A Secret Admirer
She sighed as the breeze rippled over her bare shoulders.
The black shawl was draped elegantly over her neck, the dark colour protruding from the delicate milk of her skin. She was wearing sweeping dress-robes of a glistening indigo that seemed to emulate the very glistening essence of the night sky. Her hair was in a simple up-do that threatened to come undone from the breezes of the night.
Her skin erupted in goose-pimples at the thought of finally discovering her secret admirer that night.
It had all started when the school barn owl dropped a note on her toast at breakfast a month before. It was late morning, and she had not noticed it for several minutes, until Ron had paused in his quiet rant about Malfoy, who sat only a few feet away from them at the next table, impatiently yanked the newspaper from her line of sight and told her that she indeed had a letter.
She had been surprised at his exasperation, his flight from the table with her newspaper as soon as her fingers began prising the letter open.
But she was more surprised by the fact that she had actually got a letter.
"Open it," Harry had said, smiling peculiarly, when it became evident that her fingers had froze over the taupe parchment.
"Yeah, yeah," she had replied.
She then saw Dean and Seamus arrive at the table at that moment and both glanced over at her suspiciously, before one of them hastily inquired as to whether the morning pumpkin juice had settled to nothing but pulp after all this time.
"Well, what can you expect if you're late, boys?" Hermione had smiled at the two of them, placing the letter back on her toast.
Seamus had smiled brilliantly back at her, a smile that took her back a bit, and she quickly went back to the business of opening the letter until she felt a tap on her shoulder.
"Uhh… pass the toast, Hermione," Neville had said, a little too squeakily from what Hermione was used to hearing from him.
She had handed him the large platter of toast and condiments then, faintly remembering that Neville hated the charred flavour of anything remotely burnt, before she saw him balance it awkwardly and pass it on towards Ginny, and felt her qualms subside.
Finally, she had managed to tear open the beige parchment to reveal that it was actually granular papyrus bearing a light cherry-coloured inside, with moving hearts on the border and pretty off-white lace trim. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed that it was papyrus a long time back; it had a much more obvious, coarser appearance and texture compared to parchment
She gasped softly, before scanning her eyes over the letter. As soon as her eyes had examined the first word, the papyrus began to annunciate the words that it bore in a loud, masculine voice.
"Her hair is like chocolate,
And so is her nature.
Lovely and soft, brown and warm:
That is my Hermione Granger."
Her hands had begun to tremble, knowing that all eyes in the Great Hall were suddenly on her. She said silent thanks to no one in particular for the letter being relatively short, but the voice of the enchanted papyrus trudged on, no longer husky but now squeaky and shrill, as if it thirsted badly for oil.
"Meet me after the School Dance at nine-thirty by the lake. Come alone. Much esteem, your Secret Admirer."
She had put down the letter hastily, her cheeks flushed a rich scarlet, and her eyes remained on her half-eaten toast, not having the courage to look at anyone on her table, not even Harry.
"Thank Merlin that awful papyrus has finally shut itself up! Probably noticed how ugly Granger is and got scared of reading any further!"
Despite the stinging sensation creeping to her moist eyes, Hermione had wheeled around then to face Malfoy, hating the smug expression on his face that had began to manifest itself more regularly lately, after his insults at her had started to become more and more frequent.
"Go suck a boil, Malfoy," she had responded crisply, gathering her books into her bag quickly in order to stop herself from going ballistic on him.
She was about to walk away from the Hall then, retreating from Malfoy's glare, before she felt a dip in her stomach and twinge of a thought that made her stop in her tracks. The open letter quivered in her hand.
"How did you know it was made from papyrus, anyway?" she had almost whispered, hating her own voice for cracking and betraying her façade of confidence.
The Hall had seemed to go silent, and Malfoy's face seemed to perk up in surprise. Hermione saw faintly from the corner of her eye that Ron had returned to the hall with her more-or-less battered newspaper in his hand.
"Yeah, Malfoy," he asked slowly, his voice full of surprise itself. "How would you know it's made of granular papyrus?"
Hermione had felt a momentary frown form on her face for some reason, but her train of thought was stopped as Harry, Seamus and Dean all suddenly pulled their wands from their robe pockets at that moment, and had them pointed squarely at Malfoy.
"If this is some ploy to humiliate Hermione, then cut it out right now, Malfoy!" Seamus had yelled, his face steadily turning ruby from anger.
Malfoy's face had slowly changed from one of surprise to one of amusement.
"Is it so hard for you all to believe that Granger has a Secret Admirer? My, my, Granger, even your friends think you are pitiably vulgar."
Harry had quickly looked over at Hermione, his face one of shock mingled with apology. She didn't think she had ever seen him look quite so devastated in his life.
"Hermione, I would never -"
But she had sighed and walked out of the Great Hall right then, reinforcing the shields around her heart so that she would not be affected by everyone's words.
So she was ugly, and could never be a model. Was that the main thing that boys noticed? Though she was tall, she was skinny and not shapely, having more of an athletic body with small hips.
She had never wished to be like Parvati and Lavender, but all of a sudden the thought crept to her mind, and she felt ashamed for being superficial.
"You are very beautiful, Hermione," her mother always said. "But men always find intelligence intimidating."
They had both laughed about this then, but Hermione had slowly begun to believe this her failing. She did not want a boyfriend for the kissing, but for companionship and modest affection.
But she knew in her heart of hearts that this would never come true.
The Secret Admirer was probably a fake.
But that didn't mean she couldn't go to the lake after the School Dance just to enjoy the night sky, did it?
And here she was, annoyed by her decision to come down by the lake, but feeling her legs were too heavy with curiosity to ever walk away.
Save yourself some dignity, her heart reprimanded.
But if she did not explore her options now, would she not regret it later on?
She felt her eyes being covered up all of a sudden, and her heart dipped in fear.
"Who… who is it?"
But no answer came, and the warm, calloused hands remained on her face.
She felt ill all of a sudden.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but I want to go back to the castle," she said briskly.
Still no answer came, and she could hear only the rustling of the bushes behind her and the heavy thump thump thump of her heartbeat.
"Let me go," she said, almost as a whisper. "Please," she added, as an afterthought.
But the hands did not move, the world in her eyes seemed as dark as ever, and the silence remained. Hermione felt herself becoming exasperated with the secret-but-mute admirer.
"Why did you ask me to come here, if you weren't going to speak at all?" she snapped.
The hands shook a little, as if the person behind her was laughing, and she felt more annoyed than she had felt so far. She pulled the hands from her face and wheeled around to face the person, her eyes flashing in anger.
But her blotched angry face soon turned to one of bewilderment when she noticed who was standing behind her.
"Harry?"
He was smiling dubiously, his lip caught on his teeth, his raven-black hair more disheveled than she could ever remember it being, and his eyes seemed bleached-white without his glasses. The emerald centers of them sparkled like diamonds, and she was lost in the beautiful enchanted world that they held.
"Hermione, I -"
But she backed away from him, not believing his presence before her for one moment.
"Harry, what is this about?" she asked slowly.
He sighed.
"I – I do really like you, Hermione," he responded, his eyes glistening with a sincerity she could not quite name. "I'm sorry if this seems sudden –"
"Yes," she breathed, "it is sudden."
"But that doesn't make it any less genuine!" he said in earnest. "Hermione – I think I may have loved –"
Her eyes widened at this, and Harry exhaled, before trudging on.
"Yeah, I - I love you," he said slowly, not as though he were trying to convince himself of the fact but as though he were thinking of how it sounded when spoken out loud for the first time. "I think I've loved you ever since the encounter with the troll in our first year."
Hermione sat down then, overwhelmed, surprised by the fact that his supposed love for her had been apparently silent and unrequited for nearly five years.
"But, how could that be? How could you possibly love me for so long?"
But Harry smiled and shook his head, and Hermione was convinced that this was all a dream.
"It wasn't conscious," he corrected. "I mean, sure I thought you looked – well, ravishing – at the Yule Ball in our fourth year, but I never thought I was attracted to you. And then when we grew so close in our fifth year, and when you helped me so much, I just thought – "
"You're my friend, Harry," she interrupted, almost coldly. "We do such things for our friends."
But Harry shook his head once more, and it was perhaps only then that she noticed how big he had grown over the years, and felt a twinge in her stomach.
"Hermione, I would risk my life for you," he continued. "I would die – "
But Hermione rose at that moment and her hand on his lips to silence him. She could not even remotely consider the death of her best friend, under any circumstances. But Harry pushed her hand away.
"That's not normal, Hermione!" he said, almost exasperated. "Its not normal to think like that about anyone, apart from the person you love!"
But Hermione backed away and shook her head disbelievingly.
"That's not true, Harry," she said, coolly. "Because I would die for you too. Tell me, is that abnormal?"
Harry looked surprised all of a sudden, before a slight smile crept to his lips and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"N-no, that doesn't mean I love you, at all!" Hermione said indignantly, when she had realised what Harry was implying.
"Would you die for Ron?"
She contemplated this, fighting her urge to say 'yes' immediately. Would she really breathe her last breath for anyone other than Harry, The Boy Who Lived?
"If I had to," she said slowly.
But Harry smiled only further, and stepped towards Hermione. She backed away instantaneously, and felt herself collide with a tree behind her.
He and his emerald eyes had finally ensnared her.
Her heartbeat seemed to multiply itself rapidly. His hand came to the back of her head, and her eyes closed in panic.
He was undoing her hair.
His hands seemed altogether so gentle and nimble, maneuvering themselves around her messy locks admirably, as if they knew the way. Her hair soon came completely undone to frame her face and lay on her bare shoulders.
It suddenly seemed not quite so cold after all.
"You're utterly exquisite, Hermione," Harry breathed, his eyes moving away from her hair to regard her own eyes.
He seemed to tower over her then, holding a fair few inches over her. Hermione felt her stomach twist into a knot, so transfixed was she by the intensity glistening from the dark-jade green depths of his eyes.
"Its like," she began, but paused when Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
He was evidently surprised that her voice seemed weak all of a sudden, but she swallowed and continued.
"It's like you have a rainforest in your eyes," she whispered, and Harry looked even more surprised if it were possible. "So green… such a dark, deep green…"
His pupils had dilated then, and she felt a shiver go up her spine as he moved in closer towards her until she felt her hips collide slightly, softly, almost teasingly with his. Their faces were quite apart from each other, and Harry's eyes had moved to her mouth.
She bit her lip, her hands itching to tame the stray strands of raven hair that had crowned his face. His own finger traced the bony protrusion of her clavicle, and she could not help but let out a sigh at his tenderness.
He seemed so inexplicably handsome to her at that very moment that she had to close her eyes in order to stop them from burning with desire. How could she have remained oblivious to this… this lion, all this time?
"Harry," she began, but he silenced her with his eyes.
"You don't have to say anything, Hermione," he said.
He began to back away from her.
She felt alarmed, her heart began to wring itself in pain, so unbearable was the shock at the sudden distance between their bodies. His eyes were downcast, and she could somehow not endure the feeling that they were no longer yearning for her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, turning away form her.
He walked a few paces, before Hermione's throat unfroze and she felt her heart expand as she inhaled.
"Harry, why are you walking away?"
Her voice was so incredulous, even as she heard it, that Harry turned back towards her, staggered.
"I'm not about to force myself upon you, Hermione," he said, so matter-of-factly that she was taken aback.
"I know you would never," she whispered instantly.
She moved towards him. His eyebrow rose slightly.
"Maybe I would die for Ron," she said, taking in the dark emerald green of Harry's eyes, "but I know that I would live only for you."
His eyes widened, and Hermione savoured the inelegant yet endearing expression on his face.
He took her hand in his then, caressing it lightly before bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it.
She smirked at this, and he gave a lopsided smile in return.
"Well, I would hardly be the dashing Secret Admirer if we didn't engage in gallant pleasantries," he said sheepishly, and Hermione expected him to bow but felt grateful when he didn't.
"Well, we can't really call you a Secret Admirer now, can we?" Hermione replied, grinning. "Not really a 'secret' anymore, is it?"
"Nor an admirer," Harry said, beaming in return before running to avoid Hermione's whack.
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