Harry Potter and the Pink Elephant

Parts--And Hermione

Watching Harry play Quidditch, Hermione decided, was exhilarating in a completely exhausting and worrying way. He didn't seem to care at all about his personal safety and merrily went into steep, death-defying dives and stomach-lurching loop-de-loops, all in the name of catching the all important Snitch. This, of course, was a normal part of the game. Every so often, though, Hermione figured she was doubly blessed because not only did she have to worry about so called "standard Quidditch maneuvers" but a hexed broomstick or a rogue Bludger would be thrown into the mix. Just in case she didn't have enough to agonize over every game.

"You okay?" Ron asked from beside her. He squeezed her hand and looked at her, concerned over her worried countenance.

Hermione smiled at him reassuringly. He really was sweet. "I'm alright. Just wondering if Harry's going to have to deal with some hexed Quidditch gear this year."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You worry too much. Nothing's going to happen to him here-" except for that Tri-Wizard Cup portkey, Hermione thought darkly, "not while you and Dumbledore are here," he said, smiling at her. "Everything will be--hey look! Harry's found the Snitch!" he shouted.

Hermione forced herself to look as Harry went into a dive, completely intent on catching the Snitch. Just before she was sure he would slam into the ground, he pulled up, brought his broom to a halt and jumped off. He opened his hand, revealing a small, fluttering object and the crowd burst into cheers. She faintly heard Ron shout to follow him as he and the rest of the mass of people swarmed onto the pitch, and she started in that direction, but she had to calm herself first. Another day, another Quidditch match and Harry was alive. He was fine, she told herself firmly. Go congratulate him. He really was spectacular on that dive.

She looked down at the mob of people and wondered how she was going to get through. Well, no matter. She would get through, one way or another. Nothing was going to get between her and Harry now that he was safely on the ground. She made her way to the edge of the crowd and started weaving her way toward the center. At first it was relatively easy going, but the closer she got to Harry, the denser the crowd became. She could just see his face. "Harry!" she shouted, trying to get his attention. She saw him look in her direction, but was soon distracted with the reality now facing her. There was a solid wall of people between her and Harry. She gave a mental shrug and dove in, elbowing people with impunity. She was going to get to Harry and if someone didn't get out of the way (my God, did someone just pinch her bum?), they had to deal with the consequences. She heard discontented grumblings around her, but pressed forward. She finally made it to a small opening and looked around. Harry, for some reason grinning widely, was just to her left. She smiled at finding him and at his happy look.

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

She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his arms squeeze around her middle. He lifted her clear off her feet and she gave a small gasp of surprise when he suddenly spun around in a circle. She giggled a bit, wondering why he was in such a good mood (they had won the game, of course, but he had never been this carefree before), but then dismissed the thought. She felt his laughter rumble through him, and it made for a pleasant vibration along her body.

They were hugging so tightly her lips brushed his ear when she spoke. "This should make up for--" and she shifted slightly because she felt something tugging her hair by her neck. Suddenly, something warm was pressed up against the crook of her neck and she sucked in a breath.

"Hogsmeade, I know," Harry murmured. His lips, oh God, those were his lips that had moved over her skin, and she could feel where his breath had swept across her skin, warm and damp, and oh, he was moving his lips again, and she wondered how anything could feel so good. Please, she silently begged, please keep doing that Harry, please--

Harry.

She felt his arms tighten around her and she felt a little dizzy.

Oh, hell.

She jerked her head back and found herself looking into Harry's eyes. She looked around quickly, needing to avoid his gaze for the moment and wondering if anyone had witnessed what had just occurred. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone was still occupied with cheering the team. She brought her gaze back to Harry's and looked into his brilliant green eyes. What was she supposed to say?

"I guess Ron said something already," she whispered, and then gave a silent groan.

Ron. Her boyfriend. Harry's best friend. One of her best friends. The other one currently holding her tight against him, letting her feel all the changes adolescence and six years of Quidditch had brought. A wide, firm chest that was pressed against her now sensitive breasts. Strong, sinewy arms that wrapped around her waist and held her effortlessly. Long, lean legs that supported both of them.

Oh, holy hell.

He let go of her slightly and she slid down his body. She watched his face, saw his jaw muscles clench and wondered if this full body contact could possibly as hard for him as it was for her. It wasn't exactly easy feeling the length of his body beside hers. Her feet finally touched the ground and she noted guiltily that his hands settled gently on her hips as if they were made for exactly that purpose.

"I'm so sorry," she heard him whisper.

She looked up at him and saw the misery etched on his face. She smiled at him, trying to make him feel even a little better. "Oh, Harry..." she murmured, trying to find the right words to say. Something, anything to take away this terrible despair that she saw and felt a bit of herself. She opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to speak, a sudden movement in the crowd slammed Harry into her. His arms went around her and his lips, those wonderfully soft lips, skimmed across her cheek.

"Hey, someone tell Ron! Harry's making a move on Hermione!" a complete and utter idiot in the crowd called. Hermione could feel everyone's eyes suddenly move towards them, wondering if something was going on.

"Oh, stop being so stupid!" Hermione yelled back, indignant and desperately trying to salvage the situation. "Honestly! Some people can't see two people hug without assuming something illicit!"

She saw Harry smile and was glad that one of them found this amusing. She wondered that she was only exasperated with him, not furious or in a panic, but then gave up that line of thought for now. She couldn't think with him around. She reached up abruptly, wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him downward. She pressed a kiss onto his forehead, brushing his scar before pulling away, overcome by affection for this boy. She laid a gentle hand on his chest. "You're my best friend, Harry. Don't ever think otherwise," she informed him and wondered why he flinched.

She saw his shoulders slump and thought that he was probably thinking about Ron right now. Her boyfriend, her friend, the one who had screwed up the courage to ask her for a private trip to Hogsmeade, looking terrified that she would reject him, but how could she when she liked him too and he was wearing his heart on his sleeve and he looked so adorable and hopeful that she, logical, analytical Hermione, thought her heart would burst, a person who she had a genuine fondness and affection for, if not love, at this point...

Love. Holy bloody hell. She loved Harry. She loved everything about him and wondered how she hadn't seen this earlier, from his messy hair that defied all combs and potions, to that stupid scar that caused him such trouble and caused a mortal crisis every year, but allowed the world to see how brave and determined he really was. She loved how he carried that attitude over into Quidditch, how it allowed him to excel, even if it gave her a heart attack every game. She loved how he genuinely understood her love of books and knowledge and even if he teased her a bit about always adding two extra rolls to her essays or didn't always share her enthusiasm for learning, he accepted that as a part of her and necessary because it made her happy and didn't view it as some sort of personal affront as Ron sometimes did. She loved his humility, the way his eyes would light up at seeing something that passed for common in the wizarding world, his kindness, his extraordinary, incredible kindness, the gentleness that suffused his entire being and let her know that he would never hurt her and the loyalty that promised retribution, if she would let him, for any others that did. He was just Harry and she had to love him because how could she do anything else? He took up her entire being, but that was alright because she didn't lose herself loving him, oh no, she saw the myriad of possibilities stretching out before her that resulted from having him at her side. But then she saw Ron too, and she wondered how she could do this to him and to Harry, her best friends. Loving just one of them seemed like such a terrible betrayal to both. And now Harry was moving away from her, but she had to get him back, had to keep him there, if only for a second.

She grabbed his hand and tangled her fingers up in his. "You're my best friend," she repeated earnestly. "No matter what happens." She willed him to believe it, even if she didn't know if she did, because how could she be just his friend when she loved him so completely like this?

He just continued to look morosely at her, though, as the crowd shifted again and she was shuffled off to the side. "You're my best friend, Harry Potter! Don't you forget that!" she yelled, desperate to make him understand.

She was on the fringes of the crowd before she knew it and she knew there was no hope of getting back to him. Her heart was heavier than it had ever been, heavier than she thought she could bear.

She loved Harry. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.