The Kidnap of Hermione Granger

“You know, things would be a lot easier if I were like Ron. My life would be more laidback, more relaxing.” Thus sighed Hermione.

“However,” she continued firmly, “I’m not. So by today, I’m going to finish all of you.”

People talked to their pets at times, even stuffed animals and the sort. Hermione, however, was addressing A Practical Guide to Transfiguration. Seamus eyed her warily, his freckled countenance viewing her with caution. Those of a lesser sort of daring had long cleared the common room. Seamus, being either extremely brave or extremely foolish, had been the only one to choose to remain. However, even he had started to view the exit with great affection.

Hermione, on the other hand, was yet oblivious to such matters. A more pressing issue was at hand.

Flipping to page 1305, she’d begun reading

“And in changing an inanimate object to an animate object, extreme caution must be ensured when…” and then no less than 47 times, a pair of green eyes had floated in front of the next few words. It was trying, and her spirit felt very much aggrieved.

She’d tried closing her eyes, but the green just seemed to burn with a brighter glow. Tricking it, by faking a side-look and then very agilely darting her gaze back, nevertheless the green had simply attached itself right in front of her pupils. Harry had taught her that trick, a Quidditch trick it was. Harry…

Maybe she’d been studying too hard. They said when your eyes got tired; spots would dance in front of them. She vaguely wondered if spots included very striking bottle green ones that resembled eyes. Perhaps she’d pop off to the kitchen to converse with Dobby and Winky. An added bonus would be the food, of course. It was time for lunch anyway. So, lunch first, then kitchen, then (here she cast a dirty look at the offensive article) the book.

The green eyes seemed to nod gravely as she gave a last ditch effort to read past the infuriating first few words. With a loud sigh she slammed the book shut, climbing up on the table to place it on top of a large stack of books, which in turn gave a little wobble and toppled.

Seamus fled the room.

Ambling down the stairs, blinking a little at the change of light from the darker common room, Hermione distractedly wondered where Ron and Harry were. Perhaps they’d gone with Parvati and Lavender for lunch at Hogsmeade. Somehow this thought made her heart feel a wee dulled, as if it had temporarily been coated in flour; and her lips for some unknown cause drooped the slightest notch at the corners.

The day was glorious outside, the clouds and sky had once again gone on a riot, the grass was rippling in the slight breeze which passed through the castle and the corridor, carrying faint voices…

“Rather. Don’t you know that…”

“I tell you, he smiled at me! Me! Roger! Me! Yay!”

“Lunch! And about time too! C’mon I’ll race you down.”

“Just do it, Harry!”

Slowly she started to turn around, the last had sounded pretty near.

She never knew what hit her.

Harry and Ron had been hiding behind a corridor, waiting for Hermione to make an appearance. They’d been waiting for about twenty minutes, when they’d witnessed Seamus’s hasty escape. It had been an exceptionally uncomfortable time; they’d been hiding in a broom closet that had not exactly been empty. Also, the fact that they were two extremely active boys of seventeen odd and that one of them was six foot two had made for a very tricky situation fitting inside.

Plus Ron kept humming ‘Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,’ (it was all he knew) and frankly Harry felt Mary could go stew the lamb for all he wished.

Harry frowned faintly. Now only Hermione was left in the room. Why the hell wasn’t she out yet?

“Ron,” he started doubtfully, “what if she never comes out for lunch then, what do we do then?”

Ron was applying his eye to the keyhole. It was certainly rather freaky from the outside; a cupboard that apparently had an eye.

“Eh… Umm…

Shh! Here she comes! Get ready…”

He supposed it was because he was nervous that started his heart pounding, but due to… complications, he unhappily acceded that perhaps his diagnosis could have been less than straightforward. Matters of the heart had always been considered problematic.

It was while wondering this that Ron took advantage to shove him onto the broom.

Feeling as though it were another Harry mounting the broom, he kicked off.

Slowly Hermione opened an eye. Then the other, and hurriedly she wished she hadn’t. The pillars seemed to be chasing after her, as she flew out the front doors, and the chandelier was too close for her liking. Any second now she’d be a pancake on the floor. Her gravestone would read ‘Hermione Granger, Died on a sunny summer day, squished on the floor.’

Oh God.

She dug her fingers deeper into whatever she was holding on to as a fluffy cloud flashed by her.

Oh God oh God oh God.

The thing she was clutching gave a slight ‘oomph’, and she noticed it was actually someone. In fact, it was Harry.

Maybe she was dreaming? She ran through the facts again. Lunch, voices, chandelier, broom, cloud and Harry. It didn’t really make sense.

But then again, neither had that Philosopher’s Stone, or the Chamber of Secrets, and for off the record, Sirius himself didn’t often make sense, and definitely did not the Quidditch World Cup.

Twenty odd men chasing like maniacs after little balls in the sky? In the sky, a few thousand feet off the ground, like right now. And a few thousand men hoarsely shouting after them to do this and do that and oh for god’s sake what did he think he was doing missing that easy goal?

No, no sense at all.

Neither did Harry, not nowadays. He didn’t make sense, always making her stomach go wibble wobble, or looking particularly kissable.

Oh God. Oh God Oh God oh God.

Kissable?

Harry?

Since when had the two started going around hand in hand?

Oh God. Oh God Oh God oh God and the ground was going to smash into them and she was going to die without passing her NEWTs and she liked Harry and she was going to die.

That was the reward you got for being Harry Potter’s best friend. Unfair was an understatement.

Hermione being made prefect and Head Girl had meant many things. Especially since he, the Head Boy, didn’t have to work too hard to get the Head Girl to occasionally sneak out and save Hogwarts from an evil Lord of Darkness.

However, zooming through the atmosphere with the aforesaid Head Girl having been successfully abducted, he really thought the best side effect was that she’d had to keep short nails, being a model for responsibility and all that.

A guilty voice emphasised strongly that the Head Boy himself wasn’t acting very responsibly at the moment. He shut it sternly, reminding it that he was responsibly taking charge of the Head Girl’s sanity right then.

She had a very strong hold on his waist. He blushed, and then mentally chastised himself.

It wasn’t like this in the third year!

No, but then they’d been thirteen and he didn’t…

He didn’t really feel it had been the same awkward position.

The guilty voice revived itself, and sounding a little snide, it mentioned, ‘Oh, and of course you didn’t really feel the same awkward feelings thinking about her, right now, am I?’

The broom gave a violent wobble as Harry strangled the voice and threw it to the crocodiles. Somehow or other, it had sounded too much like a combination of Ron and Malfoy for his liking.

Oh, and the voice had been right and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but that wasn’t really the main issue.

He liked it, oh, he did, he admitted to himself. Having her without Ron or anyone else, just the two of them and this otherworldly vista of blue and white brilliance.

But maybe she didn’t like it? He didn’t mean having her up on a broom more than ten times his body height above ground level; she’d buried her head in the folds of his cloak, and he’d been suddenly very conscious on how grubby he was and wanted to go clean himself up a little; no, he meant him and her alone together without Ron.

Before he’d always assumed that it had been Ron who’d been the glue between them. Dear Ron who’d lighten her up, make her throw away her books by driving her insane enough to chuck them at him. The time during the fourth year without Ron had been boring, doing all that studying in the library with her.

She’d said later that it had been especially stressful dealing with their problems, so she’d turned to her source of answers, in other words, the library.

And he supposed she’d felt equally at a loss without Ron too.

Ron. That’s right. She liked Ron. Just look at that debacle at the Yule Ball - denial and jealousy in its finest hour. Textbook Days of Our Lives behavioural symptoms!

But up here, without books, Quidditch, work and evil Dark Lords, they were simply being. Being Harry and being Hermione.

Maybe something had shifted, maybe he had, maybe nothing had, he wasn’t sure on that just yet. But with her, he instinctively knew no matter he’d be, library or Hogsmeade, he’d love her. Through all the irritation, exasperation, stress, and yes, Dark Lords (again), he’d love her.

And she’d love Ron. And there they would be ten years down the road, stuck in a situation where either a) He’d force her to marry him and she’d die secretly pining after Ron as Ron would her, although he didn’t really think he’d do that, or b) She’d marry Ron, have him be the godfather of her brood, and he’d end up dead pining after her; also known as the situation most likely to happen.

It was only right, after all. Ron had had her heart even before Harry had realised he’d wanted it.

Damn it, it wasn’t fair that it was fair.

He’d just take the opportunity of this afternoon, and then, (here he sighed deeply, causing Hermione to wonder if, perhaps, she was clutching a little too hard) he’d give her up to happiness and Ron.

Blissful in his ignorance, Ron had been merrily setting up the picnic mat. It was a hard feat to beat Harry and his broom, but he’d managed it by telling Harry all the wrong directions. (Left at the Whomping Willow, then turn 80 degrees south and then the same north after about 5 feet, then head back to the Whomping Willow…)

One Butterbeer, three chicken sandwiches, and a good helping of potato salad having settled conveniently in his stomach, (the mat was too full, he justified) Ron stepped back and admired his work. Perfect. Good food, (just don’t tell Hermione the house elves made it), a perfectly beautiful arrangement and a pretty cloud cover. He felt very, very, proud of himself.

Now all it needed was Harry and Hermione.

He gave a little whoop of glee as he sighted the broom far off, and ducked into the well-located clump of bushes. Then rushed out again. Surely they wouldn’t miss some, well, most, of the apple pie.

All in all, it was a very bumpy landing, partly because Harry was nervous, and also because Hermione had finally managed to get her mouth open to yell into his ear at her impeding doom.

They skittered to a halt, and Hermione rolled off into a quivering heap on the ground. Still uncertain if maybe they’d died and gone to heaven, she opened her eyes.

It was an exceptionally pretty spot, and if it weren’t a secret spot too, at that, it would be swarming with lovey-dovey couples.

Close by was a river leading to the lake, with a willow tree leaning and dipping its blue-green leaves into the blue-green water. Bushes and young trees clustered around, secluding it from the rest of the world. And there was a picnic.

Unconsciously, her tummy gave a rumble, jerking her back to the practical, comfortingly more familiar side of the world.

"Shall we?"

She sat, and waited for Harry to do the same. He stared suspiciously at her.

"You're not... angry, are you?"

Wide-eyed with surprise, she turned to glance at him.

"Should I be?"

"Oh. I figured since... ohwellnevermind." Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he decided to let the matter rest. Let sleeping dragons lie and all that.

His hands and feet seemed larger than normal as he awkwardly placed his broom beside the blanket and sat beside her. Put them on his lap. No, by the side. Or why not one on the lap, and another by his side? Giving a deep mental sigh, he picked up a piece of pie, focusing on simply eating.

The bushes gave an exasperated sigh, but no one noticed.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. Partially confused, eventually confuddled, she'd given up on Logic and given in to Instinct. Which was telling her, why; this was perfectly logical and natural. To be sitting here, eating a fine spread in a secluded spot, Harry Potter by her side.

Harry had taken her on a picnic.

That had been the single phrase that bubbled into her (currently befuddled) head. The next thought, was How very sweet!

She liked Harry. Very much, actually. And suddenly with the unnatural natural greenery, and with the hazy sun filtering through the overhanging boughs, a quiet click could be heard in the depths of her mind.

Meanwhile, the bushes harboured a sulking Ron. Bother to set both your friends up, and they don't do a thing.

"Harry?" Harry stopped furiously focusing on his food, and abruptly looked up.

"Yes?" a squeak came out, and he turned profusely red.

Smiling a little, Hermione held his hand as she said "Thanks."

His first instinct was to Withdraw and Retreat, Withdraw and Retreat. He opened his mouth to say, oh no, it was all Ron's idea, you should be thanking him instead.

But with the contact, another quiet click could be heard, this time within Harry's head.

He gave her a wide grin instead.

And with that a quiet understanding passed between them. They both knew something had happened, neither was entirely clear on what, but they got the feeling they weren't supposed to anyway. They'd cross that bridge when it came.

Meanwhile, they'd revel in the bliss of fuzzy warmness.

"Shall we go back?"

Harry helped Hermione up as she brushed the crumbs off her robes.

And they walked back, hand in hand.

If one listened carefully, a quiet grumbling of a Discontent Fellow who Deserved to be Discontent could be heard.

"Hell. Give 'em a pretty picnic, perfect settings, and not one single kiss to be seen. It's enough to drive any sidekick to an early grave."

Thoughtfully, he knocked on the trunk of the bush. Just to be safe.