He did it. He couldn't believe he just did that! She was his best friend. His best girl friend . . . Why did his one second of momentary lust and hormones have to take over like that? Why? He had no idea. He had had moments like that before . . . where her hair had a certain shine for a moment; or her eyes had a glimmer that he couldn't place. But he had been able to control himself. He was able to hold himself back so something like this wouldn't happen. But it did!
As he walked up the stairs to the Head's dormitory, Harry sat down on his canopy and placed his head into his hands and sighed deeply. Unfortunately, this action caused his glasses to smear a bit . . . so he pulled them off, set them on the table, and put his face into his hands again. This was not his day.
He couldn't help it that she looked especially beautiful today in her button-up shirt, blazer, and (in his opinion) a very short skirt that showed of her shapely legs. And the library was extremely hot that day . . . that was it . . . he lack of clothes and the temperature in the library. He was just reacting to the change of climate . . . and clothing. It wasn't his fault . . . no . . . it was nature's fault.
Bloody nature . . . that was what made her roll up her sleeves and unbutton of few of the topmost buttons on her shirt; revealing her luscious caramel skin . . . and the tiny piece of fabric that was her bra. It was nature that made her sigh, put down her book, and pull her hair up into a messy ponytail . . . revealing her very tempting, and slightly sweating, neck.
It was all nature's fault!
Harry laughed into his hands. Who was he kidding? It was his entirefault. He was the one who was so flustered by her movements . . . so distracted by her biting her bottom lip slightly in concentration. His body couldn't help but react. He was a seventeen-year-old boy —I mean, man— for Merlin's sake! It was in his nature!
Nature . . . maybe it was all nature's fault. No, he said to himself, it was you and your randy hormones that got you into this mess.
He decided to call it a night and pulled his pants and shirt off, throwing them to the floor, and slipping on some light pajama bottoms. It still was hot outside . . . even if it was ten at night. Maybe he should have thought twice about going to sleep . . .
He was in the library . . . studying with Hermione for their Potions exam. Slughorn had been very specific that this was easily going to be the hardest exam they will ever take. So, naturally, Harry asked Hermione for help. She, of course, accepted to help him. Ron was absent because he thought that since the exam was in two weeks . . . he could study later and dolly around now. Actually . . . his exact words were: "Who needs to study when there are brooms and girls to ride!"
Hermione shook her head and sighed in frustration when Ron said this. But it wasn't uncommon. Ron had become quite the womanizer in their seventh year. He'd had about ten girlfriends in one week. Some of his close friends (Harry included) jokingly called him the 'Next Sirius Black'.
While Harry was busy copying down notes from the book Hermione was letting him borrow, he caught a hint of movement from the right side of him. He turned around . . . only to find Hermione pulling the rubber band off of her wrist and tying her hair in a loose ponytail. She looked at him and smiled, causing him to smile back and look down at his paper . . . blushing slightly.
All was going well for the next few minutes . . . until Harry saw another movement from beside him. More nonchalantly, he looked to his right and his mouth dropped. Hermione's sleeves were rolled up and she was unbuttoning her shirt.
Oh Merlin . . . this can't be good . . .
Actually, it was the opposite of good. It was bad . . . horrible, even. Hermione had undone the two topmost buttons of her shirt. And that revealed her tan, caramel colored skin . . . and —what was that— a bit of red, lacy fabric that could only be . . .
He was in deep now. When he turned back to his paper and quill, he found his hand both sweating and shaking. He placed his left hand over it to cease the movement so she wouldn't notice . . . no success.
Hermione did notice . . . and looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Harry?" she asked in a whisper.
Harry jumped a little from the sound of her voice . . . also not going un-noticed by Hermione. "Are you alright?"
Harry looked her in the eye . . . not a good idea. He was immediately lost in her cinnamon pools. He couldn't speak. She'd know he was lying. How, you ask? She always knew. So he settled for nodding and quickly looked back down to his parchment.
She grinded her teeth. She could tell. She could tell he was lying . . . there was no doubt that she could tell. She looked down to his paper and saw his scribbling with a shaky —and obviously sweating— hand. So his neat handwriting was being to look like the chick-scratch that Ron's was.
Out of instinct, she placed her cool palm atop his trembling one, causing him to jump a little at the contact. "Harry . . . please tell me."
He shook his head, not looking up from his notes. She couldn't know. She would freak out and never speak to him again. Or worse . . . she could feel sorry for him and give him 'the speech' on how there is always someone out there for someone . . . but she wasn't it. Oh . . . that was his worst nightmare. "I'm fine, 'Mione."
She mimicked his action, "No you're not. Something's bothering you . . . and I'm not going to stop until I find out what."
He smiled a little inside. Of course she wouldn't . . . she would bug him constantly about it. "It's nothing important."
Hermione smiled, confusing Harry a bit, "Harry . . . anything that concerns you, concerns me. Even if it isn't about me . . . I still want to know so I can help you."
Oh, it was about her all right. She had no idea how bloody mad she was making him! He couldn't even focus on an assignment because she unbuttoned her shirt trying to cool herself off. "I know you want to help," he said, looking up slowly from the table and finally meeting her eyes again. He gulped a little and started speaking before his voice would cease —which he knew it would— "But I am fine . . . It's nothing."
"Harry, nothing is always something to you." She squeezed her hand slightly atop his, causing his palms to sweat more, "Whatever it's about . . . it must be important enough for you to not focus on studying for the upcoming Potions exam."
He smiled at her. Trust Hermione to relate the situation to homework. Surprisingly . . . she smiled back.
That smile. That dazzling, bright, gorgeous smile! That was the one thing that set him off of the edge. Not the skin that was exposed on her chest. Not the tantalizing next that was clearly visible now that her hair was pulled back. Not her cinnamon eyes with a life of their own.
Why was her smile so important? It not only showed off her pearly while teeth . . . but also drew attention to her plump, pink lips. No sane man can resist the magnetic pull of a girl —no, woman's— lips. So that was exactly what happened.
His eyes darted to her lips . . . then her eyes . . . then her lips again. Unconsciously, he turned his hands around and intertwined her small hand with his. This caused her to look at their adjoined hands and give Harry the element of surprise.
When her gaze drifted back up to Harry . . . she found his lips colliding with hers in a chaste kiss. It wasn't a passionate kiss . . . or even a kiss at all. Just a brief joining of the lips. It was over before it began, basically.
Even though it was such a short encounter, Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw a faint blush come across the cheeks of Hermione. Wait . . . a blush? Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, biggest know-it-all in the history of all mankind, did not blush. Not one occasion had she blushed. Not one that Harry could recall. Was that a good sign?
Obviously it was, because not even a second later, Hermione leaned in and kissed him lightly. It was a tiny bit longer than the fist kiss they had shared. But it was sill a kiss.
She kissed me back!
She pulled back from him slightly to find him the lightest shade of pink . . . matching her tinted cheeks. He took this as a good sign. A very good sign. Her lips were so soft . . . so smooth. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to feel her lips upon his. So he kissed her.
It started out as that. Them giving each other chaste kisses. Until Harry turned around in his chair, causing her to do the same. The effect was that their knees were now touching. They looked each other in the eyes and leaned in, the kisses lasting long and longer each time.
Harry slid his hand from the back of his chair to her golden locks and pulled her lips to his. Her hands, in turn, went to start caressing his legs. This made his stomach dance with butterflies waiting to burst out.
Her lips dragged across his, his face tilted to get a better angle. Before they knew it . . . they were standing. He took this opportunity to grab her by her waist and pull their bodies closer. Her hands made their way up to his neck and played with the ebony locks, causing Goosebumps to erupt.
He turned them around and stepped forward until her back collided with a bookshelf. He felt her smile into their kiss. Trust Hermione to get turned on by having her back pressed against numerous books.
Harry's hands began to wander to her waist and play with the hem of it. When he touched bare skin, she moaned.
Oh, Merlin, she moaned!
He mouth was now slightly parted and gave Harry the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. It was everything he thought it would be. Warm, welcoming . . . and wet, of course. Her tongue found his and they soon began to tangle within each other.
When he began to move his hands further south, he went rigid. He shouldn't be doing this. Hermione was his best friend. He couldn't take advantage of her like this. Friends do not snog friends!
He looked up into her eyes to find her looking at him with a slightly furrowed brow. She was confused. She obviously wanted it, too. She kissed him back, for Merlin's sake! But, Harry figured this was all heat-of-the-moment and detangled himself from her, leaving her hands limp by her waist.
He felt her eyes staring holes into his back when he began to pack his things into his book bag. He couldn't turn around and face her. It would take all of his energy to not kiss her again. He shrugged the book bag onto his shoulders and started to walk away.
He heard her calling his name. He refused to respond.
She was no longer whispering and was practically yelling at him.
It was a desperate call for him to come back.
As he made his way further down the hall, the calls got dimmer and dimmer until they finally eased altogether. He then broke out into a jog to get back to his common room, so as not to risk being caught by her.
What? That wasn't supposed to happen . . . he was supposed to go back to his room and fall asleep.
Wait . . . the voice sounded awfully close . . .
Harry opened his eyes and found himself staring at the drapes of his canopy. He wiped the sweat that was now accumulated on his brow. Of course he would dream about what happened that night. It was just Merlin's way of torturing him . . . playing a very cruel joke.
The banging on his door was noticeable now. It was her. She wanted to ask him why he walk away. Well . . . he couldn't tell her. She wouldn't understand. And she never would . . .
"Harry James Potter, open up your door this instant or I will open it myself!"
She couldn't. He made sure to put the strongest silent locking charm he knew on there. There was no way she could get through . . .
"Fine! You leave me with no choice . . . Reducto Maximus!"
The door of his room blew open, sending pieces of wood flying everywhere. Apparently he forgot one tiny detail . . . she was Hermione.
She walked into his room, carefully stepping over the broken shards of wood that now scattered his floor. He then noticed that he, himself, was covered in woodchips, so he brushed them off and they joined the rest on the floor.
When he looked up, he saw Hermione look at him . . . the evidence she was crying was overwhelming. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose was the slightest shade of pink, and tearstains covered her cheeks. He felt his stomach plunge. He made her cry. He made Hermione . . . his best friend . . . his snogging partner for five glorious minutes . . . cry.
"Hermione . . ." he started, "I can ex—"
"No." she interrupted, "I don't want you to explain yourself."
He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Y-you don't?"
"No." she said, "It's obvious that you don't like me enough to . . . to continue kissing me."
He shook his head, "‛Mione . . . it's nothing like that."
"Oh really?" she asked, "T-then what is it?"
Harry pushed the covers off of him, "I just . . . I didn't want to take advantage of you. I didn't want to force you to do something you didn't want to do."
"Harry . . . I made it quite clear that I wanted to kiss you, too."
"I know . . ."
"Then why did you walk away from me . . . after I called your name ten times? Madame Pince had to give me a warning because I was screaming at the top of my lungs for you to come back."
Harry laughed. Bad idea. Hermione did not take to laughing in this circumstance very kindly. He brow furrowed, her hair seemed to stick out on end . . . she looked absolutely peeved.
"This is no laughing matter, Harry!"
Harry straightened up his posture as much as you could if you were lying on a bed, "I'm sorry . . . It's just . . . you, getting in trouble for yelling in the library . . . after what we . . ." He couldn't help it . . . he started to laugh again.
This time, however, Hermione joined by laughing a little herself. They both stopped abruptly, letting an awkward silence envelope the room. Harry gathered up enough courage to speak first, "‛Mione . . . I'm really sorry that I ran off."
She looked up at him, "Really?"
He nodded his head, "Yeah."
She nodded her head, while a small smile played at the corner of her lips. Harry took this as a good sign and got off of his bed and walked towards her. Since he was a good five foot nine and she five foot six, he had to look down while she looked up.
She wrapped he arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. His hands made their way to her back and he rubbed there lovingly. She pulled her face away by an inch and their noses were touching. Just when he was about to lean in, she stopped him by speaking in a whisper, "I do have one more question."
He smiled, "Ask away."
She returned his smile, "Why was it, exactly that you kissed me in the first place?"
"Well . . . when you started to unbutton your shirt like that . . . and pull you hair back . . . I couldn't resist."
Hermione wrinkled her nose, "Is that the only reason? Because you were randy?"
Harry shook his head, "N-no of course not."
She tilted her head to the side while she unwound her hands from behind his neck, "Would you care to explain why to me, then?"
Harry was at a loss for words. Why did he kiss her? Surely he thought she was the most beautiful girl —woman— he'd ever met. But why did he have a sudden interest in her. Was it just because he was randy?
Oh Merlin, he thought, I don't know why . . . and of all the bloody time in the world to be pondering why . . .
"I . . . uh . . . w-well you s-see . . ."
Hermione put her hands on her hips and started to tap her foot impatiently, "Well?"
He started to sweat. What should he tell her? Should he lie? No . . . she would be able to tell. What in the bleeding hell was he supposed to do?
"Well . . . its obvious what is going on."
Harry looked at her. It was? Did she have an explanation to why he wanted to kiss her in the first place? "It is?"
"Yes. It is all plain and clear as crystal." She said.
Harry raised his eyebrow, "Care to share with the class?"
"I was just another snog." She said.
"What?" Harry asked.
Hermione's jaw clenched and he could see the tears starting to well up in her eyes. "I was just another snog for you. You don't really care about me . . . I was just there when you were a tad randy. I was just a play-thing."
"It's all so clear to me now. You're starting to become just like Ron. Snogging and —Merlin forbid— shagging any girl you please. You obviously don't care about me o-or my feelings. I'm just a know-it-all, prude bookworm, who doesn't know a thing about relationships because the only one I-I've had was with someone who could barely speak proper English!" Hermione had a single tear running down her cheek. How he wanted to rub or kiss it away. But he still didn't know why! But certainly that wasn't the reason . . . he would never use Hermione like that. Ever.
When he didn't respond, more tears started to fall, "I knew it. I-I knew I shouldn't have fallen for you . . . if this is where it leads me. It's clear that you don't feel the same way about me. So I-I'll just save you all the trouble and leave."
Before Harry could even protest her reasoning, she sprinted out the door, leaving a very empty . . . and very lonely room.
What have I done?