Half an Hour by Paracelsus

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 17/03/2005
Last Updated: 18/03/2005
Status: Completed

A pivotal scene from "Order of the Phoenix", as seen from Hermione's PoV.




1. untitled
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(**A/N:** Well, this is the first story I've ever posted on Portkey, so bear with me a
bit until I get the hang of it. With "Half-Blood Prince" so close, I wanted to get this
snippet from "Goblet of Fire" published. Let me know what you think!)

(**Disclaimer:** Having checked my bank account, I'm quite sure I'm not Jo Rowling
and that I'm not making any money from these characters. Ah well…)

**Half an Hour**

by Paracelsus

I can't concentrate. I thought I could write a letter to Viktor, but I'm too distracted…
I've only managed to fill half a roll of parchment. I keep looking at the entrance to the
Common Room. Where *is* he? It's been half an hour...

At least I could finally give him some time alone with Cho. Well, almost alone… Marietta was
still there when I hustled Ron away. But that's still better than nothing. Certainly better
than when Cho tried to chat with us and Ron jumped in with both feet… who cares about the Tutshill
Tornados, for Merlin's sake? This time they can have a nice, quiet chat.

He fancies her. I can tell from the way he turns awkward whenever she's near. And since the
day we formed the D.A., it's been obvious that she likes him, too. Couldn't take her eyes
off him, no she couldn't… Not that I was paying particular attention, I just happened to
notice.

They'll do well together. I hope so. He's my best friend in all the world, and I want
what's best for him. If Cho makes him happy, I'll be happy.

So why can't I feel happy? Get a grip, girl. Help Ron with his Transfiguration essay, finish
your letter… stop looking for him to come in.

Why hasn't he come in? It's been half an hour…

Here he comes. Finally. He's joining us, but he looks rather dazed. "Are you all right,
Harry?" I ask.

He shrugs. Oh, I know this look. He's starting to close up again. Whatever happened with
Cho, he doesn't really want to talk about it. But why not? If they were only talking…

Oh, no. They must have been done *more* than talk.

"What's up?" Ron asks. "What's happened?" He's still not
answering. I know what's happened... I think I know. I have to make sure.

"Is it Cho? Did she corner you after the meeting?" Ouch, *that* sounded clinical.
Not the warm, compassionate tone I was hoping for. What's *wrong* with me this
evening?

Ron sniggers, which is perfectly typical. I give him a half-power glare, and he stops. "So
– er – what did she want?" Ron asks in a horrid attempt at nonchalance.

He finally opens his mouth. "She – she – er –" Oh no, he can't even talk about it.
I'm afraid to know what that means. I have to know what that means.

"Did you kiss?" I ask. *Aaack!* I sound worse than before! Why can't I sound
like a concerned friend?

He nods. Ron barks out a laugh and starts rolling on the hearthrug. Thoroughly enjoying all
this, prat that he is. I give Ron a disgusted look and try to return to my letter. There's
nothing funny about this situation, nothing at all. He's clearly embarrassed by what's
happened. Ron should show a little sympathy…

"Well?" Ron demands. "How was it?" I am not listening to this, I am not
listening…

I can't help listening. "Wet," he replies. *Ewwwww!* I do not need that
mental image! Why should it be so… so disturbing? Isn't this what I wanted?

"Because she was crying," he continues. Crying? But that would mean… that it's
true she hasn't let go of Cedric? Perfectly understandable, but… *then why is she pursuing
Harry!?*

Ron, in the meantime, gets the wrong end of the stick. As usual. "Oh. Are you that bad at
kissing?"

"Dunno," he says. "Maybe I am." He sounds even more depressed at the
thought… he could use some comfort. No matter. I don't care. I am *not* getting involved
in this puerile discussion of spit-swapping techniques…

"Of course you're not," I hear myself say. *Damn!* I keep my eyes firmly on
my letter and try to write something. At least I sounded vague and detached…

Ron jumps on me. I should have expected it. Can't pay attention in History of Magic class,
but he picks up on *this* quickly enough. "How do you know?"

How *do* I know? We've never kissed… on the lips, anyway. One time on the cheek hardly
counts as a real kiss. But now I'm imagining how I'd know… imagining what his lips would
feel like against mine, how his mouth would taste… his eyes so close… *No, no, NO!* I'm
not some fantasizing little schoolgirl! This is my best friend!

They're waiting for an answer. It has to sound plausible. "Because Cho spends half her
time crying these days," I tell them. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over
the place." I'm pleased I can maintain the vague tone, like it's not important. And
it's true, Cho does cry a lot these days. The only fib is the suggestion that I've actually
seen her crying…

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron says. Honestly, the man
would try the patience of a saint. And I'm not a saint.

"Ron," I say in my most dignified tones, "you are the most insensitive wart I
have ever had the misfortune to meet." That for *you,* Ron Weasley!

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron whinges. "What sort of person cries while
someone's kissing them?"

"Yeah," he asks, "who does?" Oh, he sounds desperate. He truly doesn't
understand. If it were only Ron, I wouldn't bother to explain, but…

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" I ask them. Of course
they both say no. I sigh, set aside my quill, and proceed to educate them into the workings of the
superior (i.e. female) mind: how Cho is sad, and confused, and guilty, and has no business going
after Harry until she's settled her feelings about Cedric… erm, no, I don't say that last
bit out loud. I *do* throw in a reference to Quidditch, though, since it's probably the
only thing they'll understand.

I finish my explanation and wait. He looks like he's digesting what I've said. Ron, on
the other hand, rejects the whole concept of a complex mind: "One person can't feel all
that at once, they'd explode."

Fat lot *Ron* would know about it. I put him down with a cutting remark comparing him to a
teaspoon – which is probably an insult to teaspoons everywhere. For your information, Ronald, some
of us feel *lots* of things all at once… confused, and upset, and jealous…

Jealous? Wait, no, I'm not jealous, that would be ludicrous. There's nothing to be
jealous *of,* for one thing: it was only half an hour. And for another thing, in the end
he's going to be happy with her… isn't that what I'd planned?

"She was the one who started it," he tells us. I should have known she would, the
minx. "I wouldn't've – she just sort of came at me – and next thing she's crying
all over me – I didn't know what to do –"

*No,* she's not a minx, she's the girl he fancies. Behave yourself. "You just
had to be nice to her," I say anxiously. "You were, weren't you?" I regret
asking as soon as the words leave my mouth. Do I *really* want details of how he was nice to
her?

I get details anyway. Fortunately, they're harmless. "Well, I sort of – patted her on
the back a bit." Oh yes, that's *exactly* how you comfort a crying girl. I hope you
never try to comfort *me* that way…

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse." I don't want to ask the next question,
I really don't. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't I? We've got D.A. meetings, haven't we?" Oh, now
he's being deliberately obtuse. It's another of the ways he keeps from saying things.

I won't put up with it. "You know what I mean," I tell him. I don't mean to
sound so impatient, but really!

He doesn't say anything. He's closing up again. I tell myself this is for him, that it
will make him happy… that this is what I want...

"Oh well," I say, and I sound a bit distant even in my own ears, "you'll have
plenty of opportunities to ask her…"

He still doesn't say anything. It's Ron, of all people, who has something insightful to
say. "What if he doesn't want to ask her?"

He *still* doesn't say anything. "Don't be silly," I say,
"Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?" I wonder who I'm trying to
convince, the boys or myself. I don't understand why this should be so disturbing. This is
exactly what I'd planned. And it's not like anything's changed in half an hour… has
it?

I spend the rest of the evening trying to sort my feelings. Confused? Yes. Upset? Yes. But
it's not until I'm heading for bed that I realize… Yes, this may be what I'd
*planned* – but I know now, it isn't what I *want.*



