Disclaimer: As difficult as it may be to comprehend, a fanfiction writer does not own the rights to Harry Potter.

Chapter 29

The ensuing days were nearly torturous for Harry Potter. It started the moment the movie ended, and Hermione took his hand in hers and led him out of the theater. Every time they'd laced their fingers together over the past two years, he felt a jolt of electricity shoot up and down his arm, but he'd never bothered to think about it. Now, thanks to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, he was very much aware of why his entire arm felt like it had been injected with liquid lightning.

"Erm, I need to – I'm just going to…do you mind if I…" Harry stammered incoherently as they reached the lobby of the cinema. Hermione raised an eyebrow, and he pointed to the restroom with a shaky hand.

"I'll be here." She smiled in understanding. That smile. That damned smile. Harry was barely able to pry his eyes away from her dazzlingly white teeth and stumble over to the men's lavatory, hoping he didn't look as flustered as he felt.

He pushed the door open and stood in front of the mirror for a moment. His cheeks were tinged pink, which made him wince internally. Had she seen his blush? Did she suspect anything? No, of course not. Right?

"Bloody hell." Harry groaned, splashing his face with some cold water and running his hands through his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to make it look nicer. "I have a crush on my best friend." He whispered.

'Obviously.' His internal voice scorned. 'I've only been trying to get you to catch on for two bloody years.'

"Shut up." Harry grumbled, before cringing as he realized he was arguing with himself. Mercifully, he was alone. He straightened after a beat, giving his head a little shake. Taking a few deep breaths, he felt his heart rate drop to below five thousand beats per minute. "I got this. Everything's normal." He told himself, barely able to meet his own eyes in the mirror. "I just happen to sort of fancy the girl I'm spending the summer with." He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Eventually, he found it in himself to exit the restroom, walking across the tiled floor of the cinema atrium towards a familiar mane of bushy brown hair. Her back was to him as she gazed at the movie posters plastered to the wall. He stood next to her, and she gave him another heart-melting smile before turning back to the poster in front of her.

"Did you like seeing a movie in theaters?" She asked. Harry nodded awkwardly, flickering his eyes between the posters and his best friend. "I'm glad. I really liked that movie." She exhaled, still smiling.

"Are your parents coming to pick us up?" He was proud of his ability to string together a complete sentence.

"I suppose they're in the car park. Shall we?" Hermione grabbed his hand once again and began marching towards the exit.

Harry inhaled sharply at the contact but followed her out, praying that his palm wasn't sweating.

The following days weren't much easier. Dozens of times Harry was certain he was going to either have a heart attack or blurt out that he was crushing on Hermione. With each passing day he was starting to prefer the former would happen.

The day after their excursion to the movie theater, the pair found themselves reading on the couch contentedly. Harry had reluctantly shelved his copy of A Few Good Men for the afternoon and was reading something Hermione had practically begged him to try – To Kill a Mockingbird.

He was doing a good job of engrossing himself in the life of Scout Finch and trying to pick up on the underlying themes. It was Hermione's own copy, and he enjoyed reading notes she'd jotted in the margins and took notice of certain lines she had underlined. For most of the afternoon, he found himself absorbed in the pages, and thankfully, not the girl reading next to him.

Then, she scooted closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Harry hitched his breath, using every ounce of willpower he had to not turn and look at Hermione. He glanced down to see her enormous tome on the history of French monarchs was still open over her lap, her fingers absent-mindedly drumming the side of her leg.

Harry felt his heart flutter – Hermione wanted to be closer to him! He barely suppressed a giddy smile and felt his unease about his feelings slightly give way to hope.

Then, he turned his eyes back to the novel in his hand, and read the next line.

"People generally see what they look for and hear what they listen for…" Harry read, and his excitement dissipated like air out of a punctured balloon. Hermione had placed her head on his shoulder several times in the past. It was like breathing for her at this point, just something she did.

'If she meant something by it, she would have said something by now, right?' He wondered to himself.

He pursed his lips sadly as he realized he was probably looking for any excuse to think Hermione would like him back. He darted his eyes to his left to see Hermione slowly turn her page and let out a serene sigh. Shaking his head at himself, he dedicated every bit of his attention back to the words of Harper Lee.

Every night that summer, Hermione had kissed him on the cheek goodnight just before they retreated into their bedrooms. It was a tradition he was rather fond of, and he grew to love it even more after his little epiphany in the cinema. The feeling of utter bliss that trickles across his face and his entire body whenever he felt her lips on his skin was unmatched, and he tried to freeze time every night, hoping to enjoy the sensation for eternity.

Then, of course, he would find himself immobilized in confusion. He was tempted beyond belief to kiss her on the cheek back – something he'd never done before. Then, he'd start wondering how she'd react, if she'd find it odd or think he wasn't feeling well. Hermione's pecks were routine by now, and he was sure they were as quotidian for her as brushing her teeth. At this point, it was probably muscle memory for her, completely thoughtless. At best, it was like the chaste peck one gives a sibling. Or worst, a mother to her child. For him to reciprocate the favor, completely out of the blue? She'd definitely be puzzled, possibly even miffed at him.

And, of course, Hermione was clever beyond words. If he started doing it now, after watching Sleepless in Seattle together, she'd be able to piece together that watching the movie had made him realize something. Her brilliant brain would probably figure it out the moment he started leaning towards her cheek. And how would she react to learning that her best friend had a crush on her?

He went through this argument in his head almost verbatim every single night, and by the time he snapped out of it Hermione had already slipped into her room, clicking her door shut. Sighing, he'd run his hands through his hair in frustration before entering his bedroom, distractedly brushing his cheek with his fingers as he collapsed into bed.

If one good thing came out of Harry's recognition of his own feelings, it was how determined he was to make himself busy. After sleeping fitfully almost every night, he was up just after dawn every single morning, eagerly preparing breakfast for the Grangers, who were usually still asleep.

More often than not, he was successful in keeping his brain occupied with whisking and frying and pouring and stirring away. But every once in a while, he'd hear footsteps pattering around upstairs and Hermione would come down with her hair looking almost as disorganized as his, a giant smile plastered on her face at the sight of him at the stove. Then, his brain would go into overdrive and he'd awkwardly sputter a greeting before turning his attention back to whatever he was preparing.

When those moments occurred, Harry would strongly consider bludgeoning himself with a frying pan to either knock some sense in his head or to give himself amnesia. He was starting to miss the blissfully ignorant days when he didn't realize that he fancied his best friend.

When he couldn't pledge his attention to doing his best Jamie Oliver impression, Harry Potter was doing his homework with a vengeance. Snape in particular seemed to be trying to make every incoming third-year's summer miserable by assigning a myriad of essays. Hermione had drafted a schedule of conquering their summer assignments on the way home on the Hogwarts Express, which the pair had been following diligently.

After Harry had become painfully aware of his crush, however, he began throwing himself at his schoolwork with a tenacity he didn't even know he was capable. One day in particular, he was sitting across from Hermione at the kitchen table and scribbling away furiously about Shrinking Solutions. He knew Hermione was watching him with curiosity as he filled his parchment and flipped around in his textbook, but refused to meet her eyes.

"Harry?" She said suddenly, and he froze in place, ink dripping from his quill onto an empty patch of paper.

"Yes?" His voice was much squeakier that he wanted it to be, but he forced his expression to remain neutral as he lifted his head.

"What's going on with you?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, or even concerned. She had the smallest of smiles on her face, and her eyebrows were raised in pleasant surprise. "I've never seen you so interested in anything related to Potions before."

"Well…" Harry trailed off uncertainly. "I just want to get this done."

"And the other three essays you've finished this afternoon? You just wanted to get those done too?"

"Look…" Harry groaned, wracking his brain for a competent excuse. "I'm not usually this motivated to do anything academic, right?"

"Right." Hermione nodded pensively.

"So, maybe it would be a good idea to not try and inhibit this?" He winced as his voice turned defensive. Hermione didn't say anything, in fact she barely reacted at all.

"You've been weird for almost two weeks now." She stated as if she were reciting a fact from a textbook. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel fine." He pursed his lips, feeling his quill start to slip out of his sweaty fingers. "I should be asking you if you're under the weather, considering you've barely started your essay." He smirked.

"Oh, hush." Hermione ducked her head, trying to cover her almost blank parchment with her Potions textbook. "Our study schedule doesn't even have us starting this essay until next week, you know."

"I guess a certain super-brilliant witch is rubbing off on me." He retorted, the words flowing from his mouth unthinkingly. He saw Hermione blush and felt his nervousness fade slightly.

"Well…" It was Hermione's turn to trail off. "Since you're so far ahead of me, would you mind showing me what you've written? Maybe I could take some pointers from my know-it-all friend." She smiled shyly, and Harry couldn't help but snicker.

"I suppose I could offer some wisdom, grasshopper." He felt his smile widen. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly before hopping out of her chair and dragging it around the table. Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she moved it so their chairs were touching before sliding back into her seat.

"You've switched steps seven and eight." She leaned over the table and plucked the quill out of his hand, jotting down a few corrections on his essay.

"I seem to remember you were the one asking for help." Harry sighed dramatically, eliciting a small giggle from Hermione. Harry felt his mood brighten exponentially at the sound, and felt his face start to heat up.

'Stop it.' He told himself.

'Don't stop. Follow your heart.' His inner voice retaliated.

'People generally see what they look for and hear what they listen for. Remember that?' His rational side offered.

'Ah, yes, take your romantic advice from a thirty year old book about racism.'

"Quiet, you." Harry groaned

"What?" Hermione turned to him, surprised more than anything. "I wasn't talking."

"S-sorry." Harry stammered, now even more nervous than before. "Just lost in thought."

"Uh-huh." Hermione tilted her head quizzically, an amused smile materializing on her face. "Well, besides a few tiny errors, your essay looks perfect. You did really well." She beamed with pride. "Do you fancy helping me write mine?"

"Do I f-fancy?" Harry spluttered before processing her entire sentence. "Oh, erm…sure." He laughed awkwardly. "Can I have my quill back?"

"Oh!" Hermione looked down to see she was still holding his eagle-feather quill. "I suppose." She smiled slyly, placing it into his outstretched hand. Harry was certain that her fingers lingered in his palm for longer than they should have, but before he could react she was back to pulling her parchment towards her, jotting down a few sentences. The pair resumed their study session, and Harry once again managed to keep his thoughts solely on homework.

"I suppose we'll be getting our Hogwarts letters soon enough." Hermione wondered out loud one day late in July. "Are you excited to go back to Diagon Alley?"

"Thrilled." Harry responded plainly, not lifting his eyes from his Transfiguration textbook.

"Harry, you've finished every assignment for Transfiguration, what are you doing?" Hermione huffed, scooting closer to him on the couch. "Are you avoiding me?" She asked playfully.

"Wha – why, why would I…I mean, what would you – " Harry stammered, darting his eyes between his best friend and his book.

"Generally when one reads more than usual they become more articulate." Hermione smiled mischievously. "You are avoiding me, aren't you?"

"I'm not avoiding you, Hermione, we're literally sitting next to each other." Harry finally found is voice.

"Well, we are sitting next to each other, but you've had your nose buried in a book while poor, lonely me has been sitting here doing nothing but stare at you for almost an hour." Hermione pouted.

"You've been staring at me?" Harry asked before he could stop himself, fidgeting in his seat.

"I want to do something, Harry. When was the last time we went to the park?" She lamented, scooting close enough to brush her shoulder with his.

"Hermione, it's been raining for three weeks straight." Harry sounded much more relaxed than he felt. It was true, and rather fortuitous for Harry, that the weather had prevented them from going on all kinds of adventures together. A week prior, Hermione had even suggested she and Harry go on a picnic in Sapphire Park, causing him to choke on his orange juice. Luckily, Hermione's father had pointed out the gloomy forecast before Harry could find an excuse.

"We don't necessarily have to go outside to do something fun." Hermione turned so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him. Her knee brushed against the side of his thigh, and Harry felt his pulse quicken as she gazed at him.

"Hermione…" He didn't like how shaky his voice was. "I'm reading. What is more fun to Hermione Granger than reading?"

"Anything that we can do together, for starters." Hermione answered rather quickly, her face brightening. "We have a few board games in the closet, but I don't think they've been touched in years, to be honest." She paused, scrunching her eyebrows together in thought. "How about a movie? I don't think we've watched a movie together since we saw Sleepless in Seattle."

'I wonder why…' Harry's inner voice taunted.

"I…I suppose we could…." Harry managed.

"Movie it is!" Hermione leapt off the couch in excitement. "I know just the one to get you out of whatever funk you've been in."

"I'm not in a funk!" Harry retorted defensively, at which Hermione just laughed.

"Look, Harry, I don't know if it's the bad weather, or if you're just bored, but you've been off for a few weeks now. It's actually been rather annoying watching you do homework all day instead of being your usual self."

"My usual self?"

"You know…" Now Hermione's voice sounded unsteady. "The Harry Potter that gets in pillow fights with me, and watches movies, and gets into it with me about what the best play of all time is – "

"A Few Good Men."

"Wrong, but I digress." Hermione held out her hand with a smirk. "Come help me look for this movie, I know my dad has it somewhere around here."

"What movie?" Harry asked, eyeing her expectant hand nervously.

"It's called Top Gun. Truth be told, I was kind of hoping you'd never see it, but desperate times." She smiled with a shrug.

"Why don't you want me to see it? Is it violent?" He asked, intrigued.

"Not really, no. It's about a bloke with dark hair and a nice smile who flies really fast and breaks a bunch of rules." She rolled her eyes. "I know this whole movie's just going to be an ego boost for the likes of you."

'Nice smile?' Harry thought to himself, feeling his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. After a beat, he was able to wrap his head around the rest of Hermione's description and grinned.

"I think I already like it too much." He let Hermione yank him to his feet, acknowledging the tingle of electricity reverberating throughout his body. "Who plays this individual who clearly wants to be just like me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again but cracked a smile. "That's the best part. It's your crush."

"My what?" Harry's knees buckled, and Hermione burst out laughing.

"Your precious Lieutenant Kaffee, of course." She cackled at her friend's bizarre reaction. "It's Tom Cruise, your man-crush."

"I…oh." Harry dusted himself off, feeling his face heat up. "I do not have a man-crush on Tom Cruise." He grumbled, glancing at Hermione to see she was struggling to subdue her laughter.

"Oh, if only you could see your face." Hermione smirked. "You've got it bad for Tom Cruise. You're a regular teenaged girl, Harry Potter." She teasingly nudged his arm before walking over towards the stacks of VHS tapes. Harry let out a frustrated sigh, which only earned him another giggle from Hermione. After a few minutes of searching, they dug out Top Gun.

Hermione dragged Harry back over to the couch and sat down excitedly. "You really are going to love this one." She beamed in anticipation, clicking PLAY and leaning back into the couch cushions. Harry turned his eyes to the television screen and allowed himself to be captivated by the movie.

Hermione was right. Not only did Harry realize she was spot on with her description of Maverick, played by Tom Cruise, but he loved the movie. He was totally engrossed, even if it was less intellectually stimulating than most of the movie's he'd watched over the summer. He found himself leaning in his seat as Maverick flew his fighter jet around at breakneck speeds. For a moment, Harry even considered writing down some of the maneuvers used in the movie to see if they were effective on his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Two hours later, Harry sat in awe at the credits. "That was awesome." He turned to Hermione, who was rolling her eyes but couldn't hide her amusement. "Thank you, Hermione. I loved it." He gave her a grateful smile, but spotted something over her shoulder. His own arm. Fighting the urge to pull it back, however, he kept it there, and turned his attention back to Hermione.

"Don't start getting any ideas from Tom Cruise." She huffed, turning to face him. "If you start flying upside-down during a Quidditch match I'll hex you into next year."

"Hmm…I reckon I'd dodge Bludgers much easier if I could fly upside down, though." Harry began stroking his chin in mock pensiveness, earning an elbow to the ribs from Hermione.

"Don't you dare get cute with me, Harry Potter." She smirked. Harry felt his stomach turn inside-out at that, and he knew his cheeks were turning pink. "I'm serious! I don't think I can handle seeing you in a Hospital Wing bed again."

"You're one to talk." Harry snorted. Hermione averted her eyes, blushing slightly.

"Now you're really getting cute with me." Hermione giggled, her eyes never leaving her lap. "I never should have shown you this movie. It all went straight to your head, didn't it?"

"Oh, just a bit." Harry grinned mischievously. "Is it so bad if I try and be like Maverick all the time?"

"I suppose there's worse things." Hermione leaned back into the couch, her head tilting towards the ceiling. Doing so rested the back of her head against Harry's arm, sending a shiver up and down his spine. "You're already pretty similar to him." She turned, keeping her head on Harry's forearm but meeting his eyes.

"Oh yeah?" Harry didn't know where his calmness, his quasi-smugness, was coming from. "How so?"

"Well, I believe I already told you that you both tend to disregard the rules fairly often." Hermione rolled her eyes, but her complacency was obvious. "You both like flying, even if it's ridiculously dangerous. You've both got dark hair, but yours is much messier."

"Hey!"

"That's not necessarily a bad thing!" Hermione reassured him, giggling to herself. "Let's see, rule-breaking, flying, dark hair – "

"I think you said something earlier about a nice smile." Harry just kept surprising himself. Where had that one come from?

"Yours is nicer." She said automatically, and Harry's heart froze in his chest. He felt his face heat up, and he quickly averted his eyes, not registering that Hermione was blushing too.

"Th-thank you." Harry said awkwardly. His mysterious surge of suaveness seemed to have vanished. He turned back to see Hermione beaming at him. "You have a really nice smile too, you know."

"Harry!" Her blush deepened, and Harry felt his heart swell. "That's very sweet of you to say." She smiled, turning her eyes to her trembling hands.

'Tell her.' His inner voice was uncharacteristically encouraging. 'Tell her now.'

"Hermione, I – "

"We're home!" Mrs. Granger called out from the foyer, strolling in merrily with her equally cheerful husband. "Well well well, watching another movie?" She asked good-naturedly, spotting the pair on the couch and the idle television screen.

"Which one?" Mr. Granger asked, eyeing the two of them amusedly.

"Top Gun." Hermione grinned, and her father's eyes widened in delight.

"I bet Harry here loved it. Isn't it great, Harry?" He turned to the boy wizard, who had frozen the moment he'd heard Hermione's mother waltz through the front door. "Harry?" His tone shifted to one of concern. Harry knew he looked like a complete loony, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes the size of plates. But he could barely bring himself to process the conversation going on in front of him.

"Harry?" Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, and that jolted him out of his thoughts, coughing awkwardly.

"Sorry. I've…I've been feeling a bit dehydrated." He spluttered.

'Lame.' The voice in his head sighed dejectedly.

"Well, I'll start making tea. But, we wanted to ask if you were excited about a certain someone's birthday on Saturday?" Mrs. Granger asked excitedly. "You're still up for dinner at the French restaurant?"

Harry nodded, mustering what must have been a convincing smile because all three Grangers seemed satisfied. Mr. and Mrs. Granger retreated into the kitchen to make tea, leaving Harry and Hermione in the living room.

"What were you saying?" Hermione asked, tilting her head.

'Oh, just that I happen to like you. Then your parents walked in and now everything is a hundred times more awkward than it already was.'

"Just going to ask when your parents were due back." He shrugged, feeling his heart shrivel up like a raisin in the sun.

'Somehow, even more lame.'

A/N: Poor Harry, right?

Once again, I would like to say to everyone who has left kind reviews, added this story to their favorites, or followed this little fic, thank you so much! You guys are really, truly, the best. I love you all. Stay safe!