Author's Note:
17/9/2020
Decided to post a little one shot for you all. Hope you enjoy it. Don't worry; I have not abandoned Respective Counterparts. The next update for that story will be released soon.
Right. On with the story!
Evenly Matched
In the quiet of her office, Minerva McGonagall let out what only could be described as a highly uncharacteristic growl of frustration.
The cause of Scotswoman's ire, sitting innocently on her mahogany desk, did not react in the slightest to her irritated glare.
She had recently given the task of writing a twenty-five-inch-long essay to her sixth-year class, from which the students' final grades for this term would be determined. Alarmingly, the quality of the work Minerva had received a week later varied largely — some were just this side of acceptable; others easily above the class average.
One in particular had been so messily and poorly written that she hadn't even bothered to read it. The Professor had immediately set it to the side with a slightly disgusted sniff, writing a mental note to have a chat with a certain red-headed Gryffindor about the appalling quality of their assignments.
Two essays, however, were simply exemplary; and they were the current bane of the old witch's existence.
Minerva glared balefully at the pale pieces of parchment before her, rubbing her fingers against her temples in an attempt to alleviate her tension.
It didn't work.
Both sheets were covered in flowing, legible scripts — though the difference between them was subtle, it was there — depicting and describing in excruciatingly fine detail the advantages of using nonverbal gestures over verbal incantations when Enlarging and Shrinking small objects. The authors had clearly poured their hearts and souls into writing the midterm assignments, even going so far as to include possible methods to ensure the aspect ratio was kept and properly maintained!
In short, the essays were perfect. Impeccable. Flawless. Minerva could not find a single point of contention upon which she could deduct marks in either assignment.
Now, what was the problem, one might ask? After all, wouldn't any professor be absolutely gleeful that not one but two of their students had done work to such a high standard?
The problem, dear reader, was that the Headmaster had specifically asked for the Transfiguration Professor to submit one — as in a single, sole assignment — essay to him, so that he could 'assess the standard of knowledge that the students of Hogwarts possessed'.
As if he didn't already know that to do so would be impossible; that he didn't already know of the quagmire his stipulation would put Minerva in, given the fact that two particular individuals regularly attended the Professor's classes!
Failing once again to locate a single error in either essay, Professor McGonagall growled in frustration for the second time that night.
Literally throwing her hands up, the old witch climbed to her feet and scooped up both pieces of parchment; marching determinedly towards the door of her office.
Mark her words, she and Albus would be having a little chat about 'assessments' very soon…
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Even in the magical world, constants existed.
Axioms so immovably consistent that entire fields of magical study were based upon their everlasting ceaselessness; founded on the principle that these specific ideas and notions were fundamentally persistent.
For the average witch or wizard, such ground-breaking knowledge didn't garner much significance in their day-to-day activities. For the above-average magical individual — those who usually spent their lives in academic and scholarly pursuits — this information was quite helpful indeed. After all, a near countless number of advances in magical knowledge have only been possible thanks to the existence of these magical constants.
For the residents of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, such a constant manifested in the potent academic rivalry between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Everyone — every student, staff member and even house elf alike — was aware of the fierce competition between the top-of-their-year students. How could they not, given the respective Slytherin and Ravenclaw locked their metaphysical intellectual horns at every possible opportunity?
For the past five consecutive years, the position of top student had been severely contested. Ownership of the desired spot had bounced between the two mentioned pupils more times than a ping pong ball in Olympic-level games travelled between the two participants; more times than insults were slung between the most bitter of enemies.
No matter the task — be it homework, classwork, practical studies; hell, even in chess —Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were truly, wholly, evenly, matched.
And they were annoyed by this little tidbit of information.
Those unfortunate enough to have been caught in the blast radius of the two students' various encounters had learned this fact rather quickly indeed. Said encounters rarely ended without a loud shouting match or either party glaring razor-sharp daggers at the other.
Occupied with these thoughts, Daphne Greengrass crossed her arms, nonchalantly leaning against a stone wall outside of the Charms classroom. Standing next to her, Tracey Davis leafed through a thin tome, occasionally nibbling on the apple held in her free hand.
Around them, students milled about — some walking to talk with other friends, others content to wait quietly against nearby walls.
"Daph?" Tracey enquired absently, still looking down at her book. "Did you hear about the last Potter vs Granger incident?"
"Don't call me that, Tracey." Daphne wrinkled her nose, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And, yes, I did. Heard it was truly spectacular."
"It sure was, Daph," Tracey replied, completely disregarding her friend's first sentence.
Daphne grimaced but did not comment. No matter what the witch did — and Merlin knew how much she had been trying for the past six years — her fellow Slytherin continued to ignore the requests not to shorten her name.
"What were they arguing about this time?" she asked, sighing. As the blond closed her eyes, her head thudded against the cool stone behind her. "Their scores on the midterm essays McGonagall gave us?"
"It was something like that, yeah," the other girl replied. "Oh, and Smith — the one from Hufflepuff — said that the argument was particularly—"
"Afternoon, Davis, Greengrass," a voice interrupted.
Daphne and Tracey both turned to face it, spying the subject of their conversation arriving in the hallway outside the room of their next class.
"Potter," the two girls simultaneously greeted, with a bored indifference that only Slytherins could muster. He nodded back at them, hitching the backpack higher up his shoulder.
"How are you two?" Potter continued, settling into a position against the wall opposite his housemates. Rustling was heard as he rearranged his green-trimmed robes.
"Good, thank you," Daphne said. Tracey tipped her head in agreement. "And you?"
The boy shrugged. "As well as one can be, I suppose."
"Mm," Daphne hummed noncommittally, pushing another strand of hair out her face.
Silence then fell upon the hallway, broken only by the sounds of other students quietly waiting with the three Slytherins for Charms class and the bitingly chilly wind blowing through the drafty halls of Hogwarts. Soon, the infamous Scottish winter would be upon the ancient castle, and its many occupants had already taken to putting on extra layers in preparation.
Suddenly, a small smirk appeared on Tracey's face.
"Hey, Potter?" she asked casually, intentionally keeping her gaze focused on her book and her tone absent.
"Yes?" He moved his gaze from a nearby window to look at the witch.
"Are you having some trouble in paradise?" Tracey said, smirk still present. Daphne stifled her own as she realised what her best friend was doing.
Potter affected a look of confusion. "What do you mean?"
"We heard about your latest lovers' spat with Granger," Daphne clarified, losing the battle to restrain her smirk. "It was so loud that—"
"—it could be heard from the other side of the castle!" Tracey finished, finally looking up from Pride and Prejudice.
"Quite frankly, I don't know what you're talking about." Potter masterfully kept the confusion plastered on his face, but Daphne spotted the true sentiment underneath his mask. "Our discussions are hardly louder than most conversations."
"Please," Daphne snorted in disbelief, waving a hand dismissively, "when you two are in the same room, the air becomes thick enough to be cut with a Diffindo."
"I think that's a lie," Potter retorted, though, intellectually, he knew that the blond girl's words rang true.
"I think it's not, just like everyone else with half a brain around here," Tracey put in with a half-stifled giggle. "You know, some people have been saying that you and Granger should get a room—"
"Preferably sooner rather than later!" Daphne piped up gleefully.
"—since there's so much unresolved tension between you two!"
With that, the two sixth years lost their composure and burst into giggles.
"You both are really funny," Potter drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "Hilarious. Absolutely bloody hilarious. You should think about becoming professional comedians."
The girls merely laughed harder.
Despite not being on an official first-name basis with him, they still occasionally poked fun and teased him — and Harry gave as much as he got. Their friendship dynamic, if one could even call it a friendship, was odd; yet, at the same time, somehow functional.
Harry pushed off the wall to further emphasise his point, but he was prevented from speaking further as the door to the Charms classroom slammed open. A torrent of students streamed out of it, chatting animatedly about a multitude of subjects.
After a few minutes of activity, the stream of young wizards and witches tapered off into a trickle. The very last student out of Flitwick's classroom was a brunette, bushy-haired Ravenclaw, and her nose was firmly buried in a thick, leather-bound tome.
As a result, she did not watch where she was walking and ran headlong into Harry's chest.
Not imbalanced in the slightest — she was shorter and lighter than him, after all — his hands instinctively shot out and grasped her upper arms, preventing the girl from falling over.
"Oh! My bad, I'm so sorry, I should have looked where I was going…" Granger trailed off, finally noticing just who had saved her from an up-close-and-personal with the hard stone floor.
Malachite green met caramel brown in a heated, charged stare. It lasted for what felt like an eternity.
The participants seemed wholly unaware that a dead silence had befallen the surrounding crowd, which quickly turned expectant as they waited for the inevitable explosion.
Harry eventually came to his senses and released his grip, coughing lightly. "Uh…are you alright?"
Granger blinked. Her expression was both flustered and embarrassed. "Uh-huh—y-yes, I am, thanks."
Three beats of awkward silence.
"I-I should get going," she said, but not before another twenty-second-long staring match. For now, it seemed that the two students had largely forgotten their legendary rivalry. "Thanks again."
"You're welcome," Harry replied, at last, attempting to kickstart his suddenly empty brain into action.
Nothing in the entire universe could have adequately prepared his misfiring neurones for the moment when Granger darted forward and pecked him — yes, pecked him — on the cheek.
The Ravenclaw seemed to realise just what she had done at the same time as Harry and blushed the most brilliant shade of red. She retreated as quickly as she had approached and scurried away, disappearing from sight a few seconds later.
Whispers broke out the second Granger's form vanished around the corner at the end of the hallway; the infamous Hogwarts rumour mill quickly becoming flooded with this new information.
Daphne's eyebrows raised of their own accord. Tracey smirked again; her book now closed. Someone let out a loud wolf whistle, which resulted in a flurry of suggestive shouts and catcalls from the sixth years erupting in the cramped hallway.
"—Ooh! Guys, did you see that? Granger kissed Potter! Granger kissed Pot—"
"—And, oh, how he caught her! Merlin, my heart—wait until the 'Puffs hear about this—"
"—I wonder when the first date shall be—"
"—Has the world fallen off its rocker? For once, Potter and Granger did not argue! What is this madness—"
"—First date? Ha! I bet they'll be at it like bunnies before the day is over—"
Harry heard and observed their various reactions and unconsciously flushed the lightest shade of pink.
As he was a Slytherin, a house in which total control over one's facial expressions and tells was one of the most important House virtues, just by this seemingly insignificant event occurring portrayed just how thrown off-balance the boy was.
"Should we prepare the silencing charms?" Daphne commented with a smirk, inspecting her fingernails. Tracey snorted in agreement as she placed her book back in her bag.
"Shut up, Greengrass," Potter immediately fired back, smoothing non-existent creases from his already pristine uniform.
He spun on his heel and marched into the Charms classroom, determined to banish the traitorous feelings that Granger kissing him on the cheek had triggered to the furthest reaches of his mind.
Shaking her head, Daphne proceeded with Tracey into the mentioned room, deriving an inordinate amount of amusement from the 'completely unflappable' Potter finally becoming flustered.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
It had been a good five days since she had run into him, and Hermione was still berating herself.
Why in the name of all things magical had she kissed him?! And Harry Potter of all people!
She was embarrassed. No, scratch that — mortified. Absolutely mortified. Hermione had no clue what on Earth had compelled her to kiss Potter on the cheek, especially after she'd been so stupid as to not watch where she had been going.
Hermione remembered being thoroughly engrossed in the ramblings of R.M. Luschbaser — who had been talking about a very interesting thesis involving the alchemical roots of runic magic — when she had run straight into what honestly felt like a brick wall.
Completely caught off guard, Hermione had stumbled backwards, and probably would have ended up flat on her arse if Potter's quick reflexes hadn't kicked in.
Her profuse apologies had tapered off as she found herself staring into his eyes. Endlessly deep pools of viridian and malachite, which had immediately captivated her attention and rendered her uncharacteristically speechless.
In all the years that they had argued with each other, how Hermione had not noticed how beautiful his eyes were?
She shook her head sharply, zoning back into the Library and attempting to refocus on the essay before her. Where was I? Oh yes, the inherent advantages of using high-quality moonshine over regular aconite as a stabilising reagent the Wolfsbane potion—
For the next thirty minutes, Hermione tried and failed to be productive — an incredibly rare event for the Ravenclaw bookworm.
Her mind was, despite her best efforts, traitorously fixated on Potter.
On his tall frame and wide shoulders, the feel of his strong hands gripping her arms and keeping her upright. The intensity of his green gaze on hers, the concerned furrow of his brow as he enquired about Hermione's wellbeing…
Stop it! The mental command was harsh; her quill creaking in protest as she unconsciously squeezed it. Students at nearby tables glanced curiously at Hermione, but she did not notice. You hate him, remember? He's your rival!
Hermione nodded slowly, as if responding to someone who had helpfully pointed out her academic competition.
Do you, though? said a different, smooth voice; one which the girl had never heard before. Do you truly hate him? When, not ten seconds ago, you were fantasising about what his mouth tasted like?
She blushed despite herself, suddenly not so sure.
And given how attractive you find it when he challenges you, both in the classroom and outside?
"I guess I don't hate him, per se," Hermione conceded, aloud this time. Many eyes glanced her way and, again, she did not notice. "I just don't like how he acts. The position of at the top of the year is rightfully mine."
While that is true, the fact still remains that you like him.
Hermione sat up straighter, frowning. "I do not."
You do.
"I do not!"
The students nearest to the Ravenclaw sent her dirty looks and moved to other, decidedly Hermione-absent parts of the Library.
You like Harry Potter. Notice how you didn't deny what I said about his attractiveness?
"I do not like Ha—" Hermione cut herself off. She couldn't believe she was actually arguing with herself.
Again, you don't deny it. Accept the truth, Hermione. There's no point in pretending.
Hermione sighed.
"Okay, fine," she whispered, still appearing to talk with thin air. She felt as if she had finally accepted something she'd been trying to deny for the past three years. "Fine. You win. I like him."
The voice did not speak again, for another had taken its place — one that originated from outside the girl's mind.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
"You know, Granger, a very smart Muggle once said that talking to oneself was the first sign of madness."
The brightest witch of her age jumped out of her skin; her right hand fumbling for her wand. She had been so disengaged from the outside world that she hadn't heard his approach towards her table.
"Should I call the Mind Healers at St Mungo's to fix up that brilliant brain of yours?"
Upon recognising the voice, Hermione relaxed somewhat. Nevertheless, she glared at the voice's owner. "Merlin almighty, Potter! Do you spend your time going around and scaring girls?"
Potter shrugged. "No, not really. Just you. Your reactions are rather cute."
Hermione refused to blush, instead choosing to scan her eyes over his form.
He was leaning casually against the side of her table, arms crossed and his robes as sharp as ever. His backpack was resting next to his feet and his green eyes were sparkling in the low light.
And he looked downright amused at Hermione's irritated expression. Damn him!
"So," the Ravenclaw continued, attempting to ignore his compliment. If she didn't, the girl felt pretty sure that she'd collapse into a flustered mess. "What brings you here, then, Potter? You've finally seen the error of your ways and are ready to accept that I am the better student?"
Potter shook his head, a wry half-smile playing his lips.
"Not a chance, Granger. This whole thing we have going on—" he made a gesture between them to emphasise what he was talking about as if Hermione didn't know already. She rolled her eyes. "—is far too much fun to stop any time soon. Besides, the constant one-upping is rather entertaining. Way more than anything else that happens around here."
"Except possibly Weasley getting verbally ripped a new one by his mother, for performing so badly on his Transfiguration midterms," Hermione suggested, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
Potter snorted. "Or when you handed Malfoy's arse to him on a silver platter in our last DADA class! The expression on his face…Merlin was that satisfying to witness…"
Hermione slapped a hand against her mouth, but it did nothing to restrain the giggle which escaped her throat.
"Well, yes, I did soundly beat Malfoy in our last duel, didn't I?" She struck an arrogant pose, sticking her nose into the air imperiously. "Just you wait until my father hears about this, Granger!"
The boy chuckled slightly, amused. "You were quite impressive, to be completely honest."
Hermione gasped, placing a hand against her heart theatrically. "The Harry Potter, complimenting me? My, what has the world come to?"
Potter laughed again, openly this time. "Pretty hot, too…"
Hermione froze.
Was he flirting with her?
In all of their previous, less-than-civil interactions, the Ravenclaw had never once caught any hints of romantic interest from the black-haired Slytherin towards herself. Any projected feelings had been negative, and more often than not bellowed right at her face.
With a start, Hermione realised that this — apart from their brief exchange five days ago — was the first time in six years that she and Potter had had an amicable conversation.
Judging by the sudden fading of his smile, he had noticed this too.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Hermione shifted in her seat.
They spent a few moments in awkward silence; neither person really knowing what to say to break it.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted the boy drawing himself up, as if steeling himself for something.
"Hey, Granger?"
Turning to look at him, she almost immediately noticed that his casual, effortless confidence — which had practically radiated from him as they'd exchanged witty remarks — had disappeared, replaced instead with atypical nervousness and an almost hesitant demeanour.
This intrigued Hermione, for she had never seen Potter be anything less than suave and collected.
"Yes?"
Potter took a deep breath. Despite being visibly nervous, he met her gaze squarely.
"Do you want to go on a date with me?"
Hermione was stunned. "W-what?"
"Do you want to go on a date, with me, next Hogsmeade weekend?" he reiterated.
The Ravenclaw's eyes were wide and she did not immediately reply.
After a few seconds of disjointed thoughts rushing through her brain, Hermione managed to squeak out two words. "W-why me?"
Upon seeing that she did not instantly reject him, Harry's previous confidence seemed to return. "Because I like you, Granger. I like you a lot."
Hermione had just about managed to wrestle her mind into some semblance of coherency when he delivered those little pieces of information, and she was sent straight back to square one.
In addition to this, she failed to notice that she had begun unconsciously referring to him by his first name — again, another first for the young witch.
"B-but, uh…don't we, y'know, hate each other or something?" Hermione stuttered, eyes still wide.
Harry grimaced, tugging on the hem of his sleeves. He cleared his throat. "Believe it or not, I don't actually hate you, Granger. And I would use the opportunity to apologise for a couple of things that I've done."
The Ravenclaw's brain was taking an inordinate amount of time to properly process all of this information.
One thing, though, was abundantly obvious in Hermione's mind — she most certainly wanted to go on a date with her previously bitter rival, despite the past they had both had.
Harry, unfortunately, was not aware of her thought processes and mistook her continued silence for a nonverbal rejection.
He made a motion to leave, his usual mask of indifference sliding seamlessly to hide the true feelings in his expression, but was stopped when Hermione suddenly sprang to her feet and seized his green-and-silver tie in a vice-like grip.
She stared long and hard into his eyes and Harry actively repressed the urge to gulp.
"Are you being serious, Har— Potter? Do you actually want to go out with me? Because if this is some cruel joke of yours…" Hermione let the threat hang in the air for a few seconds before leaning towards Harry, tightening her already deathly strong grasp on his tie. She secretly took pleasure in the Slytherin's slightly intimidated expression. "The consequences wouldn't be…pleasant, shall we say. Got it?"
Harry nodded very quickly. "Crystal clear, my lady. I understand."
She smiled, relaxing her grip somewhat. "Good."
And then Hermione surprised both herself and Harry by leaning forward once again and fusing her mouth with his.
Mindful of their location, the two students kept their kiss relatively chaste. Despite this, a duel for dominance between their tongues still took place. Both parties endeavoured arduously to triumph over the other; but, alas, neither was the apparent victor. They were evenly matched, once again.
Hermione pulled away first, lips puffy and a shit-eating grin on her face. She wiped some saliva off of Harry's mouth with her sleeve and smiled beatifically at his dazed expression.
"Next Hogsmeade weekend, meet me at the base of Ravenclaw Tower at 10 o'clock sharp, Potter. Don't be late," Hermione stipulated firmly. Harry nodded slowly, still delirious from their kiss.
With a final smirk, she backed away fully and scooped up her items from the table. She placed them neatly into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
Harry recovered his wits with a sharp shake of his head. He raised a hand in farewell. "See you next Saturday, Granger."
Hermione blew him a kiss as she walked towards the Library's great double doors. "It's a date, Potter. See you then."
Once she had fully disappeared out of the doorway, Harry performed a little victory dance. Restricting himself to only five seconds of fervent celebration, the Slytherin too collected his personal belongs and skip— no, strolled out of the Hogwarts Library.
The tranquil quiet which had befallen this section of the library was broken by the sound of a heavy metal coin being slapped against a palm.
Daphne scowled, reluctantly handing over a Galleon to Tracey.
The shorter girl smiled smugly, pocketing the piece of gold and returning to her book. "Thank you ever so much, Daph. I told you he'd ask her out before the day was over."
"Yeah, yeah," Daphne grumbled, replacing the tomes into the bookshelf through which she and Tracey had overhead most of Granger and Potter's conversation — including their getting acquainted with the each other's mouths. "At least I was right about Granger kissing him and not the other way around."
Tracey nodded her head grudgingly. "Fair enough, I suppose."
"So," Daphne began brightly, throwing herself into a nearby beanbag. Tracey rolled her eyes at her friend's enthusiasm; the blond had always become excited whenever romance occurred in her auditory range.
"Where do you think they'll go first? The Three Broomsticks? Madam Puddifoot's, perhaps? No, that's too gaudy — maybe they'll go into the Shrieking Shack and get at it like bunnies as Corner said earlier…"
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~