Fish and Chips by Silvestria

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 30/01/2003
Last Updated: 30/01/2003
Status: Completed

Harry and Hermione eat fish and chips. Short, sweet and fluffy. Read and review, please!




1. untitled
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**Fish and Chips**
One day, Harry Potter saw a large, barn owl fly through his window. His heart leapt, for he
recognised it as Hermione's. The owl alighted on his desk and he tore the message off it's
leg. It read

Dear Harry,

Do you want to come and have an informal dinner with me? My fish and chips shop gave me an extra
portion of fish and chips for being their one thousandth customer! Have you ever heard the like?
And well, I thought of you. Do you want to come over and share it? Just apparate over if you want
to.

Love Hermione

Harry grinned widely. There was nothing, in fact, he'd like more than sharing Hermione's
fish and chips for as long as she wanted him to. He apparated immediately, leaving the all
important report that was due in the next day, for when he got back.

There was a rather greasy smell when he arrived in Hermione's flat. She was there in front
of him, leaning against the side of the oven, wearing a dirty floral apron and with greasy smudges
on her pink cheeks. The heating of the room was over all far too hot and the windows were all
steamed up. Hermione's hair was loosely tied back, but it looked like it had not been brushed
all day.

Harry's heart turned over. With one of those shocking revelations that only happen once or
twice in a life time, Harry realised that he did not feel like he was going *out* for supper.
On the contrary, he felt he was coming home. The sight he saw in front of him was the one he wanted
to see *every* day. It was the sight of pure domesticity, that which he had missed out on as a
child. It was the sight of family, and he wanted to be part of it. And not just with anyone. He
wanted to be part of it with Hermione. With his dearest, closest friend. With the woman he loved
dearer than life itself.

He thought she looked beautiful. Far more beautiful than she had appeared when his jaw had
dropped at her metamorphis from ugly duckling to swan at the Yule Ball. He was no Viktor Krum.
Hermione did not have to cover her hair with Sleakeasy's when she was with him. Her's was
the grace of natural, inner beauty.

He found himself tongue-tied for the first time in front of her. She smiled when she saw
him.

"You did come! I felt sure you would. It's all ready. I'll put it on the table. Do
sit down."

Harry followed her gaze and saw she had set out a narrow card table to eat on. There were two
glasses, a bottle of beer and the salt dispenser, but surprisingly nothing else.

The first thing Harry said that evening, and he thought it seemed very inappropriate considering
what he had just realised, was, "Hermione, don't you need some *plates* and what
about some *cutlery*?"

She laughed. "Oh no, Harry! We don't need them for fish and chips. Why, have you never
had them?"

Harry shrugged and sat down. "We had fish and chips sometimes with the Dursleys, but we
always used plates."

"Ah! You did not eat them the *traditional* way, then? Now's your chance. Call
yourself British and you've never eaten fish and chips out of a newspaper!"

She opened the oven door and pulled out a tray, on which there were two large pieces of crispy,
battered cod and a mountain of thick, golden chips. "I put them in the oven to keep
warm," she explained. She then put them on a newspaper that was lying ready on a kitchen
surface and carried them to the table. The smell was intoxicating. Harry's mouth began to
water. Hermione fetched two small, plastic coloured forks from the sideboard and then sat down
opposite him. "Now we eat!"

"With *these*?" asked Harry incredulously holding up his flimsy red fork.

"Of course! What else? Tuck in or it will go cold!"

Harry shrugged and speared a chip. The taste in his mouth was gorgeous; warm and soft and
flavoursome. He speared another. The grease was soaking through the newspaper, and the bit of fish
Hermione had torn off seemed to have a slightly inky appearance.

Still, however hard he tried he could not concentrate solely on the meal, delicious as it was.
He kept glancing up at Hermione, watching her sillouette eat. He thought it better than the seven
wonders of the world put together.

At one point they both speared the same chip. They looked at each other and Hermione went rather
red. "You have it," she said.

"No, you have it," Harry insisted. "Really, I mean it."

Hermione smiled wryly and then laughed. "Let's share it, shall we?"

Harry nodded and removed his fork. Hermione lifted up the chip and held it out to him. "Eat
it!" she commanded.

He leaned forward and bit half the chip off her fork. As he chewed it he became suddenly aware
of how close they were. Hermione seemed to have frozen. She was gazing right into his eyes, her
cheeks were flushed and her lips were slightly parted. The fork she held in her hand was forgotten,
as was the half eaten chip on the end of it. As he looked into her eyes, he felt himself loose
control. He stopped chewing the chip and just stared at her, into her, seeing right through
her.

He leaned across the table as if in a dream, to take the hand still suspended in mid-air. As he
did so he knocked over the beer bottle with a loud clunk. The brown liquid spread all over the
table and soaked through the newspaper. Hermione jerked back and covered her mouth with her
hands.

"I'm so sorry!" cried Harry jumping up to get a cloth.

"No, it was my fault!" she said breathlessly. She removed her hands from her mouth.
Her face was bright red. "Really, it was all my fault. Please, please don't get
up."

"Well, what shall we do?"

"Leave it! They taste just as nice with beer on them!" She shrugged and carried on
eating, not meeting his eyes.

Harry found that he prefered the chips *without* beer as it happened, but he did not feel
able to tell Hermione that.

It was agony to sit there and watch her. He wanted to kiss her, and he felt sure he recognised
the look that had been on her face as one of someone who *definitely* wanted to kiss him.
Could she love him too? What if he took the chance?

He carefully and deliberately laid down his fork and stared hard at her face.
"Hermione," he said eventually. "You've got something on your cheek.

She looked up surprised. Her hand went to her cheek. "Do I? Where?"

"There," said Harry pointing. "It looks like grease."

"It will be," she explained. "I was mending my bycicle; the brakes were going.
Where is it again?"

"*There*!" he repeated. "Let me show you." He leaned over the narrow
table and gently took her hand and moved it to the appropriate position.

"There?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Yes." Slowly, he removed her finger from the spot and started to rub her cheek. She
trembled a little. "How *big* is it?" she asked, hardly able to keep her voice
steady.

"Not too big," he replied, and then he appeared to consider the matter again.
"About this big." He leaned even more forward. She drew back a little; her eyes were very
round. He rested his other hand on her shoulder to steady her.

He kissed the smudge and let his lips linger there before sitting back and looking closely at
her. Her cheeks were pinker than ever. Their eyes met again.

"Harry," she whispered, "What are you doing?"

He looked solemnly at her and then replied, in the same tone, "I'm kissing you,
Hermione." And then he did just that.

*Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry and Hermione.
* 



