Mating Season by Amethyst

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/08/2004
Last Updated: 05/08/2004
Status: Completed

Ron seemed utterly nonplussed by both Hermione dashing away and Harry looking daggers at him.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack may be skittish and hide under its bed of moss, but that does not
stop the skilled observer from knowing when it is in mating season."




1. Mating Season
----------------

Title: Mating Season

Authors: Amethyst J. and GracieInGreek

Author E-mail: AmethystJackson@hotmail.com

Category: Humor/Romance

Keywords: Harry Hermione Ron Luna

Rating: PG

Spoilers: For all five books

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

Summary: Ron seemed utterly nonplussed by both Hermione dashing away and Harry looking daggers
at him. "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack may be skittish and hide under its bed of moss, but that
does not stop the skilled observer from knowing when it is in mating season."

Author’s Notes: This was co-written with my wonderful friend Grace (also known as
GracieInGreek). She’s the genius behind the funnier bits.

And, before you ask, no, there’s no sequel – this is a one-shot and will forever remain
thus.

*Mating Season*

Harry couldn't explain it, but something about the way Hermione was looking at him made him
very nervous indeed.

It wasn't that she was looking at him as if he'd grown a second head or anything--Or was
she? It was hard for him to tell. It definitely wasn't a look that he'd seen her send
before...Not in his direction, anyway.

It was almost like...she was annoyed with him - but not quite. It was similar to the look she
gave him when he wasn't seeing something -extremely- obvious, but there was something different
about it. Something...confused, or maybe a little sad... Really, he had no bloody idea what it
meant, but the only person who would know was Hermione, and she was the one person he couldn't
ask this time.

He wondered vaguely if this was one thing that could be answered by someone other than Hermione.
Perhaps it was not as it seemed, perhaps he was not as obtuse as what he will proceed to think of
as 'The Look' was making him feel. As he continued to mull this thought over in his brain
while Hermione kept gazing at him over the top of her Ancient Runes book, he felt the cushion he
was sitting on dip to one side and looked over as Ron settled himself next to him. "Ginny
wants to know," Ron started, before Harry could say anything, "why Hermione keeps looking
at you as if you've forgotten Dobby's birthday."

Harry stared in wonder as Hermione slammed her book, grabbed her bag, and dashed up the stairs,
leaving Harry to glare at Ron. "Did you have to say that *right* in front of her? And
don't you think that if I *knew* what was going on I'd be doing something about
it?"

Ron seemed utterly nonplussed by both Hermione dashing away and Harry looking daggers at him.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack may be skittish and hide under its bed of moss, but that does not
stop the skilled observer from knowing when it is in mating season." And, with absolutely no
other word or explanation, Ron got up from the couch, grinning broadly, and headed up to the boys’
dormitories, and Harry noticed for the first time that Ron seemed to have a bottle cap hanging from
a hook in one of his pink ears. Ginny followed after him, smirking at Harry as she went up the
other staircase.

Harry gaped at the stairwell. Everyone had gone absolutely *loony*. Granted, Ron had been
becoming weirder and weirder ever since he'd started dating Luna Lovegood, but his Snorkack
metaphors were getting more than a little annoying. He sighed to the now rather empty common room.
What had Ron been going on about? A skittish, mating Snorkack? Harry's eyes grew wide - he
couldn't be talking about Hermione, could he? And if so, just *who the bloody hell was she
mating with*? Whoever it was, he was going to die – at Harry’s hands.

...Perhaps that had been the problem. What Harry could only assume was realization hitting him,
he slumped back against the couch. That must have been it – Hermione had a new boyfriend, and he,
Harry, hadn't known. Or was it that he simply hadn't noticed? He had an odd feeling
settling over the top of his stomach, like a lead weight that didn't seem to want to drop. He
wondered sagely what he should be feeling at that moment; the dead weight didn't seem too keen
on offering up any adjectives for him.

Harry, annoyed that introspection had yielded so little information, found himself going over
the past few months, picking out every male at Hogwarts that could have possibly stolen
Hermione's heart. She'd been talking to Terry Boot quite a bit since fifth year - a fellow
brain, probably just what she was looking for; there was also Ernie Macmillan, who had asked her
out numerous times and also had the brains to ask Harry about it first...but he'd never thought
for a second that Hermione would say *yes*. He wondered why that was. There was no reason why
Hermione shouldn't like Ernie, but...he couldn't really imagine her liking *any* of
the boys in their year, or the ones above...surely this feeling couldn't be completely
off-track...there had to be something to it.

Quickly shaking off the rather unsettling idea that it was perhaps a younger classmate of theirs
that had finally weaned Hermione into the world of voluntary social interaction – for it inevitably
came attached with some disturbing mental images including the Creevy brothers and their infamous
cameras – Harry continued to rack his brain, pressing a hand over his scar. If he was going to be
completely honest with himself, Harry had never really envisioned Hermione with a guy, besides what
he would from then on refer to as the 'Creevy Incident.' ...Well, that wasn't exactly
true. He had, despite himself, envisioned Hermione with somebody on many occasions.

If he was going to be completely and totally honest - which he definitely wouldn't with
Hermione; not now, after he'd found out about the boyfriend - he would have to admit that he
had, indeed, imagined that Hermione would end up with him. He just *couldn't* see her with
anyone else - the thought would invariably be ridiculous or sickening – or both. Perhaps he was
really the ridiculous one, thinking that Hermione couldn't possibly be with anyone but him,
but...Hermione had always been his, in a way. Of course he didn't own her, but she'd been
the only girl in his life ever since his real life had begun, and she was the only one he could go
to when matters of the heart were concerned. He couldn't imagine a world in which he didn't
have that...and perhaps that was the real reason for the lead in his stomach.

Harry sighed, letting his head fall onto the back of the couch, and closed his now aching green
eyes. For some reason, he had expected this realization to take away from the way the lead was
still pressing at him, but quite to the contrary, it seemed to almost swell. Keeping with the
honesty trend, he had to admit to himself that this wasn't totally a revelation. It seemed to
be a thought that hadn't hit him, really, but had just waited until Harry came across it so it
could slide into place; it had been the same with his feelings for Hermione. Nothing had rammed the
knowledge into his scull like a rogue hippogriff; it had just seemed to grow steadily through the
years.

A quiet creak on the stairs pulled Harry out of his ruminations, and an investigative squint
revealed Hermione standing at the foot of the staircase, looking rather desperate and almost
annoyed. "Blast. I thought you'd have gone to bed by now, like everyone else in the
tower."

Harry tried to smile at her, but his mouth wasn't cooperating. "Don't worry about
me, Hermione. I figured it out. I just...I don't understand why you didn't just tell
me," he said sadly, staring resolutely at the ceiling. He had a horrible feeling that no
matter what she said, it would feel like she was rejecting him, and he couldn't bear to see her
face as she told him, directly or indirectly, that she didn't return his feelings.

Almost unconsciously, Harry slipped his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose.
That's better, he thought idly. Now, when she looks revolted at the mere thought of being
involved with me, it will be nothing but an ugly blur. *Not ugly*, a small voice chirped in
his mind. She could never be ugly. With an anguished sigh, he took his hand from his nose and
pressed it over his eyes, leaning his head onto the back of the couch again. He didn't even
notice when his cushion dipped to one side again, softer this time.

"Harry...isn't it obvious why I didn't want to tell you? I mean...look at the way
you're reacting to the news. It's not exactly what I was hoping for, as you can
imagine..."

Harry let his hand drop, closing his eyes. "Of course. You wanted to let me down more
easily. I understand. I just...I thought you'd tell me, no matter what...we're still
friends, right?"

He snuck a glance at Hermione. To his surprise, she looked absolutely baffled.

"Harry...what on earth are you on about?"

Harry blinked a little, lifting his head from the couch. His anguish was now giving way to
confusion and something he couldn't place, something quite unlike the lead weight that seemed
to jump to his throat. He stared at her, though she was only a fuzzy outline.
"Weren't...aren’t you angry with me for not noticing?"

Hermione frowned. "Harry...I did want you to notice something...but I don't think you
came to the correct conclusion as to what it was...just what did you think I wanted you to
notice?"

Harry gaped at her, heart pounding wildly - was this hope he was feeling? "I thought - you
have a boyfriend. ...Don't you?"

It was Hermione's turn to gape. "Are you insane? Of course I haven't got a
boyfriend!"

Harry's eyes went wide, his mouth slack-jawed and hanging. Even though Hermione seemed to be
just a flurry of round lines and blurry brown fluff at the moment, she was close enough that Harry
could see that she was indeed now looking at him as if he'd just grown another head. "Wah
– I - Er, well, Ron said you were a mossy Snorkack in mating season, and I..."

He couldn't see Hermione’s eyes very clearly, but he had a feeling she was blinking at
him.

"Harry...I don't know what Ron told you, but either he was as deluded as you, or you
interpreted his statement incorrectly. Honestly, he spends too much time with Luna these
days..."

Harry squirmed, dying to get to the bottom of this and hear more about the part where she
didn't have a boyfriend. "So...so what was I supposed to have noticed?"

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought Hermione went extremely red.

"Well...I...Harry, haven't you ever wondered just *why* I've never really had
a boyfriend?"

"...Lack of motivation to enter the world of voluntary social interaction?"

Hermione laughed slightly. "Well, that's part of it - but...it's also
because...well...I want to enter the world of voluntary social interaction with *you*, Harry.
That's what I wanted you to notice...that...that I like you."

That statement seemed to be the Godric Gryffindor sword to his basilisk of a lead weight. His
anguish had completely given way to hope, and hope had completely given way to utter relief and
light-headedness. Not taking the time to come back into himself even slightly, he darted forward
towards the rose colored blurs that were Hermione's lips.

...And promptly bonked her nose with his.

"Owww, Harry!" Hermione wailed.

He blushed furiously and backed away. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to - I
wasn't trying to attack you with my nose or anything -"

Hermione started to giggle, making him blush even more (and wonder when she’d learned to
giggle). How useless could he possibly be? He couldn't even kiss a girl properly...and she
wanted *him*?

"Oh, Harry, you silly thing, come back over here and kiss my properly this time."

Harry, now grinning broadly and putting the deep flush still creeping up his neck out of his
mind, nodded and made to put his glasses back on. He paused and raised an eyebrow to Hermione when
he felt her hand on his, stopping his glasses halfway to his nose. Though he continued to look at
her quizzically, she didn't say anything, and simply took his glasses gently from his hand,
folded them up, and set them on the table.

"You know what they say..." She spoke softly, though her voice sounded thick from lack
of breath and much closer than before. "If you want something done right...do it
yourself."

And, for what felt like the thousandth time that night, Harry was saved from any further comment
by Hermione tilting his head carefully to one side and closing the gap between them – with
considerably better aim than he had.

Harry didn't really have a clue what he was doing, but Hermione seemed to. She was kissing
him with the same steady determination that she used when writing an essay or attempting to save
the house-elves. She was making it very difficult for him to focus on any one thing. He noted that
her lips were softer than he'd ever imagined, and it seemed as though they were made specially
to fit his...and perhaps it was true, after all, that she was meant to be his and his alone -
because he would always be hers, and hers alone.

These revelations, which, once more, didn't seem to hit him as much as choose the most
opportune moments to make themselves known, started to fade in and out of his thoughts as the kiss
dragged on. ...And on. …And on. Soon her hands were away from his face and curling around his
shoulders (she had shifted slightly to her knees on the cushion next to his to give herself a bit
more height), and he was only vaguely aware that the hair at the back of his neck was being tugged
at. He returned the favors almost unconsciously as his own hands found their way to the small of
her back. Harry was quite sure that they had been sitting like this for at least most of the
evening, because when they finally heard a little sound from the direction of the staircases
(*hem, hem*), they sprung apart rather abruptly to wake up to a fire that was nearly out, and
a rather frazzled looking Luna Lovegood who was looking dreamily back at them from the bottom of
the boys’ staircase, seeming quite pleased with herself indeed.

"Oh yes." She said in a tone that was as smug as Luna could ever achieve. "One
can *always* tell when it is mating season."



