Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.
A/N: Again, check out this fic I'm working on with beccalyse, Eyes Turned Skyward. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!
I've created a forum for this fic, called "One Kiss From You," same as the title. The first topic I've posted has some clarifying points, where I'll address questions that I receive in reviews/emails that I feel several people might have misunderstood. Users are able and more than welcome to create new topics of discussion, and I'll try to be as present as possible to answer questions and such.
Also, it's been pointed out that my last a/n was bitchy and demanding. Sorry, and allow me to explain. When I read a story, I generally leave a fairly descriptive review, because the entire point of this site is for amateur writers to post in an area they are comfortable and receive feedback. So to me, it is lazy and/or an insult when so many people read, but do not review. I understand, however, that most people probably don't see it that way, so no more ransoms or anything mean like that.
Also, sorry Edmond, but you kinda pissed me off, caught me at the wrong moment. My bad.
~%%~
Harry woke up in the hospital wing with a truly horrendous headache. He swore softly, unaware of anything around him.
"Good morning, Sunshine," a chipper female voice said brightly.
He opened his eyes to try and discern the owner of the voice, but his vision was too clouded. "I can't see," he said, and someone handed him his glasses.
"Hermione," Ron whispered. "Hermione, he's awake now."
He looked to his left and found Ron sitting next to his bed with a dozing Hermione tucked under one arm. The lion roared up inside him, threatening to tear Ron into bite-sized pieces. He saw Lavender and Parvati pass a sly look between them, but didn't have time to think about it much, because Hermione had been roused and leapt upon him.
Pleased though he was to see her, she knocked the breath out of him and shot another pain through his head.
She leapt back instantly in horror, apologizing profusely for hurting him again. Hermione began to apologize once more for not knowing the healing charms she needed to help him, for putting him in such a horrible position, but Harry just stared at her.
"What happened?"
Everyone gathered around Harry's bed—which, he suddenly realized, was most of the fifth year Gryffindors, Ginny, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, and Hagrid—turned to Ron, seeming to give him a classically accusatory glare.
"I am so sorry, mate," he muttered. "I just—I knew you knew I was going to cast a jinx, and I was so sure you'd be ready for it, and I just didn't expect you to get so distracted. I'm sorry, I was just mad as a hellcat and I figured I could take it out on your Shield Charm."
"What exactly were you two talking about that made you so mad, again, Ronald?" Hermione asked icily. "You haven't quite answered that question yet."
Trying to be as close to honest as possible, Ron replied, "Girls," at the same time as Harry said, "Quidditch," trying to keep the conversation as far from the truth as possible.
Caught in their lie, Harry quickly added, "Girls on the Quidditch team. Ron doesn't think we should have them, you see."
Luckily for Ron, the only other player present was his younger sister, who knew perfectly well that her brother had half-formed opinions on a wide range of topics, and elected to keep her mouth shut about this newest idiocy in light of the slightly more concerning topic of Harry's latest near-death experience.
"Anyway," Hermione continued, unsurprised by Ron's apparent insensitivity, "he flung you across the room and you cracked your head really badly on the desks in the back of the room. I was trying to help you while Ron tried to murder Malfoy in Charms class, but I couldn't work the spells fast enough. I kept getting the wound half closed but then the break would open back up, then I'd work on your skull and it would start bleeding again. It was a truly pathetic attempt at healing you by magic, and I'm so sorry that I'd never done it before. It just didn't seem like that bad of an injury.
"But then you were losing a lot of blood and you fell unconscious, and Ron levitated you up here, and Madam Pomfrey fixed you all up in about a minute, so the moral is that you should never let me heal you again." She finished, quite out of breath, and Harry could see a fine tremble at the corners of her mouth, a sure sign that she was trying to keep her emotions in check.
After her explanation, Harry stared at her wordlessly. "I don't remember," he finally muttered.
"You don't remember any of it?" she asked incredulously.
"I remember—" Harry began, but he stopped himself, looking at Hermione curiously. "You let go?" He made it a question, because he wasn't sure he was interpreting the memory correctly.
"I had to Harry," she muttered apologetically, aware of every eye on her. "We were going through a narrow passage, but it was no more than three seconds, I promise."
"It felt like forever," Harry muttered in confusion. He wasn't aware of the looks being passed around him, but if he had been, he'd have hoped fervently that they chalked it up to his damaged skull. "The whole thing felt like it took forever."
"I got back to you as soon as I could," she assured him, "but by then you weren't responding to aural or tactile stimulation. That's when things started looking bleak."
"Aural or tact—what?"
"You didn't respond if anyone touched you or said anything to you. By the way, mate," Ron added casually, "about half the school thinks you're dead, so you'll want to be to breakfast early tomorrow so as not to scare anyone walking in."
The group of spectators laughed heartily at that, and most drifted off to their evening plans shortly thereafter to tell their classmates that Harry Potter had survived yet again. Ginny stayed with the trio, but she was the only one who did so, McGonagall having ushering the others out with the excuse that she wanted to question them about what had happened.
"You missed dinner, as well," Ginny mentioned. "But Dobby said he'd bring you something once you're feeling up to it."
"Right now, I just want to be in my own bed," Harry sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. "And maybe something hard to bang against my face," he added with a grimace as his headache made itself known once again.
"See, that's the beauty of magic, mate," Ron offered brightly, producing a spoonful of a thick lavender potion from the bedside table and offering it to Harry.
"Oh. Right." Harry welcomed the instant relief from his headache that he felt upon swallowing the nearly tasteless potion, and was also feeling more energized. "I want to go back to the common room now. I'm all awake now, but when I get tired again, I want to sleep in my own bed."
"I'll go see if Madam Pomfrey will let you leave," Ron offered, eager to help fix the mess he had caused.
While they waited for Ron, Harry stared intently at Hermione, willing his foggy brain to remember what had been happening. All he could think of was the warm comfort of her hand in his, and how he'd lost hope when that support had been removed. He noticed her flushing slightly under his intense gaze, and turned to Ginny to give her a moment to compose herself.
"So, how bad was it?" he asked bracingly.
Despite the braveness he injected into his voice, Hermione looked like she was about to burst into tears as she thought about what had happened in the classroom.
"Not much worse than usual," Ginny offered brightly, seeing that Hermione wasn't going to be able to answer his question. "You bled a lot, nearly died, but we got you out of the thick in the nick of time."
"That sounds about right, I guess," Harry replied. He reached across the bed coverings to find Hermione's hand and grip it awkwardly. "It's not your fault," he told her seriously. "I'm fine, from what it sounds like, because you got me up here. You can't blame yourself that Ron's a hot-tempered git."
She giggled a bit, still nearly on the verge of hysterics, and then threw herself at him once more, though much more gently than the first time. Though she still stood on the floor, Hermione's torso was stretched across Harry's as she snuggled herself gently into him. Harry rubbed her shoulder gently. He understood that she needed to make sure he was alright, and just like the night before, he let her cry herself out on his shirtfront.
Ron came back to inform the others that Madam Pomfrey would allow Harry to leave once she had checked him herself, but found Hermione laying prostrate across Harry's chest, sobbing. Harry looked somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, but certainly wasn't doing anything to put a stop to it. Ginny was poised half out of her chair, as though trying to decide if she should leave or not, and he made an uncharacteristically sensitive decision, placing one finger over his lips and indicating with his other hand that she should follow him out of the hospital wing.
Hermione wasn't aware of the Weasleys leaving, though Harry gave Ron a brief smile of thanks as he passed through the door. He mouthed, "We'll talk later," and grinned again at Ron's eye roll.
When Hermione had once again composed herself and felt convinced that Harry was not only in perfect condition, but would most likely remain so, she sat up and realized that they were the only ones in the wing. She could hear Madam Pomfrey rummaging around in the cupboard at the other end, but she wasn't in sight.
"Harry," she began quietly, her fingers running lightly over the back of his hand. "Would you do me a favor? I mean, if you're feeling up to it tonight?"
"Of course, Hermione," he replied, eager to help her in whatever way he could. "I should be able to do just about anything, unless you want me to fight another dragon," he teased, and felt bad as he saw her flinch at the memory.
"It's nothing that dangerous," she assured him quickly. "It's just that, I have quite a lot of Arithmancy homework to do tonight, and I'll need some books in the library, and I'm worried I might be out after hours." She stopped there, unsure if she really wanted to ask him or not, even more unsure of what he'd say. He was injured, and shouldn't be wandering the castle late at night anyway, but she knew him to be resilient and hardy, and didn't expect him to make anything less than a full recovery in the next hour or so. Lockhart bounded happily around her mind, knowing that her decision had already been made for her, because there was only one answer to Harry's next question.
"Would you like to borrow my cloak?" he offered quietly when no request came forth.
"Oh, no!" Hermione replied in surprise. "No, heavens, I wouldn't ask for that, Harry! It was your father's, and it's extremely important to you. No," she continued, "I was wondering if you'd come with me to the library. With the cloak, I mean, so we don't get caught, but so I don't have to be alone."
Harry watched a very faint tinge of pink appear on her face, and she dropped her gaze down to her lap. She began to pull her hand away, but he caught it, smiling gently. "You don't have to be embarrassed to ask me for that," he said softly. "Of course I'll go with you. I wouldn't want you wandering around the castle at night, anyway. I couldn't have anything happening to you, now could I?" It was his turn to look away from her as the last words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden.
Madam Pomfrey saved them from the uncomfortable silence that fell when she bustled over to Harry, checking him over thoroughly before telling him he could leave only if he promised to rest for the evening and to come back for more potion if his head was hurting again. She left his school robes folded at the end of his bed, walking away with a disgusted look on her face. Harry wondered briefly how long it would take before she banished him from the hospital wing altogether for abusing the facilities.
Hermione graciously stepped away from his cot, pulling the curtains around him so he could dress in silence. As they contemplated the pending nighttime trip to the library, both were musing about what could possibly happen late at night in the school library. They wouldn't be likely to be interrupted by other students, and it was quite a cozy, even romantic place in the old castle.
When Harry emerged from the curtained area, he saw two very distinct things. The first was that it had, in fact, begun to snow, and large puffy flakes floated lazily past the darkened window.
The second, and far more bothering thing he noticed, was that Hermione was still covered in dried blood. His blood, he realized suddenly, and a great swell of affection filled his chest and threatened to burst embarrassingly from his mouth as he watched her calmly cleaning her robes and skin. She was so efficient at cleaning charms, and as Harry's tendency to bleed had increased over the years, only seeming to get worse with time, he made a mental note to ask her to show him sometime.
~%%~
They managed to get away from the common room that night with few outbursts from Ron. Although he did want to talk to Harry, once he found out that they were only taking a trip to the library—something Ron couldn't see as being exceptionally romantic—he was content to stay in the common room, where he would be able to spend a few hours free of Hermione's nagging to do his homework. Harry tucked the Invisibility Cloak into his book bag, as they still had several hours before they were required to be back in the common room. If Hermione was able to find what she needed before curfew, they wouldn't need to sneak their way back at all. Harry fervently hoped that it would take her that long.
Once they entered the library, Hermione, who had been tense ever since Harry had awoken in the hospital wing, visibly relaxed in a homecoming way. She paused inside the doors, inhaling deeply of the smell of old books and ink, of the deep, ancient magic she always found here. Harry, who wasn't prepared for her to stop, walked right into her, overcome as he usually was by a deep sense of unwelcome, as though the moldering books and faded ink knew how frequently he spoke ill of the magic it had to offer.
Her moment of relaxation completely ruined, Hermione stumbled forward, and Harry quickly caught her around the waist to keep her from landing on her face. He had to make a stupid hopping motion forward to keep his own balance, but in a precarious and completely ungraceful way, neither of them hit the floor.
"Sorry," he said, humiliated, as he helped her regain balance.
"It's alright," she replied casually. "Oh! Harry, the Cloak!"
Harry's bag has fallen open, and a portion of the Cloak hung from it. Unless someone knew what they were looking at, the silvery, liquid-looking fabric wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but Harry quickly stuffed the rest of it back under his textbooks and followed Hermione.
She led him to her favorite corner of the library, which was actually not in a corner, but rather somewhere in the center of the rows and rows of books, where two rows came to a corner, and for some odd reason, there was a third, much shorter case that created a small nook no bigger than Harry's bedroom on Privet Drive. The shelves forming the corner had no books on them, but rather it was filled with a large, dusty blue sofa and an overstuffed armchair of a dusty sort of nondescript color. There was also one large oak table, to which Hermione pulled up the armchair and set down her bag. Harry followed suit, pulling out his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and settling down on the couch.
Though he tried to concentrate, Hermione was walking back and forth from their little corner, bringing stacks of books back with each trip. Every time she walked past, Harry completely lost track of what he was supposed to be doing, utterly enraptured with the scented air that drifted to him with each pass. After depositing each group of musty books, she would wander up the aisles again, chewing her hair thoughtfully as she searched for just the right book. He was so distracted by everything she did that he quickly gave up on doing anything productive until she was prepared to sit down and work without moving around.
This plan didn't work as well as he had hoped, for even seated, every small motion she made, every squeak of her chair, made him want to look up at her and see what she was doing. She continued to chew on her hair, occasionally shoving it back from her face in irritation, but mostly twirling little strands of it around her fingers in thoughtful silence. Harry realized suddenly that he'd never really watched her do anything before, and began to take a deep interest in her facial expressions, noting frustration more than anything, but also seeing pronounced disgust, which surprised him the first time he saw it, until she dipped her quill in ink and angrily scratched out a large portion of the work she'd been doing.
Harry had taken most of his books with him, and had finally settled on Transfiguration, trying desperately to convince a quill to do ballet across the floor while Hermione sat across from him muttering calculations to herself and completing, then crossing out values on her parchment. The more upset she got over it, the more she played with her hair, and the bushier it got. Harry grinned at her, wondering if she would agree if he told her how very lovely she looked at that particular moment, with her nose scrunched in annoyance and exhaustion.
Although Harry was almost constantly distracted, he finished all of his homework for the rest of the week before Hermione had finished her Arithmancy, including a second and third revision of the Potions essay she had helped them write the night before. He suddenly found himself doubting that she was so smart, if she had opted to take a class that was even difficult for her. He wondered momentarily how anyone else was managing to pass. He quietly packed his bag, trying not to disturb her, then left it sitting on the small table near his head.
As he stretched out on the delightfully comfortable sofa, Harry felt quite relieved and understood then why Hermione insisted they finish their homework early. It was quite a relaxing sensation, to know that he had the rest of the week to do extra studying, perhaps read ahead in Potions for their next assignment, something he never had a chance to do, though Hermione also insisted that it was a good study habit to be prepared. Running through a mental checklist of everything he had to do before the weekend, Harry felt light as a feather, wondering what he would do with all of his free time. He was so used to rushing to finish things at the last minute that he wasn't quite sure how else to fill his time.
Perhaps if Hermione finished Arithmancy and didn't have anything else to do, they could spend the following afternoon walking out on the grounds through the fresh snow. He dozed off in the library to the soft scratching of Hermione's quill, thinking of all the wonderful things they might one day do.
~%%~
Finally finished with the unbearable load of Arithmancy homework, Hermione looked up to find Harry asleep, spread out on the dusty couch. She jumped when she realized that his head was missing, then realized her mistake as she saw that the Invisibility Cloak had escaped his bag yet again, and was spilling over his head. The empty plate of sandwiches Dobby had brought up for him was balanced on the end of the sofa where Harry'd left it. She laughed a little to herself as she took in his headless appearance, now much funnier that it was not a surprise.
Licking her lips nervously and moving as slowly as possible, trying to calculate for each noise she might make, Hermione stood up and crept to the end of Harry's couch. She knelt down near his head, still barely daring to breathe as she inched her way toward his sleeping figure. She delicately pulled the strange material away from his face, looking down upon his sleeping form, forcing upon Hermione the realization of the switch from the previous night.
His eyes were lightly closed in sleep, his face smooth and unworried in his dreams, and his lips were parted just enough that Hermione could seem the white gleam of his teeth. With the way he was sleeping, Hermione was sure his hair would be a wild mess when he woke. She made herself focus on the task, and took one silent breath before leaning over Harry's sleeping face, remembering to lick her lips slightly, then put her hand beside his shoulder on the couch to steady her shaking body.
Hermione leaned across his torso, lowering her head as slowly as she could manage to his parted lips. He sighed again in his sleep, sending a spicy, dark scent into her lungs. She gasped silently, and finally lowered her face to his, eager for more of his flavor, to decipher the contents of his scent. Her lips were barely touching his, not even a kiss, when Harry moved his lips.
"You were awake."
Hermione gave a little scream and fell backwards, toppling out of her crouching position and landing on her backside on the library floor, looking up at Harry, now propped up on one elbow and looking down at her in amusement.
"You were awake," he said again. He sounded absolutely astonished. It wasn't a question, but Hermione felt the need to answer.
"Yes."
"And…you're not mad at me?" He seemed hesitantly hopeful, wanting her to not be mad, but he sounded like he didn't expect his luck to go so far.
"I—what?" Hermione had been prepared to tell him to forget everything, that she knew it meant nothing, but this, this was not what she'd been ready for. Of course, she thought, someone as noble as Harry would be most concerned about keeping their friendship intact before bothering with the awkward conversation they were about to have.
"I'd understand if you were, of course," Harry said unhappily. "I mean, I—I betrayed you and totally violated you, and if I could take it back—well, I'm not sure I would, well, if you asked me to, of course I'd undo it if I could, but I've been wanting—"
But Hermione cut off Harry's self-deprecating rant by raising one hand in the air in a wait a moment while I think about think about this gesture. "You're worried," she began at last. "That I'm mad at you for kissing me?"
"While you were asleep," he added sheepishly.
"While I was pretending to be asleep," she shot back significantly.
"It doesn't matter if you were asleep or pretending anything!" Harry replied hotly. "The point is, I thought you were asleep, and I kissed you, expecting you would never know!" The look on Hermione's face instantly told Harry he had said exactly the wrong thing, he just didn't know why. Why couldn't the silly girl understand why he felt so bad? She didn't seem to be upset, but that wasn't at all the point. He had spent the past twenty-four hours filled without doubt and self-loathing because, whether or not she was angry after the fact, he had acted without her permission, while she was unconscious to him, and therefore against her wishes.
But Hermione didn't seem to be understanding his point of view on the situation, because when she spoke, he could hear the familiar trembling in her voice that meant she was on the verge of tears. The fact that those tears were caused by him sent Harry into another downward spiral of emotions as he mentally cursed at himself in ways that he would never speak out loud in the presence of a lady.
"So, you didn't mean anything by it?" Hermione whispered, not quite looking him in the eye, but rather focusing her gaze somewhere above his shoulder. "Do you wish you hadn't?"
"I wish I hadn't—" he began, but stopped when Hermione whimpered, trying to hide the building onslaught of sobs now filling her chest. He knelt down beside her, placing a hand in the small of her back to soothe her. Thinking this may be the last moments they had before he crushed her hope and any desire to be alone with him, Hermione put her own arm around his waist and settled into his shoulder, noting that it was more muscular than his smallish frame revealed through the black school robes. "Are you alright?" he inquired softly, tucking her head under his chin and linking his free hand with the one she had left near his hip.
"Yes, of course," Hermione replied, trying and failing for a lighthearted tone. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Rather than answering her ridiculous question or addressing her false contentment, he just said, "You didn't let me finish, you silly girl. I was going to say, I wish I hadn't done it like that, not that I wished I hadn't."
Needing desperately to understand exactly what he meant by that, Hermione took a slow, shaky breath and said, "How do you wish you'd have done it?"
"Well," Harry began carefully, choosing each word with great care, "I suppose I'd have liked to have been alone together—"
"We were," Hermione interrupted.
"—in a nice, quiet corner of the castle at night, like the common room—"
"We were in the common room!"
"—or maybe under a tree out on the grounds, or some other nice, secluded area—"
"Like the library," she added, her courage blossoming.
"—mm, or the library," he agreed. "I wouldn't have asked you—well not in so many words, but I'd make my intentions clear—and give you ample opportunity to reject my advances." He brushed his lips across her forehead, squeezing her hand lightly as he did so. Harry took her other hand in his, kissing it lightly and raising it up so their fingers entwined between them in midair. "I'd probably tell you nice things, to hint at my feelings, like telling you how very sweet you are, with your chocolate eyes and honey-colored hair." Hermione blushed, and he added, "And when you blush so pink, like a—" He trailed off, looking for the right word. "A strawberry field," he finished, then quickly added, "Sorry, I couldn't think of any sweet red things. I only had the hair and eyes prepared."
Hermione giggled softly, trying to hide it, but they both quickly fell into laughter at Harry's pathetic attempt at flattery.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching his breath. "I've got no practice with things like this."
"Then we'll have to practice together," she offered, almost silently. If Harry had been sitting only a few inches farther away, he wouldn't have been able to hear her.
"I suppose so," Harry said, and the silence hung over them like a wool blanket. He swallowed, and the sound was nearly deafening to them both, while Hermione's breath came in ragged pants.
"What would you do next?" Hermione asked breathily. "You know, if you could have done it differently."
"Right." Harry was lost in her eyes for a moment, noticing how they were turning slightly golden in color, like warm caramel being swirled into melted chocolate. As he stared intensely down at her, Hermione could see his eyes growing darker, like dusk setting over a freshly cut lawn. She had never known his eyes to be that color, nor had she ever seen the nearly possessive gleam in them. She had seen it in Viktor's own dark muddy eyes many times, but unlike then, she found she was pleased by it.
"I suppose," Harry said, and Hermione had to pause to remember what they had been talking about, "that once I had you alone, and I was sure you knew what I wanted from you, well if you hadn't run screaming by then, I'd have to make sure you couldn't." He held her tighter to his side, and hooked a finger under her chin, the way he'd seen in the Dursleys' old movies. With a deep steadying breath, Harry tilted her chin up so that her mouth was more accessible to his own. He licked his lips slightly and whispered, "You only have to say 'no'."
"I won't," she replied as quietly as she could manage, afraid to break the spell with words.
Almost too slowly, Harry lowered his head to Hermione, gently moving his lips against hers, barely touching. It was a dry touch, nothing more than the barest of brushes, completely chaste until Harry brought his hand from her chin to the side of her face, pulling her closer. As their lips fully connected, Hermione gave a shuddering sigh into his mouth, filling it with her honey-orange flavor. In response to this ultra-concentrated dose of her flavor, Harry groaned lightly, coming to his knees beside her and lifting her into his arms and himself to a standing position before she quite had time to react.
She pulled away, looking surprised. "You picked me up!" she exclaimed, looking down over his arm as though to clarify it to herself, and Harry noted that it was one of the few stupid things he'd ever heard her say.
"Yes." He grinned as he realized that he had caused that effect in her. Perhaps he wasn't so bad at this after all.
"I—I didn't know you could do that!"
"Thanks, Hermione," he said sarcastically, his pride and ego deflating as quickly as they had come into being the moment before.
"No, that's—I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," she fumbled, embarrassed beyond measure that she couldn't seem to form a whole sentence. "I meant—well, I mean, you don't lift a whole lot, at least not that I see and I guess I thought—"
"Quidditch," he answered, letting her stop rambling. When she looked at him doubtfully, he quirked an eyebrow and added, "You know, riding a broomstick isn't easy. You've got to be in shape."
"Really?" she said, part doubtfully and part in surprise.
"Really," he replied. "But really I don't think we were talking about broomsticks."
Hermione blushed madly as she remember what they had been talking about. Or rather, what they hadn't been saying. "Right."
"Unless, of course," he added quickly, moving to set her on her feet, "you don't want to finish that conversation?"
"No, I do!" she assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck so that he couldn't put her down without falling over. "Perhaps though," she added meekly, "not suspended in the air?"
"Don't you trust me?" Harry asked, pretending to be hurt.
"I…do," she answered slowly. "But that doesn't mean I want to risk it."
He chuckled at her nervousness, and she caught another slight whiff of that spicy scent. He carried her the few paces to the musty old couch, gingerly stepping around her piles of books. Harry lowered himself into the chair, once again letting Hermione curl into his lap like he had the night before. The biggest difference, of course, was that her lips parted of her own accord, and he could see her golden chocolate eyes staring back at him as he once again bent down to kiss her.
Their lips met more firmly this time, into a much more substantial kiss. Finally realizing that this might just work out for them, Harry relaxed and sigh contentedly into her mouth as she moaned softly under his kiss. Hermione took that chance to inhale as much of his flavor as she could, identifying cloves, ginger, and something sweeter…peppermint? The spiciness of him took her breath away, left her clinging to his shoulders and wondering how she'd never noticed how well-toned he was. She mentally added his physical humility and fascinating flavor to the long list of wonderful things about him.
Harry was just as boggled by Hermione as she found herself by him. The elation he felt at holding her in his arms was almost as strong as the amazement that she actually wanted to be there with him.
This knowledge gave him the courage to pull her even closer to him as he wrapped one arm around her back to hold her up, and moved the other hand to the back of her neck, keeping her firmly locked into their kiss, which was quickly becoming more passionate by the moment. Hermione sighed again into the kiss, parting her lips just enough to give Harry the nerve to flick a taste from her lower lip.
"Mind you," he whispered in a husky, breathless voice as he pulled away at last, "I wasn't expecting this to happen for another couple of years."
"Well," she responded, just as breathless as he, "I guess I have to be glad that things didn't go according to plan for you."
He grinned, nudged her nose softly with his own, and kissed her again.
~%%~
A/N: I've decided that it would be better for you, dear reader, to simply set up the alerts for this story, because once classes start in about three and a half weeks, I simply will not be able to update more than once every couple of weeks, and it would kill me if you stopped checking for an update, and then never found out that I had posted a new chapter.
In the meantime, review if you have something to say, nice or otherwise, and please select a story alert so you'll get an email when I post a new chapter.
One thing I would really appreciate feedback on was the first kiss. It's been a very long time since I've written or experienced one, and I want to hear especially from those of you experiencing those feelings right now in your life! I was going for intensity, but also some humor and fluff to keep things from feeling too serious between them physically, at least for now.
Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!
cj596