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Disclaimer: Oh, right, that other thing.
I do not own Harry Potter. There, I said it! I may be VERY obsessed with it, especially in the past few months, but I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not have money coming out of my ears. I don't have seven books, five current movies, and a theme park being built for my characters. Shame, shame.
Summary: An exhausted and...slightly shirty Hermione goes for the big one. (Compliant through HBP to about January, with some... ah...subtle changes. Heh..)
Warning: Hermione could be considered ever-so-slightly OOC. Sorry, but I had to do it.
The Big One
Hermione Granger was just plain fed up.
Is it so impossible, so stupid to think that there is one boy in this entire castle might be my soul mate?!
Apparently so. Being a human brain and a hormonal sixteen year-old girl was simply not possible, no matter what world, Muggle or magical, she resided in!
She stormed down the hall, muttering to herself fiercely. Any smaller third, first, or even older seventh years she passed recognized her towering temper and strayed far enough away to (hopefully) temper the storm. Even the ghosts quieted down as her roaring stomp-click, stomp-click neared.
It wasn't working.
Hermione was too lost in her own thoughts, too wrapped up in the futility, the humility, the stupidity of romance at Hogwarts School.
This is ridiculous. Her sensible voice took over her thoughts. How many male specimen have I kissed since September first?
More important. How could she, Hermione Jane Granger, be so intelligent, so highly respected by her teachers and peers, and yet so, so flawed when it came to personal attention and happiness and all the things she'd dreamed about since she was a little girl?!
It is not fair.
Of course it's not fair, the sensible section of her said dryly. I mean, the thickness of these boys' heads! Do they really operate on looks and lack of brains alone?
Morosely, she went over her poor choosing ability in her mind, bemoaning some of her losses…
Let's see. There was that overconfident git, Ronald Weasley…
"…Mione?"
"Ron, I…really like you. I mean, I have since fourth year and all, and I always thought you were too…erm, you know, to care… But now you're sweet and funny and, and likeable…and… oh just let me kiss you already!"
What a horrible kiss that had been! Sweet like they should have been, but while Hermione had given it everything she had, it felt like Ron had attached a broom to his mouth to serve as an autopilot…!
Why did Ron have to be first, anyway?
Because Ron is always first. You used to dream about that stupid boy, remember?
Maybe he was just half-asleep, the despairing part of her defended, if a little too kindly. Ron had hit the roof and sputtered something about her being ridiculous, which had led to their fiftieth row in the past four months.
Not surprisingly, at the moment they weren't speaking.
And that was just the first time.
"Perhaps I didn't wait long enough for the shock to leave," she mumbled, wringing her hands with an anxiety any parent would mirror at her behavior—as this fiasco had gone on, she had become less and less like herself. Convinced that she would have a steady boyfriend by Christmas, she had thrown herself at the one boy she was sure liked her and had broken any chance of their ever being a couple—more, she realized suddenly, her eyes burning, any chance of their ever being friends again.
Her whisper was fearful. "He might never speak to me again."
Come on. Ron, never? He never could hold a grudge.
But what about the others?--Oh. Them.
Then there was Dean Thomas and, after him, Seamus Finnigan…
She remembered the exact looks on their faces when she had finished kissing and started breathing. More, she remembered their answers—first Dean's, then Seamus's.
"Erm…Hermione? No offense or anything, but I, um…think you have the wrong guy."
Ouch.
"—Yeah, right. Don't you know I'm after Lavender with a passion? …By the way, I think I've recently offended her, can you help me with that?"Double ouch.
Who did they think she was, Cupid?
Again the voice surfaced—smugly, smartly. That's who you've been acting like for the past three years.
Oh, shut up.
She'd talked to Neville Longbottom, of all people, on one of their trips to Hogsmeade—in fact the exact one before Katie Bell's near-fatal accident. Perhaps that was another mistake—rebounding so quickly after a double-whammy, picking Neville (who, it was rumored, had liked both Ginny Weasley and Katie Bell herself), and trying to kiss him in plain view of an abandoned shack only her Trio knew was harmless.
Neville was scared of everything. Everything!!!
"Hermione. I really, really like you too and all…but you know, I've moved on from that now. I know this is hard for you…I heard Dean and Seamus talking to you last week. I can only see you as a good friend now, you know?"
"Yes…yes, I know. But, Neville…"
"I can't give you any advice." His deep-brown eyes stared determinedly at the ground. "I'm afraid I'd mess you up or something. But…but trust yourself, okay?"
"All right."
"Now, erm—can we get out of here?!"
It was enough to make any decent-witted person scream. And suddenly that was exactly what she felt like doing, so she did.
"Oh, really! Is there ANYONE in this building who doesn't kiss like a vacuum cleaner, talk like a snake, or have feelings equivalent to a plant's?! IS THERE ANYONE?!"
"Not in that temper, young lady."
Hermione wheeled around. Nearly Headless Nick, resident Gryffindor ghost, was staring at her with an obvious mix of 'Puzzled' and 'Overly Smug'.
"Oh...erm...well..."
"Boy problems?" He sounded sympathetic.
"Really, really bad boy problems."
She was rather surprised that Nick was not insulted; but being a ghost, he must have been more...detached...than one might suspect. Great, something else a book won't tell me.
"If I talk to you, will it be all right?"
Hermione considered it, but she was not really in the mood for a paternal talk.
Translated: I'd sooner tear my hair out.
"...Not really..."
"Well, then."
She knew that tone. It was rather dismissive for him, but then he probably thought she was being difficult on purpose.
"And well, then back," she said, also rather impolitely, and stalked off with all her former fury.
And now we know why he thinks that, Hermione: you are difficult.
She hated her sensible side just then more than she hated her horribly, stereotypically feminine desperation for a companion.
"Thanks," she said out loud, "for sticking up for me."
Let's see, who else? --Ah, yes. Every other worthy sixth year boy on the grounds--
I am not going there with you. No flashbacks here. All she might have had to say was that the younger boys of Hogwarts were lucky to be immature and, thus, immune to the crap she'd been through. For now.
--And there was...hmmm, let's dig around a bit...Draco Malfoy! What a rush that was.
Oh, the agony! How could he have been the only one who came to mind?
"Granger?! Have you gone completely mad, you vile little Mudblo--rrrgh!"
Ahh, it's all coming back to me now. The rush. The feeling. The...is that joy? Ick. --Anyway...
Hmmm, the only reason he didn't finish his sentence was because you slugged him straight in the mouth. Genius!
It was not genius.
And yet her thoughts betrayed her. She hadn't punched Draco Malfoy since she was thirteen...to wait three years to do it again, she decided, might have been a mistake.
A huge mistake.
She held her head in her hands for a moment, trying to breathe steadily.
"I don't want to think anymore..."
Now, Hermione decided firmly, was the time to act. The time for hoping and praying and wishing it all could be taken back, or made different, was long passed. She could not go back now--she had to move forward, and proceed with the final test. (Or at least, the final one for now.)The only problem?
Where in Merlin's name is he?
Finding Harry Potter was not quite as easy as she'd thought it would be.
At first she assumed that he was perhaps lounging around the Quidditch pitch, as he had been doing yesterday with Katie Bell and a few other Gryffindor team members--but as soon as she saw Katie snogging some boy unknown, she rejected that idea with a feeling of both depression and forced-down rage.
Breathe, girl. Katie's a seventh year. She's got a year's more experience than you. Maybe you can go to her for tips.
It took her only a second to ponder that and make her decision.
Nope, not doing it. It's this way or...something. Whatever rhymes with 'this'...arrrgh! Professor Flitwick would be much better at this.
Then, she wondered (perhaps hoped not might be a better term) that Harry might be in the Great Hall, though it was Saturday and two hours past breakfast time. This hope was also quickly extinguished; the only people still there were Professors Snape, Flitwick, and, surprisingly, (Horrors!) Trelawney and a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
Ron Weasley was among them. She quickly averted her face and walked away, feeling oddly stung.
How can the insensitive boy eat?! And where is the only other guy friend I have when I need him for something?
Next, the Owlery. Harry did love Hedwig like he loved no other person, but she was really just hoping he'd be there. So naturally he wasn't, but...oh, look who was.
Isn't that the impertinent Seamus Finnigan?
Yes, it was. Seamus Finnigan with an 'I-have-GOT-to-ask-you-something-O-Goddess-of-Relationships' look on his face. Forget grace and patience for now.
I am so out of here.
It turned out that the blinded, half-insensitive Boy-Who-Lived was, as she should have expected, with Albus Dumbledore.
Like I always say, 'Mione. Follow your instincts.
Boy and man were by the lakeside, gesturing and laughing like no one else was around--which they truly weren't, besides her. Hermione felt a pang of regret for summoning Harry away from his mentor, even for a few moments, but it rather couldn't be helped. They had the rest of their lives to revel in their type of love; she didn't know how long she had.
"Harry!"
Both the untidy raven head and the shining silver one turned in her direction; there would be no beckoning now. When they spotted her, Harry smiled and Professor Dumbledore's cerulean eyes twinkled mischievously.
What is he thinking about?
Why do we care?
That look is suspicious. It's like he knows something.
He always 'knows something'. And that would be good in our case, right?
...Good point.
Harry called, "Hermione! What's going on?"
"Um..." She realized he couldn't hear her. "Can...can I talk with you for a moment?" To the Headmaster she added, "It won't take long."
"Take as long as you like," Professor Dumbledore replied. "Goodness knows my company is not all this boy needs."
"Hey!"
Hermione could hear the chuckle even from this awkward distance.
Harry started to walk slowly toward her, almost as though he were leaving a protective force field against his will; he looked shy and nervous and...odd. "Oh, take your time, Harry," she called to him, sardonically. "It's not like I have anything else to do today or whatever, no library trips planned..."
Harry blushed, and inwardly Hermione felt her spirits lift. Was it him, after all?
Professor Dumbledore called after his favorite pupil, eyes still twinkling. "Harry, I thought I'd already had the pleasure of teaching you to never make a lady wait."
Harry's face went from semi-healthy pink to cherry red.
"Professor! I--you--you're embarrassing me!"
Dumbledore sighed in a rather mocking state of relief. "Oh, good, I was worried I was going about it all wrong."
"Professor!"
Hermione giggled--well, laughed uncontrollably might be better words--unconsciously. "You...two..." she managed, barely keeping upright.
Harry sped up after that, and soon he was at her shoulder--messy dark hair and emerald eyes, round glasses and Quidditch muscles and all.
"Erm...what are we doing again?"
"Good to know I was that interesting. But I'm serious today. I have a little...experiment, I guess you'd say...and you're next on my list. The most important on my list at the moment, actually."
"I'm so honored," Harry returned dryly. He seemed to have swam out of the fog he'd been in with his mentor, and now she fully recognized her best friend next to her (if towering slightly above her). "'Experiment', you say?"
"Yup. Now, come on!"
And she pulled him excitedly along to her newest private place.
Okay, so the Room of Requirement wasn't quite that private. But it was one of the quietest places Hermione could find in Hogwarts, and besides the awkward piles of junk, broken brooms, and other gender-neutral items that could be found it in when she needed it, it was a perfect place to settle down.
She could even credit Harry--well, Harry through Dumbledore and Dobby--with finding it, which wasn't so bad at the time.
She turned her attention to more serious thoughts.
I didn't worry so much about Ron--he can take anything. But what if this doesn't work, if I hurt Harry, and then our friendship...falls apart? I couldn't stand to hurt him...
Somehow, though, Hermione had the feeling that she and Harry were so close that he could, and would, laugh off anything they threw at each other...eventually.
For this girl's sake, please don't let that quality have worn off already.
Oh, great, you're back.
Taking his hands, Hermione took some time to examine Harry Potter fully like she hadn't in a while--at least not in such a detailed way. His untamable hair, of course, and eyes that had grown so intense within the past year that she felt like she was holding a stranger. (Perhaps this was why she was trying to take this sort of comfort in him--to hold on to the bright-eyed, beautifully innocent Harry of old?) His muscles, and the way he always shifted from foot to foot, and how the light in any place always reflected off his half-broken glasses. She also noted again, a little uncomfortably, that he was a few inches taller than she now--three or four even without either of their trainers on. It had slightly disturbed her to notice that all the boys around her were shooting up like fields of grass in springtime; but a tiny, girlish part of her had hoped, beyond reason, that she and Harry would remain the same height.
Harry, however, did not seem very bothered by this.
"So...seems like you have something to tell me...?"
"Oh, um...right."
She took a deep breath, as she had not done before with any but Ron, and explained.
"See...I--I don't feel like the same person. I mean to say--I want someone I can love, and spend time with, and be infinitely close to--even friends have their boundaries, Harry--and (as you've probably heard) I've been scouring the castle, looking for just that."
Harry's eyes widened. "I did hear...but I didn't believe. I thought they were trying to get a rise out of me." Then he grinned teasingly, understanding faster than she'd imagined. There was such closeness between them... "I thought I had you pinned, 'Mione."
"What! Oh, Harry, it's not like that!" She breathed out impatiently, then went on. "I want someone who loves me for who I am--doesn't see me as just an information source. I...think I made a mistake all those years ago, being as imperious as I was."
Harry's smile became sad, screaming depth she could not reach. "How can it be a mistake to be who you are?"
How did he get so...so...
Smart?
No...sad. Lonely.
"I know that. --Or at least I think I do. But...at this point in my life at school, I want someone I can rely on to take my coat off at the end of the day, kiss me, and ask how I'm doing and how my day was."
"It figures that you would want that." He put his arms behind his head calmly, as though they were discussing Quidditch, the library, Hagrid's classes, or anything else they chatted of. "You're...you're just more mature than the rest of us, Hermione. You're you...and I'm okay with that, if that's what you're going to ask me next."
"It wasn't." She blushed. "But thank you." A thought occurred to her at that very moment. "Harry, you're mature, too."
"What?"
"Don't go all Ron on me! Having to deal with all this--Voldemort wanting you dead, being a symbol of Light at sixteen years old--it's made you who you are. Strong. Mature. Brave. The list goes on."
Now it was Harry who blushed, a brilliant scarlet. "I...guess. Thanks." His thoughts shifted suddenly; his green eyes shone with sudden panic. "Wait, hold on! If you...you and I...were to be together...what about...?"
And that's why I want to find out, Hermione thought, watching him proudly. To find out if you're the one. The one I want to spend all the rest of my life with. If so...not even Voldemort would stand between us! Harry knows me--he knows I'd stand by him through wind, water, fire, and even a bunch of pureblood-obsessed Death Eaters.
Harry seemed to watched her as she thought this; in his green eyes she saw a reflection of her own gray ones. Do I look like that all the time? He smiled as she thought this, and said softly, "Well, I guess it's worth a shot. Though you could just ask Cho how it felt and be done with it."
"Harry, if you really are 'The One', I will thank you to never mention her name in my presence again."
"Cho, Cho, Cho, Cho. Ha."
"Harry!"
He laughed and picked her up, swung her around...until their noses were touching, Hermione still in midair.
"Um..."
He set her down gently, blushing.
But your noses are still touching. And is he closer to you than he was a nanosecond ago?
Shut up and--
Hermione never quite got to finish her train of thought. Why?
Because Harry made the first move.
His lips were soft on hers, sweet and innocent and thought-provoking. She kissed him back, putting her hands gently on his shoulders to make sure he wouldn't bolt when she least expected it. He could be like that sometimes; it was the reason he'd run from Ginny as well, two months ago.
I remember. Ron wasn't that happy. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley isn't either.
Didn't I tell you to be quiet?!
He felt...well, like a lot of things. Hope and joy and rushing excitement, and many childish things Hermione herself hadn't tuned into in a long time. His smell was a boy-esque one: the Quidditch field, the old Hogwarts corridors, with just a touch of something...sophisticated. Interesting, but...
There was no sense of love.
No sense of love!?
After all this time, all this planning, all this searching...!
I should have known.
Crap, I thought we had one for a second. What's wrong with him anyway?
Hermione wanted to know that desperately in that moment, those seconds of bittersweet failure, but she knew it was a question for another time. Now, the one fact: Harry, the Big One, was not it. There was still another.
He had not felt like she'd hoped he would feel.
So...what now?
Later on, Hermione would remember Harry's embarrassed smile, his gentle understanding, and--was that a flicker of disappointment? No matter--Harry would find his One, and as for her...
Let me ask again. WHAT NOW?!?!
Hermione pondered this as she let herself collapse into a fluffy armchair Professor Dumbledore would have been proud of. She'd tried every boy in the castle that had potential, so where was she now?
Then her exhausted, beaten mind kicked back into high gear.
Well...almost everyone.
She smiled, twirling one lock of brown hair in her fingers. And she left the Room of Requirement with an extra skip in her step, headed for the Slytherin common room for the second time in a week.
Now, where's Blaise Zabini when I need him?
Fin
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