Blame the Light by Violet Kefira

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 16/11/2006
Last Updated: 27/11/2006
Status: Completed

Hermione, who - by the way - does not condone such behavior, daydreams in class. Such things
have disastrous results.




1. Ze daydream
--------------



**Yo. Wuz crackilackin in the hizow? Hmm. I've used that before. Note to self: find new
witty author's note greetings.**

**Anyways, hello! New story! Aren't you all proud? I'm not. It's stupid. No, not
really. But it's really not that great. It's…ish. Very ish.**

**READ!**

**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**

Harry, Hermione decided, was quite possibly the best looking boy she had ever laid eyes on.

This realization had struck her rather unexpectedly in the very middle of a particularly
uninteresting Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Elena Platt, their substitute teacher, was
droning on and on about some barely dangerous creature indigenous to Antarctica (because seventh
year Gryffindors *always* spend Christmas holidays in *Antarctica*) she'd thoroughly
studied in *second year*, and she had found herself incapable of taking any more notes.

She was at a loss for what to do. She'd never been unable to glean something from a lesson
before. Hermione Granger *always* learned something new and thrilling in class. It was people
like Parvati or Neville who passed time away in class by…what *exactly* did they *do* in
class?

Casually, she glanced at Parvati, hoping to get an idea for something to entertain herself, but
she was only doodling something (something that looked suspiciously like the name *Seamus*)
over and over again on her parchment. Hermione next tried her luck with Neville, but he was just
absently petting his *mimbulus membletonia* as he stared out the window.

Finally, she'd settled on Harry as a means for example. She'd taken a sideways glance to
see just what he was up to, and -

Bam.

Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor.

It turned out to be one of those “the light striking his features just right” moments. His eyes
were so soft, and his tanned skin was practically *glowing* in the sun seeping through the
windows. What god had he saved from imminent doom to be blessed with a face like *that*?

On the whole, it was bloody ridiculous. She'd always known he was attractive. What kind of
female would she have been if she *hadn't*? And what with seven girls a day practically
throwing themselves upon him, she'd be awfully hard-put not to realize that he was an absolute
catch.

Unbidden (but not unwelcome) thoughts started to slowly creep through her mind. Thoughts of his
eyes, his hair, his *lips* danced around her head ceaselessly, no matter how she tried to get
rid of them. Kissing Harry seemed suddenly the most wonderful of ideas.

But then she realized that this was *Harry*. Her friend. Her bloody *best* friend.
Practically her brother. Granted, she considered, one does not usually have sudden and irresistible
desires to snog one's brother senseless, so perhaps saying Harry was her brother was not a
logical conclusion.

*Blast*, she thought, defeated, and rested her head on her hand. She supposed this meant
she fancied Harry. Oh, but wasn't *that* wonderful? He'd only just broken up with
Ginny two months ago. How would it look to their friends and family, if she suddenly showed
interest in this boy she *really* wasn't supposed to think of as anything more than a sort
of surrogate brother?

Slyly, Hermione cast another glance in Harry's direction. This time, he caught her eyes and
smiled. A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach, and her fingers grabbed frantically at
the edge of the desk. Amused at this unusual behavior, Harry grinned at her, then turned back to
Platt.

Frustrated, Hermione let her head fall forward on to her crossed arms, sighing. How did he have
such an unsettling effect on her? He was a seventeen-year-old boy, for goodness sake. He really
shouldn't have been allowed the power to send a girl to her knees with a *smile*. Perhaps
he'd saved *two* gods from imminent doom.

Hermione found herself falling into a sort of stupor, letting Platt's soft, monotone voice
glide over her like water over a smooth rock. Her eyes fluttered slowly closed, and she breathed
deeply, willing herself to stop thinking about Harry.

*“Hello, Hermione,” said a husky voice behind her. Surprised, Hermione* *lifted her head
from her arms. Who would be stupid enough to speak to her in the middle of a class?*

*“You look particularly ravishing this morning,” said the voice, and Hermione whipped around,
startled. Harry was standing behind her seat, hair tousled, school jumper discarded in favor of a
rather* *fetching button-up shirt**.*

*“Erm, thank you?” Hermione squeaked, uncertain. She glanced beside her at the empty seat
she'd thought Harry was in.*

*“You're welcome,” said Harry, still in that extremely attractive voice she was sure
she'd never heard him use before. He took a step closer and placed both his hands on her hips.
“**Have I ever told you how stunningly beautiful you are?**”*

*Hermione blushed**.* *“Haven't mentioned it lately,” she said, stumbling over
her words, wide eyes glued to Harry's. She was feeling a mixture of excitement, happiness, and
what appeared* *to be paralyzing terror**, and didn't quite know what to do with
herself.*

*He smirked. “To be completely honest, I've had this* *irresistible ur**ge to
snog you senseless lately,**”* *he said, and Hermione found herself at a complete loss
for words.*

*Unexpectedly, Harry pulled her closer to him, until he was mere inches away from her**.
She felt dizzy and confused.* *“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered, then captured her lips
with his own rather forcefully.*

*Hermione's eyes closed, and, involuntarily, her arms wound around Harry, pulling him*
*closer. What was Harry thinking, doing something like this in the middle of class? Granted,
Hermione wasn't really inclined to object, as Harry's lips did feel rather spectacular. But
it didn't really seem proper to be going about the task of being snogged senseless in front of
the whole of seventh year Gryffindor, not to mention a teacher.*

*Come to think of it, though, there didn't really seem to be anyone in the room at the
time. Maybe she'd fallen asleep at some point, and they'd all gone on to their next class,
leaving just* *her and Harry. Except, then someone surely would have - Harry then did
something e**xceedingly clever with his tongue**, and she was separated from all further
logical thought**.*

*Much to Hermione's dismay,* *Harry pulled away* *soon after**, a
mischevious look in his eye. She smiled shyly at him. Harry smirked, then said, “Miss
Granger?”*

*Hermione giggled. “Yes, Mister Potter?” she said, blushing.*

*Harry quirked an eyebrow**. “Miss Granger, are you paying attention?”*

*Hermione's* *raised an eyebrow of her own**. “What?”*

*“Are you paying attention?” Harry asked again,* *looking suddenly stern**.*

*Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. “Harry, what on earth are you on about?”*

“Miss Granger, please pay attention.” Suddenly, Hermione's mind cleared, and she realized
Professor Platt was speaking to her.

She lifted her head from her arms and stared blearily up at the teacher, who was glaring down on
her. “Wha -*”*

“You would do well to remember not to daydream in my class, Miss Granger,” said Platt, looking
disdainful. “I wouldn't have expected this from you.”

With a sudden sinking feeling, Hermione realized it had all been a dream. The voice, the kiss,
everything. She glanced sideways at Harry and found him to be surveying her with some concern and
confusion. The vivid memory of what *exactly* he'd done to her in her daydream caused her
to blush scarlet.

She coughed uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, Professor Platt,” she said. “I didn't mean to
disrespect you.”

Platt pursed her thin lips. “Nevertheless,” he said, “I fear I will have to give you a
detention.”

“Oh, but, Professor -”

“I will hear no protests,” said Platt firmly. “You will report to my office this evening at
seven o'clock for detention.”

“Professor, that's not really fair,” began Harry, looking angry. “Hermione's never done
anything like this before.” Hermione's heart soared at his words, and she resisted the devilish
urge to jump him yet again.

Platt surveyed Harry with distaste. “I assure you it is quite fair, Mister Potter,” she said.
“And I would recommend that you not question my judgment on such matters again.” She turned from
him, and began to glide back to the front of the classroom.

Harry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking murderous. “Bloody sadist,” he
muttered darkly.

Professor Platt stopped immediately. “You will join Miss Granger for detention tonight at seven,
Mister Potter,” she said. Harry's jaw dropped, and Hermione felt terrible. She'd just
gotten Harry yet another detention on his school record. And then another thought struck her.

Detention with Harry at seven in Platt's office.

Detention with Harry *alone* in Platt's office.

After she'd just had a dream about snogging *Harry* while *alone* in what could
plausibly be thought of as *Platt's* *office*.

Oh, *bugger*.

**OOOoooOOOoooOOO**

The remainder of Hermione's afternoon was spent in an attempt to be precisely where Harry
wasn't. This endeavor, seeing as how she was Harry's best friend and was expected to spend
a reasonable amount of time with him each day, failed *spectacularly*.

First, Hermione had, of course, retired to the Common Room to study and try to take her mind off
- ahem - *things*. Harry, though, had randomly decided to be social, and had followed her,
throwing down his things at her table. Ron soon joined them, and Harry was caught up in a very
animated Quidditch discussion, culminating in a fierce wrestling match in which Harry found it
necessary to rid himself of his shirt.

Needless to say, Hermione found the Common Room entirely unhelpful.

Next, Hermione's noble mission led her to the Library, where she was sure no boy would
follow her. After a few moments of blissful essay-writing, a loud crash was heard somewhere to her
right. Before Madame Pince had time to kick him out, Harry dashed around the corner, lugging behind
him a half empty book cart, presumably what had caused the crash.

“Hide me!” Harry gasped as he drew nearer, and she ushered him in under her table. During
Hermione's questioning by Madame Pince as to any information she might have on the description
of the loathsome criminal, she found herself very hard put to form coherent answers, as Harry
traced absentminded lines up and down her be-stocking-ed calf.

Hermione was quick to realize that the Library had done a marvelous job of failing her.

In a last, feeble attempt at keeping away from Harry until, at the very least, 6:55, Hermione
climbed the many steps to the Astronomy Tower. Looking out over the glorious view helped to calm
her jittery nerves. Until, of course, the unmistakable footsteps of one, Harry Potter, could be
heard on the landing.

“'Lo, Hermione,” he said jovially, leaning against the battlements beside her.

“Hi, Harry,” she replied, her throat dry. He was entirely too close. Two feet away was entirely
*too close.*

“Thanks for the help in the Library today,” he said, cracking a grin. “You really saved my
bum.”

“No problem,” Hermione said, trying very hard not to think about Harry's saved bum.

There was a tense silence between them for a little while, in which Hermione shifted
uncomfortably from left to right foot. “Beautiful day,” she said, finally.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “The prettiest thing I think I've ever seen.” Hermione chanced a sly
glance to the side, and was disappointed to see that Harry had not fulfilled his obligatory
Hollywood role by staring significantly at her as he said this.

“Have the time?” she asked after a few more silent moments.

Harry shook back the sleeve of his black robe (which, unsurprisingly, Hermione thought was quite
a let down after his shirtless-ness of the earlier afternoon) and checked the time on his watch.
“Six forty-five,” he said. “Think we should head on down to Platt's office?”

“Sure,” said Hermione. As they walked down the steps side by side, she realized that she had
just had an entire conversation with Harry, and hadn't even jumped him *once*. Her
self-control was definitely improving.

**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**

***sigh* I'm so boring. And so unoriginal. Daydreaming in class? How cliché can you get!
Ugh.**

**Shoot me.**

**Please.**

**~ Violet Kefira**

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2. Ze reality
-------------



**Lord, I took about a decade to get this up, didn't I? Sorry, chickadees, I was sick over
Thanksgiving week, and had zero time to even think about poor Hermione's predicament. Mucho
apologies!**

**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**

“Mister Potter. Miss Granger. You're late.” Professor Platt seemed in a terrible mood. A
chaotic traffic jam in the fifth floor corridor had delayed their presence at the office, and it
looked as if they would pay dearly for those extra five minutes.

“Sorry, ma'am,” Hermione said, apprehensive.

“Yeah, sorry,” reiterated Harry, not looking sorry at all.

“You will both have lines,” Platt told them, gliding toward a cabinet in the back and retrieving
from it a sheaf of parchment and two quills. Hermione and Harry exchanged a relieved glance. Lines
weren't bad at all.

Platt directed them to two desks, one behind the other. Hermione sat down in front of Harry,
anxious not to have any distractions. “Mister Potter, you will please write, `*I will not insult
my teacher*' three hundred times.” She passed Harry a few sheets of parchment and one of the
quills, then handed Hermione the rest.

“And you, Miss Granger,” Platt began, looking down on her with great dislike. “You will write
three hundred times, “*I will not daydream in class about* -” Platt stopped suddenly. She
tilted her head to the side as if realizing something for the first time. “Miss Granger, what were
you daydreaming about?” she asked sharply. The scratching of Harry's quill behind her
stopped.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. “I don't think that's really necessary, Professor
Platt,” she said, laughing nervously.

“On the contrary,” said Professor Platt, looking unusually malevolent. Hermione wondered why
they had been sidled with the teacher who liked to cause great amounts of pain. “It is completely
necessary. You will please tell me what you were daydreaming about.”

Knowing a blush was rapidly forming on her cheeks, Hermione beckoned Platt closer. She ducked
her head, and Hermione whispered into her ear, “I was daydreaming about - well, I was daydreaming
about kissing Harry.” Her whole face was scarlet, she knew.

“Ah, I see,” said Platt in a low whisper. “I would assume that Mister Potter does not know you
were thusly engaged.”

Hermione nodded, relieved that the professor understood her need for secrecy. “Yes, ma'am,”
she said. “He doesn't know that I fancy him.”

“That's too bad,” said Platt. She then straightened and said in a voice that was much too
loud for Hermione's taste, “Miss Granger, you will please write three hundred times `*I will
not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter.*'” There was a snapping sound from behind
as Harry broke his quill in surprise.

Hermione thought that perhaps the Astronomy Tower would make a lovely jumping point.

**OOOoooOOOoooOOO**

*I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 298*

*I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 299*

*I will not daydream in class about kissing Harry Potter. 300*

Relieved, Hermione set down her quill. “I'm finished, Professor Platt,” she called.

“Me, too,” said Harry's voice from behind her. Hermione jumped. She'd almost forgotten
he was there. A new wave of mortification washed over her.

Platt looked up from her notes. “Very well,” she said, after looking over their covered
parchments. “I trust that both of you have learned your lessons. Mister Potter, I will expect you
to always be courteous in further classes.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Harry said, looking anxious to leave.

Platt nodded curtly. “And you, Miss Granger. I assume that your daydreaming days are over, no
matter how uninteresting you find my classes to be, nor how much you fancy the boy sitting beside
you.”

Hermione's face burned scarlet again. “Yes, professor,” she said, miserable. A fleeting
glance at Harry saw that he, too, was blushing.

“You may go now,” said Professor Platt, and Harry and Hermione lost no time in acting on her
words.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence until they reached the fifth floor corridor, which
seemed strangely empty after the chaos it had been earlier. “Um, Hermione?” Harry said, breaking
the silence.

“Yes?” responded Hermione in a small voice. She clutched her book bag tighter so he wouldn't
see her quaking hands.

“Er, I was just wondering if - well, if what Platt said was true.” Harry shifted his bag from
his right shoulder to his left, restless. “With you daydreaming about, er, *kissing* me.”

Hermione thought perhaps someone had set fire to her face. She coughed. “Uh, yeah, I sort of
*was*, um, daydreaming about you.”

“Ah,” said Harry, dragging his feet as he walked. “Have you - have you, er, daydreamed…about me
before?”

Hermione shook her head. “First time,” she squeaked.

“Can I ask why you were daydreaming about me today, then?” A definite note of cockiness had
found its way into Harry's voice. Hermione considered hitting him.

“I was bored today,” Hermione said, willing her voice to be stronger. “I already knew everything
about the snow-nymph, and I couldn't take any more notes. I tried to get an idea of what you
were doing to pass the time, and I sort of, er, fell asleep. And I couldn't really help but
daydream, because you were just sitting there, with the sun and the - the *light*, and you
just looked so unbelievably *gorgeous* that I couldn't very well *not* think about
you and -” She stopped, knowing she was babbling. Harry, she was delighted to see, had at least
enough decency to be blushing again after this rant.

She sighed. “I'm sorry, Harry,” she said. “I know I've embarrassed you.”

“No, it's okay,” said Harry, pulling on his shirt collar. “Like you said, you couldn't
help it.” A smirk tugged at his lips, and Hermione punched him.

“Cheeky prat,” she said fondly. “I was probably just delirious.”

“Oh, really?” Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You seemed to really being enjoying that
daydream.”

“And how would you know that?” Hermione fell into the flirtatious banter with surprising
ease.

“Well,” Harry began, eyeing her with a smirk, “You have a *nasty* habit of talking in your
sleep. Oh, *Harry*!” He raised his voice a whole octave in an attempt to sound like Hermione.
“You're sooo *hot*. That feels sooo good.”

She actually did hit him that time. “I did *not* say that, Harry,” she told him. And, in a
fit of uncharacteristic boldness, continued with, “But that doesn't mean I wasn't thinking
it.” Harry stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. Hermione relished in her audacity
and tried not to look back at Harry's face.

“Merlin's beard, Hermione, you really *were* daydreaming about me, weren't you?”
Harry sounded dumbfounded.

“Did you think I was lying?” asked Hermione, who was surprisingly rather calm about the whole
thing.

He hurried to catch up with her. “Well, I guess I didn't ever consider that you might think
about me that way.”

Hermione stopped and turned around, furious. “Well, I guess *I* didn't ever consider
that I might think about *you* that way either! I can't - I can't *help* it,
Harry,” she said, feeling lost. “I didn't *want* to fancy you.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. Hermione dug her fingernails into
her palm so she wouldn't reach out to fix it. “I know that,” he said. “But…it's just so
*weird*.”

“Way to make me feel special,” Hermione said sarcastically, turning around to make a very
dignified exit. Perhaps Harry would have a sudden burst of amnesia the following morning.

A hand on her bare forearm stopped her. A voice in her head chanted, *He's touching me.
He's touching me. He's touching me.* She turned around to face him again, and those
*very* green eyes were suddenly *very* close. Her breath caught in her chest.

Harry noticed and took a step back, releasing her arm. “Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding her
gaze.

“`S okay,” she mumbled in reply.

A few more moments passed in uncomfortable silence. “Look, Hermione,” said Harry finally. “I
wasn't trying to imply that I *wouldn't* feel that way about you, okay? Just that I
hadn't. Not yet, anyways.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. “Harry, if you just want to forget this whole thing, that's
absolutely fine with me,” she said. “I don't want to mess up what we have. I know we could
never stop being friends, but I just don't want there to be any awkwardness.”

Harry sighed and kneaded his shoulder with his left hand. “The fact is, Hermione,” he began, and
she was surprised to find him blushing. “I don't want us to forget about this. I kind of -
well, I sort of like the idea of kissing you. I haven't gone so far as to daydream about it in
class, but…it's a possibility.” He smiled shyly at her, then ducked his head, peering at her
through his bangs.

Hermione gaped. “You…you serious?” she said finally.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Pretty much. Is that bad?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No. That's - that's actually really good.”

“S'pose it is.” Harry stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” said Hermione, staring up at Harry in awe.

Silence.

Hermione wondered whether people were right when they talked about silence being so loud.

Apparently.

*God, what do I do?* thought Hermione, sounding frantic in her own mind. They'd just
both admitted to fancying each other…sort of. Didn't that warrant hugging or smiling or
something? As of now, they were just staring at each other.

The start of a *spectacular* relationship, she was sure.

After a few more agonizing moments, Hermione summoned all her physical strength and cracked a
timid, close-lipped smile.

Harry grinned. Hermione grinned. He started laughing. She joined in, and soon he caught her up
in a hug and spun her around.

“We're awful at this,” he said, still grinning.

Hermione laughed again, and did something she'd been desperately trying not to do until that
point.

She kissed him.

And decided it was a hell of a lot better than any daydream.

**OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO**

**Why does** **Hermione** **always get the devilishly handsome savior of the world?
*cries* I'm stealing her Harry.**

**Meh, that bored me.**

**Hope you were slightly entertained.**

**Slightly.**

**~ Violet Kefira**

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