In The Study
For Diane. March 9, 2006
"You can be a godawful git sometimes, you know that, Harry?" Hermione was irritated as they tried to study in his deserted room on a Friday night. All Harry could do was smile to himself. Sometimes it was splendid getting on her nerves. It was too easy. "Really, if you're not going to concentrate on your Potions homework, I don't know why I'm here."
"Come on, 'Mione," he chided. "I don't understand how you can stare at these scrolls for so long. It's giving me typhoid."
She had to smile at his silly exaggeration. Sometimes she couldn't remember why she put up with him, but she knew it wasn't just be cause he was the Boy Who Lived. Too many people took him for granted. Something about him was truly enchanting, and she had tried time and again to suppress the thoughts, but pretended to stare at her text book while she finally allowed herself to mull over what Harry really was. She stole a sideways glance at her partner seated beside her at his desk, taking in the way the candlelight glared off his messy hair and reflected on the rims of his glasses. The faded, sallow skin of his scar peeked out, taunting Hermione. She heaved a sigh, which drew his attention.
"Am I really that bad?" The falsely hurtful tone in his voice made her shiver with intrigue.
"No, no, of course not," she said hurriedly, afraid he had caught her staring. She shuffled papers and dropped her quill, retrieving it with quivering hands.
"What's wrong, Hermione? You're not yourself tonight." He leaned an elbow on his homework, turning his full attention on the mass of curls surrounding her round face.
"Nothing, really, I'm just--," But she stopped, noticing the way his fingers had crept into her hair, tucking a tendril behind the arch of her ear. Her breath escaped and wouldn't come back. They had been friends too long, she thought quickly. Too long for something like this. Mentally, she shook herself. This couldn't just happen.
Harry's eyes glowed a bright green like the scales of a forbidden serpent, and locked with Hermione's. He raised an eyebrow imploringly and bit his lower lip slightly.
Hermione cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Alright, Harry, do you want me to revise your essay? All you have to do is ask, and I'm sure it could use a little looking-over."
His hand cradled her jaw tenderly and ignored her nervous words. He knew better. "We've known each other a long time, haven't we?" He asked as a mischevious grin slided onto his lips.
"Yes," she breathed without thinking, unable to think while his eyes kept hers locked in place. Not once did she become self-conscious after that moment.
Harry leaned in slowly, never once removing his gaze although it lowered to her mouth, studying the fine lines in her skin. She made a small noise in her throat as their lips connected, once, for that perfect fleeting moment. Their eyes slipped shut and they relished the sensation. Hermione's hand strayed to the boy's knee, staying there like concrete until his lips receded. Again she heaved a sigh.
"Harry," she whispered.
He cleared his throat just as she had, his eyes still burning wildly when they opened. "Potions can wait a little while, can't it?" His voice squeaked and she couldn't help but smile. Her attentions were torn between what had to be done and what she wanted to do---her studies and kissing him again. The latter seemed much more appealing.
Just as they leaned in once more, Ron burst into the room, shouting back at his brothers. As he turned his head toward the two sitting so closely, they backed away from each other, snapping to attention.
"Bloody hell, don't either of you have anything better to do on a Friday night than study?"
