Butter Side Up

It was her who got me into Marmite in the first place.

The summer before sixth year, she, Harry and I had been sitting in her living room on a particularly grotty day. It was really quiet- we were cold, miserable and bored rigid to top it all.

"I know," she'd said out of the blue, "boys, I know exactly what we need for this weather."

We'd sighed. Another nice cup of tea. Hermione always seemed to be making tea. For a girl who'd turned her nose up at divination, she seemed to have all the faith in world for the quaint English beverage. I knew exactly where it came from as well. My own mother- the priestess of PG-Tips.

"Hermione," Harry said, speaking for me too, "no offence, but there are just some things a cuppa can't solve."

"I wasn't going to suggest tea," and, she'd added with a holier-than-thou look, "actually. Anyone for toast?"

I remember hesitating. I wasn't adverse to a good piece of toast- in fact, it was normally what I had for breakfast at home. But back there, we hold it over the fire with a fork. Here, they put it in a strange metal box with slits in that it later jumped out of, miraculously brown. Would it taste different or feel different? What did muggles put on their toast anyway?

Hermione jabbed me hard in the side to gain my attention.

"Ow," I'd grimaced. The girl was lethal. Pardon my mistake- still is lethal. "What'd you bloody do that for?"

"Toast," she'd said, in that matter of fact way I really hated, "do you want some?"

I knew that if I said no, she'd pester me for ages. Didn't I like toast, was I feeling alright, did I want to have a look at the toast-machine-thing before I decided? So as usual, I gave in to her.

A few minutes later, during which Harry and I had been debating electricity against magic, Hermione arrived with a large plate of toast. She put it down ceremoniously, looking rather pleased with herself for someone who had just shoved a few pieces of bread in a metal box.

"All that effort, Hermione," Harry shook his head mockingly, "thanks."

She didn't reply. She was too busy spreading butter on her toast. I took a piece and inspected it carefully. I found it quite disappointing that muggle toast was so similar. Then again, I don't know quite what I had been expecting.

Once my toast was buttered, I looked at the numerous jars for something to put on it. I felt quite helpless, looking at those ambiguous muggle labels. So I picked up the most interesting jar I could find. Small and brown, with a yellow top- nothing to be scared of.

"Marmite," I read. "Hermione, what's this?"

Harry looked up at once. He made a horrible face and gagged theatrically.

"Don't listen to him, Ron." Hermione tutted disapprovingly at him.

"Sorry, Mum." I couldn't resist laughing at the way Hermione's glare at this comment genuinely scared Harry.

"I'll, er, go and put some tea on." And Harry almost ran out of the room to avoid one of her moods.

"So," I turned to her, "this Marmite stuff. What is it?"

"Well," she'd said with a rather coy smile, "you only know when you try."

Which was strange. Normally Hermione would be describing everything she knew about Marmite to me. Its origins, its flavour, its medicinal purposes.. I had no idea where she got her information from.

"Harry doesn't like it, does he?" I said doubtfully. Maybe it was really, really disgusting and she was getting me back for making her eat halibut ice cream.

"It's Marmite," was all she said. "You either love it or hate it."

I thought that was rather romantic for something to spread on your toast, but chose not to say anything. She'd quoted it so eloquently, after all.

So I threw caution to the wind and stuck my knife in the jar.

"Right then!" I tried to sound brave, but I couldn't help noticing that it looked like treacle and smelt like gravy. And I happened to think myself quite brave- I'd fought death defying games of chess, travelled to the bowels of Hogwarts and much more that I owed to Harry, but this Marmite was another thing altogether.

Once I had spread it on- quite thinly, I'll admit, I looked at her hesitantly.

"You never know unless you try." She nodded at me meaningfully.

And all I could do was take a bite. I was cautious at first, not wanting to taste it. The salty taste hit me first, making my mouth water. Then, something pleasant, warm and spicy kicked in. With the toast softened by creamy butter, it was surprisingly comforting. So this was what muggles ate with their electric toast, I remember thinking.

She watched me all the time.

"Well?" she asked when I had taken my last bite.

I gave her a warm, comforted smile.

"I think," I said, "that I love it."

And she'd genuinely smiled, making me feel even warmer and cosier inside.

"I love it too."

And then, this took us both completely by surprise.

"I love you as well." I told her. And the weird thing was, I hadn't even noticed before. But telling her felt absolutely right- I suddenly loved her and wanted her to know.

She didn't say anything, which scared me at first. I thought maybe I'd upset her. I was quite good at that, after all. Always seemed to stick my foot in my mouth.

But then she leaned over with that special Marmite smile and covered my mouth with hers. I could feel her tasting the toast crumbs, smiling on my own lips. The strangest thing about kissing her was that it didn't feel strange at all. I felt like I had known the way her lips felt and the way she tasted all along. I think it must have been in that moment that I started to believe in destiny and soul mates and all that.

The Marmite kiss was glorious. I put my arms around her, pulling her in for that comfort. I didn't realise until afterwards that she was holding one of my hands. And I'll admit it almost made me cry. There we were, completely head over heels for each other when everything was so normal a few minutes ago. Although, after that, I didn't want things to be normal. I wanted to be with her and eat toast while it was raining outside. A pretty impressive fantasy, I thought, for a boy of sixteen.

We heard the clinking of mugs and pulled apart. Harry stood at the door, a wry smile on his face.

"I suppose you're a Marmite fan, then," he grinned.