Snapshots by Ursula Lives

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 22/01/2005
Last Updated: 25/01/2005
Status: In Progress

Pictures, like memories, eventually fade.




1. it smells like you
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**A/N:** Well, long time no write. *Snapshots* is going to be a place where I will
ruthlessly slaughter all those fang bearing, glassy eyed, twelve foot, salivating pink bunnies
ya’ll know as muses. Sorry if this story (if it can be considered that, more of a drabble, I think)
doesn’t make sense, I’m half asleep. Review, and I’ll give you two cookies (don’t see a lot of
authors flaunting around two cookies, do ya?)

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I’m not smart enough to think up the HP universe on my own. I just
happen to borrow the characters from time to time.

**Claimer:** A black and white cat. Who happens to be overweight…and plays fetch.

**Summary:** Pictures, like memories, eventually fade.

**[it smells like you]**

It was too big, that much was obvious. Its frayed hem fell a few inches above Hermione’s knees
and required constant snipping of stray thread. Its sleeves stopped right at her elbows, so that
they peeked out in all their knobby and ashy glory--she swore lotion made her sneeze, Harry never
did get it.

He remembers the night he gave it to her. It was the end of their sixth year and Hermione was
helping him pack. He was going to throw it away. He’d even set it in the ‘trash’ pile (along with
candy wrappers and old potion assignments he’d prefer to forget about). Harry had noticed how she’d
been looking at it out of the corner of his eyes, thin fingers tracing the fading Cannon’s
logo.

“Do you think,” She had timidly begun to ask. Harry had raised an eyebrow, but nodded
nonetheless.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it now, in the midnight hour of Grimmauld Place. Maybe
it’s the knowledge that she’s wearing it at this very moment, one floor down. Funny how a flight of
stairs suddenly seems a thousand miles down.

The door creaks open an inch, enough for one large cinnamon eye to peek through. Harry motions
her over. The shirt, a hideously bright orange, dances its way towards him. The bed sinks under
Hermione’s weight as she crawls up beside him. She’s half asleep when he asks the question that
been on his mind since term ended.

“Why?”

He sees her smile, eyes still closed.

“It smells like you.”

He leans in close, nose brushing the shirts worn fabric and inhales. He thinks it smells like
her.



2. can i keep you?
------------------

**A/N:** Hello. Thanks to everyone who reviewed (All my love and cookies to you), and here’s
another slaughtered muse (I found him lurking in the freezer next to my tatter-tots). By the way,
this is a late Christmas drabble (I think I’ve given up on stories), and takes place during
Hogwarts’ holiday break. Review for a tot?

**Disclaimer:** No, no, no. I own no part of the Potterverse whatsoever.

**Claimer:** A converse shoebox full of nail polish.

**Summary:** Pictures, like memories, eventually fade.

**Can I Keep You?**

He was reckless. He was what she’d regret twenty years down the line, and he was currently
standing before her bedroom window, one hand tucked in his pocket the other holding his broom, and
breath rising in odorless white clouds. Hermione shut her eyes briefly before unlatching the lock
on her window and swinging it open, barely missing Harry, who was grinning slightly

“What are you doing?” She whispers, frightened her parents may wake. Harry responds with a small
shrug.

“Come with me,” He says, extending pale fingers out to her. Hermione hesitates a moment, casting
a glance at her bedroom door before taking Harry’s offered hand. She wonders if any of this is real
as she straddles the window frame.

They walk down the brightly lit street, neither one saying a word. She thinks the Christmas
lights are the prettiest things she’s ever seen, he thinks she is. The air is cold, and bites at
her skin through the pink cotton pajama bottoms she’s wearing.

It isn’t until they’ve walked around her block a couple of times that Harry finally breaks the
comfortable silence they’ve been in.

“Can I keep you?” He asks as they stand in front of a house with shiny white ‘icicles’ hanging
from the gutter. Hermione tilts her head, studying him.

Her breath has risen, her heart stopped, and her insides tangled into a thousand knots. She
thinks she may be in love with him, she can’t be too sure though, she’s only sixteen (not nearly
old enough to know what real love is).

Hermione’s hand finds his and she tugs him towards her house (where she hopes her parents are
still asleep). It isn’t until they’re lying in her bed, a tangle of sheets, clothes, and limbs that
she answers, cheeks flushed and half asleep.

“Always.”



