Harry Potter and the Pink Elephant

Parts--Of Catching the Snitch...

Chasing the Snitch, Harry decided, was the most wonderful feeling in the world. There really was nothing that could compare to flying after the golden object, and feeling the world drop away from him as he twisted, turned, rose and dove after the glittering sphere.

And if sometimes he caught the Snitch in record or near record time, with little or no aerial acrobatics, well, that was okay, too. Because catching the Snitch was the second best feeling in the world. The roar of the crowd as he presented the Snitch to them, the approval and delight that he felt from them was incredible. Harry was a not a vain boy, but it was gratifying to receive attention for something that he, with his own abilities, had done. He wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Boy-Who-Had-Defeated-Voldemort-For-Five-Years-Running-Keep-Up-The-Good-Work-This-Year! here. He was just Harry Potter, a boy with some natural talent, whose ferocious practicing had paid off in spades.

And so when he stood on the Quidditch pitch and opened his hand to show the judge the Snitch, he accepted the wild cheering and yelling with a happy and open heart. And when the heard Hermione and Ron yell his name behind him, he turned and welcomed them with a wide grin. Ron had outpaced his girlfriend by some distance, so by the time he had congratulated Harry ("Good job, Harry! The 150 points should help make up for that little incident in Hogsmeade!"), a crowd had already formed around Harry and they quickly swept Ron away.

"Harry!" He heard Hermione's voice over the crowd (strange that he could her over so much noise), watched a parade of irritated faces move toward him and grinned. He knew from personal experience that Hermione could deliver killer elbow jabs if sufficiently provoked. He was absurdly pleased that reaching him on the pitch seemed important enough to warrant such measures from her, especially when she could easily see him later in the common room. His patience was rewarded when he saw Hermione's head pop out of the crowd, a look of intense concentration on her face. When she saw Harry, however, she quickly smiled.

"Congratulations, Harry!" she shouted, and launched herself into his arms.

Harry wrapped his arms around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world and lifted her off her feet. He felt her arms tighten around his neck and laughed when she gave a little gasp when he spun around in a small circle. He wondered what she used to make her hair smell so good. His face was near the crook of her neck, and a lock of her hair had come down over his nose and mouth.

They were pressed so close together her lips brushed his ear when she spoke. "This should make up for--" she began in a low voice.

"Hogsmeade, I know," he finished, the laughter tinging his voice dying out. She had moved a bit when she spoke and this had shifted the lock of hair slightly. He had spoken (mumbled, really) into her neck. His lips were on her neck. They had moved over her skin like...like some sort of kiss. Harry had no idea that a girl's neck could be so velvety soft. But maybe it was just Hermione. He moved his lips again, hearing a soft moan, wondering if the rest of Hermione was this--

Hermione.

His arms tightened involuntarily around her as he realized what he had done.

Oh, bloody double damn.

They both jerked their heads back and stared at each other. Harry saw Hermione's eyes flick around once, probably to see if anyone had noticed, but the crowd was still too busy cheering to pay any particular attention to them. He continued to stare into her warm brown eyes, which looked just as shocked as he felt, wondering how the hell this had happened and what he was going to do now. Some sort of ritual suicide seemed like a good option.

"I guess Ron said something already," Hermione whispered.

Harry suppressed a groan. Ron. Hermione's boyfriend. One of his two best friends. His other one currently pushed against him, where he could feel all sorts of interesting curves and dips. Like how her breasts were pressed to his chest and that really was a lovely feeling, wasn't it? Or how his arms and hands were wrapped around her small waist. Yes, that certainly was very nice. What about the way her legs were loosely entwined with his, part of his stupid, idiotic, loudmouth brain wondered. That was perfectly acceptable as well.

Double bloody double damn.

He needed to stop touching her. He needed to stop touching her right now. He loosened his hold on her and she slowly slid down his body. Well, that was the stupidest thing he head ever done. If a stationary Hermione against him was bad, a full-body-contact, moving Hermione was pure torture. He grit his teeth until her feet hit the ground and she blessedly stopped moving. His hands, of their own volition, settled on the gentle swell of her hips. His hands fit very nicely there and that only served to increase his misery.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

He watched her as her as she tilted her head and gave him a small smile. "Oh, Harry..." she murmured. Her hand came up and brushed a piece of hair off his forehead. She was about to say something more, when a sudden movement in the crowd pushed Harry forward and he smashed into Hermione. His lips grazed her cheek and his arms went around her again.

"Hey, someone tell Ron! Harry's making a move on Hermione!" a voice in the crowd called. The pack quickly shifted its attention to the Seeker and the girl he held in his arms. Harry could feel the blush coming up his cheeks. How was he going to explain this?

"Oh, stop being so stupid!" Hermione yelled back, indignant. "Honestly! Some people can't see two people hug without assuming something illicit!"

Harry smiled a bit at this, but then he felt Hermione's arms come around his neck and tug at him. He bent down, wondering what she was getting at, but then wished she hadn't when he felt her press a warm kiss onto his forehead. Oh, Merlin, her lips were so soft. Her lips brushed over his scar, and then they were gone. He looked at her in shock as she pulled away.

"You're my best friend, Harry," she said, laying a hand on her chest and he flinched a little, remembering his dream from last year. "Don't ever think otherwise," she told him seriously. His shoulders slumped at the implication of her words. Best friend. Don't think about anything else. Well, why would he, anyway, he thought angrily. Ron was the one in love with her, not him.

Except, of course, that he was in love with her, he realized with a dull sort of horror. He loved her lips and her hair and that warm soft spot on her neck, the way she kept cool under fire and could think clearly when his mind was a muddle, the way she didn't flinch from looking out for him whether that meant reporting his Firebolt in third year or calmly explaining that pink elephants represented penises and the implications thereof last year, the way she devoured books and loved learning new things, how she always added extra rolls of parchment to her essays because how could she not, her sharp elbows, her inordinate love of the library, her bravery, her whip-smart brain and her compassion. She was just...Hermione and he couldn't do anything but love her and he did so much that he felt it suffuse his entire being so he had to take a step back from her because first and foremost, she and Ron were his best friends and this was such a terrible betrayal, he had to get away from her.

Hermione grabbed his hand and tangled her fingers in his. "You're my best friend," she repeated. "No matter what happens."

Harry looked at her, but the crowd shifted again and this time it took Hermione away from him. "You're my best friend, Harry Potter! Don't you forget that!" she yelled as she was carried away.

Harry gazed after her, a heavy emotion weighing on his heart, unfortunately connected to what he now realized.

Holding Hermione was the best feeling in the world. And it could never happen again.