Choosing by Mr.Intel

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 27/07/2005
Last Updated: 28/07/2005
Status: Completed

Hermione's mother is trying to set her up with a boyfriend and she's having none of it.
But in the process, Hermione comes to realise that one of the two boys she's closest to could
be more, if only he had the proper motivation.




1. Summertime Dilemmas
----------------------

**Chapter One – Summertime Dilemmas**

The sun set on an affluent London estate, as a seventeen-year-old girl looked on. The girl
wasn’t normal, however, as she had two very close, but platonic male friends, she tended to read
more than sleep, and she was a witch. Everyone Hermione Granger knew in both the magical and Muggle
worlds were dating someone – everyone but her two platonic male friends. They had the ability to
pretend that their lives were normal, because they weren’t the target of a megalomaniac who was
bent on killing them – she wasn’t like them. As the best friend of the focus of a decades-old power
struggle, Hermione knew she could never casually date anyone, least of all one of the friends she’d
seen war and fought to the death with.

Hermione Granger stared mopingly out the window at her neighbour, Polly Pratchett, as she kissed
the lips off her boyfriend on her front porch, completely unaware of the war raging around them.
Hermione would have been in Polly’s year at finishing school, had she not attended Hogwarts. She
wondered how different her life would have been if her parents had not let her go to the
all-Wizarding school, or if she’d let her parents convince her to quit the Wizarding world after
her brush with death in second year.

With a wry laugh, Hermione flopped back onto her bed and let her hair fly loosely across the
duvet. Who was she kidding? As inquisitive and thirsty for knowledge as she was, a pack of Mountain
Trolls couldn’t have kept Hermione from going to Hogwarts and learning everything there was to know
about magic. Even her parent’s renewed threats to take her out of school following last year’s
nearly fatal run-in with Voldemort’s Death Eaters hadn’t kept her away.

“*I’m of age in the magical world*,” she had explained. “*I can leave you and go
anyway*.”

In truth, Hermione hadn’t wanted to leave her parents and would have been hard pressed, indeed,
to do so. Her perseverance had won out in the end, however, and it hadn’t been necessary. Which
brought her back to her current problem; she didn’t have a boyfriend.

Not that she had *wanted* one...at first, anyway. Her mother had confronted her about her
dating status soon after their near separation last summer holidays.

*“If you had someone to be close with; someone who you could confide in and share your life
with...”*

*“No, mother,” Hermione said adamantly. “I’ve got two friends that are boys. We share just
about everything together as it is. Why should I have to get a boyfriend?”*

Her mother hadn’t been able to provide an answer, but the nagging hadn’t stopped. The seed was
planted in her mind, however, and Hermione had spent the next year at school looking at her
friends, Ron and Harry, in a slightly analytical way. Her scientific, unendingly curious mind
couldn’t help but discern all the possible scenarios if she were to become romantically involved
with one or the other. When she stepped off the Hogwarts Express this year, she was no closer to
taking the next critical step, and her mother seemed to know it. She waited only until they were in
the car before harping on the subject once more.

*“Have you given any thought to pairing off with a boy?” she queried.*

*Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Yes, Mum, but I’m not going to just jump into
some wizard’s arms and snog him senseless, now am I?”*

*“Yes, well...” her mother replied, “about that.” She gave her father a surreptitious glance
and continued, “There’s a nice boy around the block that’s talked about you before. The Miller’s
boy, you know?”*

*Ryan Miller was as snooty as his parents, and only tolerable for short intervals. “Yes, Mum.
I know him, but what’s that got to do with me getting a boyfriend?”*

*There was another awkward pause and her mother’s hands began to wring themselves together.
Hermione groaned, guessing what she was about to say. “Well...we just thought it’d be nice for you
to have a date with him.”*

*“Mother,” Hermione said, pinching her nose in frustration. “Please don’t tell me you’ve set
me up with Ryan Miller.” She’d rather date Malfoy...well, almost.*

The date had been an unqualified disaster. The meal itself was fine, but the idiot had the gall
to order her food for her, refused to listen to anything she had to say, and when the night was
over, tried to kiss her! She was not amused and told her mother as much.

*“Mother, don’t ever interfere in my love life again. I’m not a child, and I know what I want
in a man – Ryan Miller is not it!”*

So, her mother, becoming much more like the cagey, intelligent dentist that she was, and not
like the obsessed mother that she had been acting like, issued Hermione a challenge.

*“All right, Hermione, let’s compromise. If you know what you want, then find a suitable
partner at your school, and we’ll stay out of it. Otherwise, we’ll have a full card of suitors for
you when you return next year.”*

After that, Hermione stewed in her room for an entire hour before something hit her. She
couldn’t pretend to have a relationship, it just wasn’t her style...and the two dunderheads she had
the fortune of being close with couldn’t date their way out of a wet paper bag.... Still, Hermione
had been forced to consider her friends differently than she had done since she was fourteen. From
her observations over the previous ten months, it had become clear that she *could* be with
one of them, but it had to be handled gently.

The idea was intriguing, and as she dwelled on it more and more, a plan formulated in her mind;
one that brought back long-repressed feelings, and caused her to realise that it was only a matter
of time before she would have to choose between them anyway. They were too close for one of them
not to date her in the end. The only question was, how would the other one react to her choice?

It wasn’t so much that Hermione wanted a good snogging partner, as much as it was that she knew
neither of her best friends were going to make the decision for her. Admittedly, the snogging part
probably wouldn’t be too hard to adjust to. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were anything but
decisive when it came to girls, but thinking about kissing one in particular made her even more
determined. But was he interested in being with her? Almost instantly another question appeared in
her mind: what to do about the other one, who would be at least a little bit hurt if they did pair
off?

Hermione slid off her bed and walked over to her desk. There, among the various, neatly-stacked
books, homework, research pads, and notes, were two identical boxes. Each wooden box had a hinged
lid with a lock and a single, engraved letter. She opened the one with the ‘H’ etched on the top
and began to read the last letter she had received from him.

*Dear Hermione,*


*Yes, I finished the essay for Snape. He’s a git for having us do such a large, involved
assignment over our last Summer holiday, especially because I can’t exactly find ground scarab
beetle, or sliced arvango root, can I? And before you go off on me, yes...I know it’s N.E.W.T.
year, and that it’ll help us be better prepared. But honestly, who cares about hair restoration
potions, anyway?*


*Blimey. I sounded like Ron, just then, didn’t I?*


*Well, Aunt Petunia is yelling at me to finish weeding the garden. Something about her Azaleas
being choked to death. Talk to you later.*


*Harry*

She replaced the letter in the box and closed the lid. The other box was opened, the one with
the ‘R’ on it’s top, and she took the top letter on the smaller stack inside.

*Dear Hermione,*


*Pig’s being a bloody pain, so I’ll have to make this short.*


*Dad’s let me work with the twins in Diagon Alley. Work’s good, the pay is all right, but the
working environment is dodgy. I’ve got to test new product for four hours and run the till the rest
of the time. Fred and George are being weird, too; always slipping off somewhere and whispering so
I don’t hear them when they get back.*


*Susan Bones is working in the Alley now. Her aunt (not the Minister) got her a job working at
Flourish and Blott’s as a stocker. I’m sure you’d like that, eh? Working with books all day sounds
like your kind of thing, not hers.*


*Well, Pig’s about to go spare, so I better send him off to you.*


*Ron*

The two letters had come within days of each other, and to Hermione, demonstrated where she
stood with both boys. Her plan started to evolve, and as she considered both Harry and Ron, she
knew that her quest to turn one of them into her boyfriend was much more important than to satisfy
her mother’s demands; she was ready to move on, and it was time for her to choose.



2. Plans In Motion
------------------

**Chapter Two – Plans in Motion**

Hermione adjusted her too-small white polyester top and smoothed the fabric of her skirt. There
were three weeks left in the summer holidays and Hermione was finally going to Grimmauld Place to
meet her friends. The Granger family trip had been postponed from the beginning of her break from
school to the middle because of a dental conference in Brighton. Now that she was back, however,
Hermione was eager to begin her plans.

It was with some surprise and a little bit of pleasure that her mother took her out to shop for
new clothes instead of books on their holiday in Florence the previous week. Hermione knew that
there would be little time to utilise the Muggle clothes that weren’t worn at Hogwarts to their
full advantage, and that first impressions were extremely important. Well, not *first*
impressions, but the first after being away for a good while.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Tonks said cheerfully as she stepped off the Knight Bus to grab
Crookshanks’ carrier. Stan Shunpike nodded absently on his way to take her trunk but did a
double-take as they walked onto the giant purple bus.

“Hello, Tonks,” Hermione said cheerfully, beaming up at her pink spiked hair. “Beautiful day,
isn’t it?” She was satisfied to see Stan stumble a bit on the steps as he kept more than one eye
below her chin while wrestling with the heavy, book-filled trunk.

“I’d say,” Tonks replied, seeming to take a second glance at her as well. “Looks like it’s going
to be beautiful for a certain wizard, eh?”

Hermione just smiled knowingly and took her seat on one of the many moving beds on the first
floor. She made sure to cross her legs like her mum taught her, careful to preserve her modesty,
and focused on her pet’s gleaming yellow eyes.

When Hermione first tried on her blouse and skirt, it was with gleeful anticipation of the looks
her friends would give her upon her arrival. Now that the moment was almost at hand, however, she
felt more than a little nervous that she was being someone she wasn’t. Then a familiar voice
appeared in her head and reminded her that if she was going to change the balance of her
relationship with a certain boy, she needed to change how things had always been. If that meant
utilizing her assets more than she had previously, then so be it.

Tonks was whistling an old Beatles tune while the Knight Bus sped around London. Every so often,
the Auror would turn an eye to Hermione and smile. *Yes*, Hermione thought, this was going to
be an interesting three weeks.

*

With a loud rap of her knuckles, Tonks knocked on the front door to Number Twelve. Hermione’s
insides writhed with worry. She ran a hand over her recently tamed hair, ending at the bit of
coloured elastic that held it close to the base of her head. Satisfied that it wasn’t frizzing-out
like her nerves, she grasped Crookshanks’ carrier and set her chin.

The door opened and she was smothered in Mrs. Weasley’s warm embrace. “Oh, Hermione!” the
cordial woman declared and moved back, standing silent for a moment as her eyes swept up and down
her new exterior. After a silent spell, she continued with an oddly knowing smirk, “We’re so very
glad you’ve finally come. The boys have been bored to tears without you.” She gathered her inside
and they were followed by a chuckling Tonks, who was levitating Hermione’s trunk behind her.

The first thing she noticed was that the portrait of Mrs. Black was gone; a bright patch of
broken plaster the only sign she had every hollered invectives at her only a year ago. The troll
legs were missing, along with, thank Merlin, the elf heads. It was a testament to Hermione’s love
for her friends that she had endured last summer here with them still hanging along the entryway.
Her only regret had been that Kreacher had died before she could convince him to accept wages.

Tonks walked up the stairs with Hermione’s trunk in tow while Mrs. Weasley continued to dote on
her. “Such a beautiful woman you’ve become, Hermione. We’re all lucky to have you with us.” She was
crushed in another warm embrace when Tonks made a startled cry and a sound like an elephant
stampede reached their ears.

Hermione broke free from Mrs. Weasley’s arms and was instantly presented with the faces of her
friends bounding down the stairs. Harry’s black hair stood at odd angles from the top of his head,
as messy as ever. It was his smile that she noticed first, however. Throughout the whole of last
year, Hermione had made it her mission to bring that smile back to her friend’s face. She was so
very glad it was there again.

Before they could utter a word, Hermione launched herself at Harry, smothering her face in his
shirt. Once upon a time, they were the same height, but puberty had doled out different results to
each of them. The boys had grown a head taller than her and she had been given... well,
*different* assets. As Hermione pulled away from Harry, she kissed his cheek, much like she
had for the past few years, but this time, she left behind the red impression of lipstick. She
lingered for a moment as his hand automatically covered the spot on his face.

Just before it became too awkward, however, she latched onto Ron and hugged him just as
fiercely. “Oh, Ron,” she breathed into his shoulder. “It’s so good to be with you two again.” Ron
patted her back awkwardly and when she pulled away, his face had flamed a red as deep as she had
ever seen.

Both boys were still looking at her, soppy grins on their faces, when Hermione knelt to open
Crookshanks’ cage. The bandy-legged feline tore from his erstwhile home and up the stairs,
presumably to see if any of the mice he had found last summer were still infesting the attic.

“You look...good, Hermione,” Harry finally said. He reached a hand behind his neck and pulled on
it nervously.

“Y-Yeah,” Ron agreed, digging a toe into the worn carpet. “Looks like Italy was good for
you.”

“It was wonderful,” she gushed and hooked her arms in each of theirs. “I can’t wait to show you
my pictures!” Hermione pulled on them until they were upstairs and in the room the boys had been
sharing for the past two weeks. “We’ve got so much to catch-up on.”

*

“So,” Harry asked, fingering the collar of his shirt, “this is that Ryan bloke?” He was holding
a picture that Hermione’s mother had slipped into the shoe-box she kept her pictures in at the
beginning of the summer holidays.

“Yeah,” Hermione confirmed. “I told you how horrible that date was, didn’t I?” she asked,
watching his expression carefully.

Harry didn’t take his eyes of the picture, but nodded his head. “He’s good looking, wouldn’t you
say?” When he said this, however, he lifted his head slightly – enough to pin her with a
penetrating stare.

Hermione forced her emotions to the side and averted her gaze, picking up a stack of pictures
from Hogwarts. She could feel Ron’s eyes on her as well. “I suppose,” she said as nonchalantly as
she could. “If you’re into that sort of thing; he’s too...arrogant.”

She looked up again to see Harry still staring at her. Ron made a huffing noise on her left.

“You can tell that from a picture?” He rolled his eyes and tossed the picture he was looking at
back onto the pile. “Blimey. How’s a bloke supposed to hide his insecurities?”

Harry smirked a little at this and Hermione turned to answer him. “I don’t know, Ron. Ryan’s as
big a git as one can be without having it stamped on his forehead. Every time I see this picture, I
can’t shake the feeling that he’s mentally undressing me.”

Ron’s reaction was predictable, he looked like he wanted to find Ryan Miller and pound him into
the ground right then. Harry, however, held out the photo to Hermione and said, “Why do you keep
it, then? If it’s such a bad thing, why not get rid of it?”

Hermione considered his question, pulling her legs underneath her and tilted her head slightly.
“Sometimes,” she began, keeping her eyes fixed on Harry’s, “we need to remember the bad experiences
to motivate us to make new ones.”

The pictures in Hermione’s hands became sweaty, and she put them back into the box. Then, she
reached out to take Ryan’s photo from Harry’s hand and their fingers brushed for a moment.

“You’re right, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “Sometimes, we just need the proper motivation to
make happy memories.”

There was a call from Mrs. Weasley for lunch, and the three of them put away the photos. As
Hermione followed Ron and Harry downstairs, Ginny appeared beside her, sweaty and covered in
cobwebs.

“Hey, Hermione,” the perky redhead said and they stopped to embrace. The boys kept walking.

“Ginny!” she cried as they hugged. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, a trait that she seemed to share with her brother. “Mum had me cleaning
the library. She knew you’d be anxious to see it now that we’ve got the doors opened. When I saw
Crookshanks chasing another mouse, I knew it was time to take a break. Besides, I had to see what
you have in store for my brother and his equally dense friend.”

Hermione blushed slightly that her plans had been so transparent. Still, Hermione had been
planting subtle hints in her letters to Ginny since before her trip to Italy. It was no wonder then
that the intelligent younger witch had figured her out. “Well,” she said and took a step back.
“What do you think?”

Ginny eyed Hermione carefully. “I think,” she said with a feral grin, “that if they don’t get
the hint, especially one in *particular*, then they’re beyond hope. Hermione, you’re
lovely.”

She blushed again and took her friend’s hand. “Thanks, Ginny.” They began to walk down the
stairs again and it occurred to her that maybe Ginny could help her with something that had been
gnawing at her since she first decided on having a boyfriend. “But...I’m a little nervous about
something.”

“What?” Ginny asked as they set foot on the landing before the entryway.

“Well,” Hermione said with hesitation. What if confiding in Ginny spoiled her plans? What if she
didn’t think Hermione’s choice was suitable? With one of the boys being her brother and the other
someone she, herself had had feelings for... “I don’t want to hurt the other one’s feelings.”

Ginny stopped them outside the closed kitchen door. “So...you’ve chosen, then? You know which
one you want to be with?”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek in despair. Finally, she found her resolve and locked
eyes with Ginny. “Yes,” she said at last. “I have.”

Much to Hermione’s surprise, a smile formed on Ginny’s lips. “Good,” she declared. “I think it’s
about time those dunderheads moved on. You’ve been holding them back from serious dating for the
last three years, did you know that?”

Her face contorted into a mask of confusion. “Huh? I-I-I...”

“It’s true,” Ginny confirmed. “When I asked Harry out last year...he told me.” There was a note
of sadness that passed on her freckled face, and then she continued. “He said that he really liked
me, but that he needed to sort out things with you and Ron before he could get serious with
anyone.”

Hermione’s hand inched up to her mouth as it dropped slightly open. “He – He said that?”

“Uh, huh,” Ginny said solemnly. “So...if you’ve chosen the one I *hope* you have...things
will work out all right. The other one’s all wrong for you, Hermione. You know that, don’t
you?”

She so dearly hoped she did, but Hermione couldn’t help but second-guess herself. “I know. It
wouldn’t work with...”

“No,” Ginny said, taking both of her hands in hers. “It wouldn’t. You know how it would be if
you and he got together.”

A vision of the future unfolded in Hermione’s mind. Being with him, fighting about stupid
things, never feeling like she could be who she wanted to be...the jealousy if she did try to
pursue her dreams. “No, it wouldn’t be good at all,” Hermione verified. “Neither of us would be
happy.”

They stood for a moment longer, each considering what was about to happen when Ginny spoke
again. “Well,” she said, pulling her own hair back into a ponytail. “If you’re worried about how he
feels about you, don’t.” A twinkle appeared in the younger witch’s eyes that reminded her strongly
of Fred and George when they were about to prank someone. “Let’s just say that I’ve heard some
things during my cleaning of the library; it’ll work out fine. You just need to go for it.”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded her head sharply. “Right. Just go for it.” She gathered
her Griffindor courage and pushed open the kitchen door. Two pairs of eyes fell on her as she
walked to sit by the one she had chosen. It was time to begin the relationship she had wanted for
years.

*

That evening, Hermione had had enough with the tight clothes. It became apparent that she had
certainly gotten the boys’ attention and the need to constantly keep her legs crossed for fear of
showing off her knickers quickly became tedious. Dressed in a soft cotton jumper and baggy sweats,
her hair still pulled back, Hermione made for the library and the promise of some of the most
obscure books in Wizarding Britain – if Sirius’ will had been halfway truthful.

She stole into the brightly-lit room and began to run her fingers over the spines of the books.
She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, only that she wanted to read something new. Her
finger stopped on a barely-worn binding bearing a title she’d been told didn’t exist any more.

*In Goblins We Trust* was one of several books devoted to the banking industry, but it was
the only known one actually *written* by a goblin. She pulled the book from its shelf and
cracked it open.

The smell of ancient parchment and dusty leather assaulted her nose. She padded carefully over
to a cosy loveseat and plopped down for a good read.

When she had finished the fourteenth chapter – detailing the methodology for assigning risk
factors to loans – an hour later, she rested her head on a pillow on the armrest and held the tops
of the open book from the back with her hands. There was a creak from the door and a person
appeared on the edge of her peripheral vision. She tried to ignore the person encroaching on her
personal reading time, but as she became engrossed in the text once more, the intruder appeared at
the sofa and lifted her feet from the other cushion. He sat down, sending a small ripple across the
pillows that caused her to lose her place, and then put her feet onto his lap. Again, she tried to
ignore him.

It was only after her slippers were removed and warm hands enveloped her feet did she relinquish
her hold of the book and set it on the floor. “Mmm,” she moaned and turned onto her back, allowing
her masseuse greater access to both feet. “That’s good.”

“You looked a little tense,” came Harry’s voice. “Though not as tense as you did in your
*new* clothes.”

She cracked an eye and looked on as Harry continued to work the muscles in her feet. “Why do you
say that?”

His hands paused for a moment, and then he brought his thumbs across the sole of her right foot,
using his other fingers on top as counter-pressure. “You looked like one of the girls Dudley likes
to drool over. It was too...different.”

“Different can be good,” she pointed out and relaxed once more.

There was a long silence as he switched feet, releasing stress she didn’t know she had. “You
just didn’t look like Hermione is all.”

Once again, Hermione opened her eyes to look at Harry. This time, he was looking back at her.
“What does Hermione look like, then?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders as he held her feet, his hands warm and comforting. “I dunno. Like
this.” He nodded at her.

Hermione let out a low growl. “What’s that supposed to mean? Give me a little something to work
with, here.”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders. “Like you are now, I guess. The Hermione I know doesn’t like
to hit boys over their heads with her...um, well, with the fact that she’s a girl.”

“I did at the Yule Ball,” Hermione countered, pleased that they were getting somewhere.

“Yeah, but that was because you *had* to wear a dress...and makeup...and...do your
hair.”

He wasn’t looking at her anymore, so Hermione sat up, making sure to keep her feet in his lap so
he wouldn’t have an excuse to stop the wonderful pressure he was exhibiting on them. “I didn’t have
to do any of those things, you know. I could have worn a dress that didn’t show off my shoulders or
my cleavage, I didn’t have to wear makeup, and I didn’t have to change my hair.” The air seemed to
grow heavy as Hermione stared anxiously at Harry. “I didn’t do any of those things for Victor,
either.”

Harry’s head cocked to the side ever so slightly, as if he hadn’t ever considered that before.
“You...didn’t?”

“No,” she confirmed and placed her hand on top of his. “I didn’t.”

She could see the wheels in his mind turning; he had always been easy for her to read, and this
time, she forced herself to wait for him to speak.

He never did. Suddenly, he shot off the sofa – how he managed to do so with her feet still in
his lap, she’d never know – and began to pull on his neck again. “I, uh...need to...um, well, I’ve
got to go to bed. G’night,” he said, and was gone.

Hermione sat in her place on the sofa, staring at the closed door, feeling the heat from Harry’s
hands slowly melt away into the suddenly chilly air of the library, and wondering what had just
happened.



3. Everyone Knows
-----------------

**Chapter Three – Everyone Knows**

“Ron?” Harry asked the next morning as they were getting ready to head down to breakfast. The
door was still partially-opened from when he had gone to the loo in the middle of the night. “What
did you make of Hermione yesterday?”

Ron suddenly froze in the process of putting on his sock, his foot half-clad and his balance
kept awkwardly with one foot. “I, uh...what do you mean?” He shoved his sock on fully and turned to
grab a Canon’s shirt from his chest of drawers.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice,” Harry replied. “She was fairly bursting out of her clothes,
she had make-up on, and she kept *looking* at us.”

While he’d been talking, Ron had slowly put on his shirt. He was still turned away from Harry,
but the distinct Weasley blush had wrapped around his neck. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I reckon I did
notice that bit.”

Harry bent to tie his trainer and smirked. “Well, I think she’s trying to have us on.”

“Why would she do something like that?” Ron asked, finally conquering his blush and turning
around. “It’s not like her.”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed and stood up. “I told her that much last night and she agreed. That
means there’s a *reason* for her...for what she’s doing.” Harry was tempted to tell his best
friend what Hermione had confessed about the Yule Ball, but something held him back.

“She’s not having us on, Harry. Maybe she’s just going through a phase. Mum said that’s what
happened with Bill and his ponytail.”

Harry thought about that. Maybe Hermione *was* just going through a phase. But then...why
would she have acted so strangely in the library. The more Harry thought about it, the more
suspicious he became. His best friend would never do something without a reason. There was a method
to her madness that he was determined to discover and he hoped his first impression was wrong. At
least he thought he did.

“I’m headed to breakfast,” Ron said, interrupting his thoughts. “You coming?”

Scratching his head in thought, Harry decided that the mystery of Hermione could wait until his
belly was full. “Yeah, all right.”

*

A slim figure stood back in the shadows of the drapery that hung in the hallway and watched as
the two boys descended the stairs to the kitchen. She knew they would be occupied for a while and
that this would be the perfect opportunity to report what she had heard. With a cat-like gait,
Ginny slunk back to the room she shared with Hermione, a playful smile on her face.

*

Later that morning, Hermione appeared in the sitting room off the kitchen with a book and a
grin. Harry and Ron were halfway through a third game of wizard’s chess, and Harry’s prospects of
winning at least *one* of the three was evaporating before his eyes. Ron gave a half-hearted
wave at Hermione, which she returned, and he resumed his plot to annihilate Harry’s chessmen.

Hermione sat next to Harry on the bench that lined the south wall and cracked open her book. Her
fingernails were red, and he had to do a double-take to make sure – Hermione never painted her
nails. He also noticed that she was modestly dressed and gave an inward sigh of relief. She was
reading the same book that she had last night and it appeared that she hadn’t done any more reading
since then. Her leg grazed his, as it had a hundred times in the past, but this time, he began to
feel inexplicably warm from the contact. Contemplating moving away from Hermione, but deciding
against it. He used a shaky hand to move his rook in a bid to protect his king from an attack by
both of Ron’s knights.

Ron didn’t seem to notice Hermione at all. He furrowed his brow and surveyed the board once
more. Harry looked at Hermione again. Not taking her eyes of the page, she slowly moved her book
down to her lap and one arm casually rested on both of their legs where they were still touching.
One hand disengaged from the book and was pressed, palm-down into his thigh. The heat in his face
intensified and there was a rushing noise somewhere in Harry’s head that was in time with his
heartbeat. It took a second before he realised it *was* his heartbeat that was causing the
rushing noise, but that he couldn’t fathom the reason *why* it was being so particularly
loud.

“Check,” Ron pronounced smugly.

Harry’s eyes jerked back to the board. Sure enough, Ron had dispatched his rook and was a good
two or three moves from pinning his king completely.

Ginny appeared in the room and glided into the seat next to Ron. She looked at the pieces for a
moment before shaking her head. “Too bad, Harry. You may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but you’re miserable
at chess.”

“Shut up!” Harry yelled good-naturedly, and Ginny poked her tongue out as a reply.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Hermione look up at Ginny and...*wink*.
Suddenly unsure about which game was the more important, Harry pushed his king deliberately into
the path of Ron’s bishop. Ron instantly directed it to murder his sole remaining pawn and the game
was over.

“Check mate,” Ron announced unnecessarily. “You lose, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, looking suspiciously between Hermione and Ginny. The latter pounced on her
brother immediately.

“How about I play you next, brother of mine. It’s been a while since I pounded you into the
ground.”

Ron’s eyes flashed as he setup the board once more. “As if. You haven’t beaten me since before I
left for Hogwarts.”

Ginny jutted her chin out. “I haven’t *played* you since then, either, Ron.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron agreed. “Let’s see if you can put your knuts where your mouth is.”

Ginny slapped a coin down on the table and Ron did likewise. It was shaping up to be a real
family feud.

“Harry?” Hermione said softly from beside him. She closed the book with a snap and sat up. Her
legs shifted as she moved, sending chills up his side where they made contact, but her hand stayed
exactly where it had been. Harry found his leg somehow pinned by its light pressure. “I was
wondering...you never really said why you broke things off with Susan last year. I have my own
ideas, but I was wondering what your reasons were.”

Harry looked back to Ron and Ginny, who were now so engrossed in their game, that he thought a
dungbomb might explode over them and they wouldn’t notice. “I, uh...well, that is to say...w-we
just weren’t compatible is all.” He inwardly cursed himself for being so jittery around Hermione.
It *was* just Hermione after all – Hermione with her *hand* on his *leg*.

“How so?” she asked. She rotated on the bench to face him fully and placed her other hand on
Harry’s shoulder. Her gaze was oddly unnerving.

“W-Well,” Harry started, feeling the heat rise in his neck again. “She and I had different ideas
on what it meant to date. The snogging was fine – she’s a wonderful girl – but groping in the broom
closet in the dark got a little old after the tenth time.”

“I see,” Hermione replied, and looked every bit like she would love to be taking notes just
then. “And what is it that you look for in a girl? Her body? Her hair? Dizzying intellect?”

Harry budged down the bench a little as she spoke, hopefully being surreptitious about it, but
knowing that he had failed when her hands withdrew. “I, uh...honestly?” he asked.

She didn’t seem fazed by the removal of her hands and nodded. “Honestly.”

“Why, uh...why the sudden interest?”

She leaned over, reached out a hand and placed it back on his thigh. “It’s purely intellectual
curiosity,” she said seriously.

Something told Harry that wasn’t the entire truth, but he felt confident enough to volunteer
some information. “Looks are a part of it, I’ll admit – I wouldn’t ever go out with Millicent
Bullstrode. Daphne Greengrass is gorgeous, but her allegiances are all wrong; so I would say being
an evil witch turns me off to a girl no matter how she looks.” A flash of something appeared on
Hermione’s face when he mentioned Daphne’s appearance, but it went away just as fast. “I admire
Susan’s loyalty, so that’s important, too.” A sudden thought hit Harry and he ducked his head.

“What?” Hermione asked, poking him in the side. “You were about to say something, what was
it?”

Harry slowly raised his head. “It’s stupid.”

“What is it?” she asked in a near whisper. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

Her sincerity caused his lips to curve upwards slightly. “All right,” he conceded,” I’ll tell
you, but no laughing.”

She crossed her heart, as if they were sitting in a Muggle primary school.

He pinched his lips together to stifle the fit of humour that had attacked him. “Smell.”

Hermione’s eyes furrowed. “Smell?” she asked.

“Yes, smell,” he confirmed. When she didn’t seem to understand, he continued. “How a girl smells
is really important to me. With Cho, she always wore this really spicy perfume that made me want to
gag when I was around her.” He gave Ginny a glance to make sure she was suitably engrossed with
Ron, leaned close to her, and whispered, “Ginny was the best of the lot, some kind of flowery
shampoo and mint. It’s too bad that didn’t work out.... With Susan...” he trailed off.”

“Yes? What about Susan?”

Harry leaned in even further so that their heads were nearly touching. “I don’t think she
showered very often,” he explained. “B. O.”

Hermione’s lips formed a round ‘o’ in understanding and they straightened back on the bench.
Then, she smiled.

“I said, no laughing,” Harry accused, shaking a finger at her.

She held up her hands between them, palms out, and made a show of forcing her face to look
impassive. “I’m not laughing, Harry. I think it’s sweet, actually. Not many boys list attributes
like loyalty and smell when there’s things like cup-size to consider.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, well, I’ve got my own ideas on what size breasts should be.” He held up
his hands in a mirror of hers. “If they’re too big for me to hold all of them....” Suddenly, Harry
realised exactly what he was saying – a conversation he’d had with Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean
the year before – and to *whom* he was saying it to, and felt his face flame in
embarrassment.

Of all the reactions to Harry’s pronouncement, a *smirk* was not what he had expected. Her
eyes were dancing with amusement and it took a full minute for Harry to jam him mind out of
neutral. “Gotta go,” he said, and shot from the bench, not catching the look of triumph on Ginny’s
face as he sped past.

*

Harry avoided Hermione the rest of the day, preferring to spend time in the attic feeding dead
rats to Buckbeak, and to think about Hermione. Something was definitely not right about her, and he
was determined to find out what it was. Why the sudden interest in makeup, boys, and Harry’s dating
habits? The touching was a bit off, too, but a small part of Harry didn’t mind that so much, just
as long as she didn’t become too forward.

The next morning, Harry woke-up before Ron and trudged downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley
had made pancakes, bacon, and eggs, and had heaped them upon large platters that dominated the
centre of the table. Harry dug in eagerly, glad to be alone for the moment.

“This is great, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry declared as he filled his plate once more.

She smiled at him and flipped another large cake in her skillet. “I’m just glad of the chance to
put some weight on you, Harry. You looked so peckish when you arrived...”

“Morning, Mrs. Weasley,” said a cheerful voice from the doorway and Hermione breezed into the
room. Harry caught her eye for a moment and quickly looked away at the smirk on her face. “Good
morning, Harry,” she said more quietly and slid onto the bench beside him. Unlike yesterday,
however, she did not sit close enough to touch him.

Through the smells of bacon, pancakes, and eggs, a faint scent of some flower reached his
nostrils. The smell itself was quite pleasing, but it was the fact that it was coming from
Hermione, who usually smelled pleasantly like old books and apples, that caused him to take a
second glance at her. It was a familiar smell, like something from a dream, but also quite real,
but amongst the other kitchen scents, he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d smelled it
before.

As Hermione loaded up her plate, Ron appeared in the kitchen, followed by Ginny. The siblings
took seats opposite Harry and Hermione and also began to load up their plates. Ron was halfway
through his first plate when he started to sniff at the air. “What’s that smell?” he asked.

“It’s my new perfume,” Hermione announced, dabbing at her lips with a paper towel. “Do you like
it?”

Harry knew he had smelled it before – it was definitely a flower. Maybe another girl had worn
it?

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, and then pointing his fork at her, said, “What’s the deal
with you this summer, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” she asked in return, placing her napkin down on her empty plate. Ginny was
looking between her brother and friend as if watching a tennis match.

He waved his fork vaguely in her direction. “I mean with your clothes, and your hair, and
stuff.”

“I’m glad you noticed, Ron,” she said smugly. “Don’t you like it when I dress like a girl?”

Ron swallowed his eggs and spluttered, “Well of course not.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course not’?” she replied indignantly. “I *am* a girl, after
all.”

Ron spluttered some more. “I *know* that, Hermione, it’s just that....”

She crossed her arms furiously across her chest. “Why, Ron? Why do you care what I wear or how I
smell?”

“Because I’m your friend. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of.”

“By who, Ron? Who’s going to take advantage of me here?”

Ron’s face froze, and his fork dangled limply in his hand, as if he hadn’t considered that
before.

“Is it because you like me? Is that it?”

A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “Of course I like you,” he muttered. “I’m your friend, how
could I not.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it, Ron.” Hermione stood furiously and continued. “If
you’ve been harbouring feelings for me that are more than friendly,” she said, pointing a finger at
both of them. “Either of you...then you need to talk to me about it; we’re not fourteen any more
and it’s time we got these feelings out in the open.”

An awkward silence lingered around them, and even Mrs. Weasley wasn’t pretending to wash the pan
she was holding any more. Finally, Hermione stormed out of the kitchen and Ron let out a breath.
“I’m glad that’s over,” he said, and resumed shovelling food into his mouth.

“You git,” Ginny said, and slapped Ron in the shoulder.

“What?” Ron replied.

“She’s probably crying and all you can say is, ‘I’m glad that’s over’?”

“Well...” Ron offered lamely. “Fine,” he said, and tossed his fork down, still chewing on his
pancake. “She’s right about one thing. It’s high time we worked this out anyway.”

Ron stood, gave Harry a nod and walked after Hermione. Harry sat back against the kitchen wall
and silently wondered who had kidnapped his friends and who these people were that looked and
sounded like them, but definitely weren’t.

*

Whatever Ron had discussed with Hermione after leaving the breakfast table earlier that day,
seemed to have done the trick. She was just as cheerful and cordial as before and even offered to
correct their summer homework assignments. This made Harry feel much better, but the smirk Ron had
been wearing since then not only matched the one Ginny had on since he’d arrived at Grimmauld
Place, it told Harry that he was rapidly becoming the last one to be included on a very private
joke.

Holing up in the attic with Buckbeak again, Harry tried to work out what it was that his friends
all knew and he didn’t. Buckbeack clicked his beak expectantly at Harry as his distracted thoughts
had forced him to stop petting the friendly Hippogriff. He resumed absently rubbing the feathers on
his chin and his thoughts were drug forcefully back to Hermione.

Her behaviour in particular had been very odd. Not only had she been... well, *flirting*
with him, but she’d also had that row with Ron earlier. Even their reconciliation had been too odd
for Harry’s liking. There was definitely something amiss and Harry was determined to figure it
out.

Just then, the door clicked open and a figure entered the room, casting a shadow across Harry’s
lap.

“Am I intruding?” asked Hermione shyly.

Harry shook his head and motioned for her to sit, feeling a sudden jumble of foreboding relief.
“Just keeping Buckbeak company,” he explained.

Hermione sat next to him, opposite Buckbeak and began to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. There
was a few seconds of awkward silence in which Harry was certain that she was going to announce her
engagement with the Giant Squid, or that she was going to drop out of Hogwarts.

She looked up at him and the seriousness of her expression cast those thoughts out immediately.
“Harry?” she asked tentatively. “How...? How do you feel about me?”

Had some deeply buried part of Harry not expected this, he imagined that he’d simply have run
off again, but he knew he couldn’t keep running off forever. He swallowed and took a deep breath.
“How I... *feel* about you?”

She nodded. “I need to know.”

The palms of his hands were sweating and he suddenly realised that he was in a room, alone with
Hermione (Buckbeak didn’t count, as he was a very poor chaperone).

“I, uh...” Harry started and faltered. Hermione hadn’t stopped staring at him, but he didn’t
know how in the world he was going to express feelings that he didn’t even understand himself. Did
he like her? Sure. Was she a great friend? The best. Did he love her? The thought made Harry
visibly wince. Part of him answered that he, of course, did love her but that he’d felt that way
since their encounter with the Troll. Another, more recently acquired voice told him that it wasn’t
just friendly affection that made him blush when she had her hand on his leg or motivated him to
give her an impromptu foot massage.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, interrupting his thoughts.

It dawned on him that he had been staring at her. “I’m sorry,” he said, flustered. “I guess I
don’t know for sure. It was so clear just last week and then...”

Hermione let out a breath of exasperation and stood. “I can see I’m going to have to take the
direct approach. Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. “Stand up.”

Harry stood warily, but obediently, taking her hand for the extra lift and then tried to let it
go. She wouldn’t let him.

“Now,” she said with an uncharacteristic smirk on her face. “I’ve been dropping anvil-sized
hints for the last two days and I’m through being coy with you, Harry Potter.” There was a flush on
her cheeks from her outburst that Harry found thrilling. “Since all my clever ploys seem to be
wasted on you, let me *show* you how I feel about you.” She leaned in suddenly, not giving
Harry a chance to react and her lips met his. It was very unlike any of the kisses on the cheek
he’d received from her in the past. This kiss was firmly on the side of non-platonic feelings and
it was some time before he was able to think of anything but how incredibly soft her lips were. He
could feel her love for him in the way she moved her lips and held him close. The shock of this
realisation caused him to pull back.

A damn burst somewhere in his chest, releasing a flood of emotion he’d not realised was there.
“Hermione,” he whispered fiercely, staring open-mouthed at her smiling face. “I...I...” But words
failed him then. In his arms was someone that he’d known almost all his life, had faced Voldemort
with and lived to tell about it. In front of him all this time was the one person that understood
him above all others and it was this thought drove him to kiss her back.

Their kiss was much different this time. Instead of reacting to the kiss, he poured out how he
felt about Hermione back into it, trying to tell her that yes, he felt the same way about her. She
groaned and her hands melted into his hair.

Not even the incessant clicking and nudges from Buckbeak distracted them. Yes, he was a very
poor chaperone.

THE END



