my lips against hers and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.
THE END.