Coming of Age

Just a gentle reminder: This is romantic fluff about my favourite couple. It is to be read with a silly smile on your face and a nice warm, fuzzy feeling in your tummy. Warning: This is not to be taken seriously in any way, shape or form.

This is set in the Trio's Sixth Year at Hogwarts.

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COMING OF AGE

Chapter Two

by Lady Jane

Harry simply stood and stared, totally flabbergasted. What was Hermione - HIS Hermione no less! - doing flirting with someone else? And she was so bloody busy talking and laughing and FLIRTING she hadn't even noticed that he and Ron had walked into the room! Who the hell was that anyway? He then actually focused on the other person - Bloody hell! It was one of the Gryffindor Beaters - Kirke! What was his first name? Dammit! He couldn't remember! So what, his name didn't really matter. He hated him. Stupid git. Just wait till their next Quidditch practice...

Ron in the mean time had kept walking, heading for the lounge in front of the fireplace. He stopped and looked around in confusion when he realised he'd said something to a Harry that wasn't there. Then he spotted him standing a little way back, staring at Hermione.

He groaned softly before calling out, not too loudly, 'Harry!'

Oh bloody hell! If only he could see himself, the great prat! And he hadn't heard him. He tried again, a little louder this time. 'Harry!' This time he managed to puncture Harry's hypnotic fascination with Hermione's antics. Then, as Harry turned his head slowly to look at him, Ron noticed he looked quite dazed. He signalled frantically to him. 'Get over here!' he hissed.

Harry's feet automatically started walking, taking him to join Ron, but his eyes went straight back to looking at Hermione as though he had no control over them. He came to a sudden stop and looked down to see he'd bumped into the end of the lounge on which Ron was now seated.

'For pity's sake, Harry!' cried Ron. 'Sit down and stop gawping!' Harry seemed incapable of breaking out of his horrified reverie so Ron grabbed his arm and yanked him around the end of the lounge, pulling hard so that he sat down. His line of sight to Hermione cut, Harry focused at last on Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Harry, mate, you're not being cool. Gawping and staring and walking into furniture is just dumb'

'Cool? I don't care about cool Ron - I just care about-'

'Hermione,' Ron finished for him. 'Yeah, I know. It's been sorta obvious since start of term - actually, no, I think I noticed it when we all met up in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago.'

Harry sat up straight and stared at Ron. 'Obvious?'

Ron nodded his head. 'Oh yeah - very obvious, mate.' Harry looked so mortified Ron quickly added, 'But only to me I reckon!'

'Do you think Hermione's noticed?'

Shrugging, Ron said, 'Hard to say mate, but I don't think so. She's clever with most everything else but I've never heard her talk about boys and stuff.' Ron didn't have the heart to tell him that he reckoned Hermione would either have to be walking around with a bag over her head twenty four hours a day or actually not be in the country to have missed Harry's altered state since they'd all met up to buy their school supplies a few weeks ago. He couldn't fathom why Hermione was ignoring it, but then all girls were pretty well unfathomable as far as he was concerned.

Harry slumped. 'I think I'll die if she's noticed.'

'Can't die yet mate - we have a party to organise, remember? And oh yeah, then you've gotta work on bumping off You-Know-Who. After that you can die. Maybe when you're past a hundred. Now, back to the list, eh?'

But while Harry appeared to be looking at the unrolled parchment filled with Hermione's handwriting that Ron was holding, he was in fact, miles away. Well, actually, about twenty feet away. He could hear their voices and occasional laughter. Idiot! he chastised himself. How could you not realise that you wouldn't be the only one who finally woke up to the fact that she's pretty and wonderful and fun and smart and well, downright NECESSARY, at least to me! He tensed as he heard a chair scraping on the floor followed by a warm and hearty, 'See you at lunch then Hermione!'

'Andrew!' rasped Harry.

'Name's Ron, mate.'

'No! The git! His name's Andrew!'

'Kirke, yeah. A seventh year. He's one of our Beaters.'

'I'd like to beat him,' said Harry sourly.

They heard him walk over to the portrait hole and leave. Harry sighed, then jumped and yelled when Hermione suddenly appeared, leaning over the back of the lounge. Ron couldn't help but laugh.

'Harry! You okay?' asked Hermione, also laughing. 'Why so jumpy?'

Ron, having realised Harry hadn't heard a word he'd said in relation to Hermione's list, let the parchment roll up in his hands again, said flatly, 'He's jealous.'

The look Harry gave Ron was murderous but Ron simply glared back at him. 'You're a prat, Harry, you should tell her.'

'Tell me what?' asked Hermione, her voice full of curiosity as she looked from one to the other.

'Nothing,' muttered Harry, still trying to cause Ron grave injury with the strength of his glare.

'Oh, no you don't Harry! You'll have to tell me now!'

Harry groped around for a reason - any reason - not to have to say anything to Hermione right now.

'Um, actually, Ron and I are just going over your list - why don't you finish your essay and then we can have a talk?' he asked desperately.

'Hmmmm. All right.' She sounded a little reluctant to Harry's ears.

Once Hermione had gone back to work on her essay, Harry leaned closer to Ron so that he wouldn't be heard.

'What the bloody hell did you say that for? Are you stark, raving mad?'

Ron folded his arms across his chest and looked sternly at his friend.

'Listen mate, you're getting pathetic the way you mope around after her. I reckon you should say something. Or ask her out, or something. Put yourself out of your misery. She says yes, fine. If she doesn't, get over it. But you can't keep going like this.' I bloody can't keep going like this - having a lovesick git as an excuse for a best mate!

Harry sighed. 'Maybe you could be right. But I don't know if I can do it.'

'Listen, why don't you ask her if you can be her partner at her birthday party? I mean, it's not really anything major like going out by yourselves to Hogsmeade or going up to the Astronomy Tower. There'll be others there so it won't be too awkward.'

Harry stared at Ron.

'What?' exclaimed Ron.

Shaking his head in amazement, Harry said, 'I never knew you were such a thinker Ron!'

Ron smiled smugly. 'That's cause my brain hasn't turned to mush like yours. Love! Blimey!'

'Your turn'll come mate, just wait!' warned Harry, smiling.

'Listen,' said Ron, ignoring Harry's prediction, 'go over now, don't think about it, just go and do it, before you chicken out!'

Harry felt a huge, twisted knot suddenly take the place of his stomach; his eyes widened with fear.

'See? You look scared already! If you sit here and think about it for too long you'll never do it! Just go!'

Ron reached over and pushed Harry, forcing him to stand up to prevent himself from sliding onto the floor.

Scratch, scratch. He could hear Hermione writing.

He looked down at Ron, his face pale.

'GO!' hissed Ron, waving his arm emphatically at Harry.

Harry turned and walked over to the table where Hermione was sitting. Crookshanks was sitting in the other chair once more and Harry kept his eyes on him as he slowly got closer and closer. It felt like eons before he reached her and then he just stood, looking down at Crookshanks who appeared to be asleep.

Scratch, scratch.

'Er, Hermione...'

'Yes Harry?' Scribble, scribble, scratch, scratch went her quill.

He kept looking at Crookshanks. He had no idea what to say, none whatsoever.

Silence.

The scribbling and scratching stopped and the quill was laid down as two quizzical brown eyes fixed themselves on Harry's now rather flustered countenance.

'Crookshanks, please let Harry sit down.'

Harry watched in amazement as Crookshanks, in one smooth movement, rose up and jumped off the chair, walking sedately over to the hearth, his tail flicking lazily in the air.

'Uh - thanks,' he said, sitting down.

He finally worked up the courage to look at Hermione. She was leaning on both her arms and looking at him with an I'm-patiently-waiting-for-you-to-start-talking expression. However, it quickly became obvious Harry wasn't going to do any such thing, due mainly to the fact that he couldn't think of one syllable to utter, so it was left to Hermione to start talking.

'So, what's going on Harry? Ron said you were jealous. Of whom?'

Oh shit! What the hell was he doing here? Ron and his advice! "If you sit here and think about it for too long you'll never do it! Just go!" He was going to kill him later. If he survived himself that was. He could feel death creeping over him already by slow, agonising degrees.

Harry looked down at his feet as though they held the secret to getting him out of this excruciating situation.

'Actually, I was just going to ask you, um, I mean I was wondering whether, well, not that you have to, but since - well, I'm not sure, but I'd like to...' He groaned as he stopped speaking, unable to go on. He was going to kill Ron. Really slowly. This was all his fault. If it wasn't for him, he could've been still sitting on the lounge, suffering minimal torture compared to this!

'Harry, what on earth are you rambling on about? What's the matter?'

'I don't know Hermione. I guess it doesn't matter.' Harry felt miserable. And stupid.

One of Hermione's eyebrows moved up into a graceful arch as she tilted her head to the side.

'I think it does matter, Harry. You sound rather flustered. You can tell me - I'm sure I could help.'

Harry couldn't stop the low, bitter laugh that escaped him. Hermione looked even more puzzled.

'What, Harry? Come on - you know you can trust me.'

'Oh, trust isn't the problem.'

'Then what is?'

So where was his much vaunted Gryffindor courage now, when he desperately needed it? Bah humbug! It came in quite handy for fighting Voldemort and facing any number of dangers but when it came to telling a girl you liked her and asking her out - useless! Bet Godric himself, in the same situation, would have been quivering in his boots way back when.

What the hell was he going to say? Hermione, I really fancy you and - no, no.

Hermione, I think you're rather wonderful and - nope, awful.

Shit

Hermione, if you had any idea the thoughts that went through my head about you, you'd probably hex me into the next century. Definitely not.

Hermione, I have no idea how to say this, but I really like you and I'd like to be your partner at your birthday party. Possibly.

Hermione sighed loudly.

'Harry, come on! It can't be that bad!'

And what would you know about it Miss Totally Kissable? he thought bitterly.

'It's worse than bad,' he said out loud. Why couldn't he just say it? Come on, Potter, don't be chicken!

'Harry, for Merlin's sake! This is ridiculous! This is me, Hermione! What can't you tell me?'

A sudden gasp reached Harry from across the table.

Hermione sat back in her chair, her hands grasping the edge of the table.

'Harry! It's about a girl, isn't it? That's why Ron said you were jealous!' She sounded triumphant, sure from the look on Harry's face that she'd gotten it right.

'I swear I won't tell, I really do.' She was smiling at him.

Harry dropped his head onto his arms. Shit. Bloody hell. Just great. Freaking wonderful. Now she thinks it's some other girl! What am I going to say NOW? Death will be visited upon He-Who-Was-Formerly-My-Best-Mate.

'It is! I knew it! Who, Harry? Who? I promise truly that I won't tell, you can trust me!'

Harry decided there were far worse things than dying, his current situation being one of them. How could this possibly be any worse? It couldn't. He couldn't bear the thought of Hermione thinking he liked another girl. His whole heart yearned to tell her - but he was probably putting himself on the line to be cut down. She'd never shown any sign of liking him anymore than she did Ron, not that he'd noticed at any rate.

He felt a sudden surge of a desperate wildness and recklessness. Stuff it!

He raised his head and looked at her. He couldn't find his voice but he looked right into her eyes. His heart was in his eyes. He put every feeling he had for her into that look; he didn't blink, his gaze didn't waver.

It was fascinating to watch the shift in her eyes - from the excited friend waiting for some gossip to puzzlement, then to wondering "what the hell?", moving past "you must be kidding!" and on to "oh shit!" and finally arriving at the words, whispered, her voice shocked and stunned: 'It's me?'

His answer was his unwavering, love filled gaze.

TO BE CONTINUED...

By the way, I wanted a "real" character for Hermione to flirt with and so I went to one of my favourite information sites, The Harry Potter Lexicon (marvellous, wonderful site!) and found Andrew Kirke. Here's what they say about him:

Kirke, Andrew

Gryffindor, mid 1990s; Quidditch Beater, 1995-6.
Kirke is at least a second year during the 1995 - 96 season, so he would have started Hogwarts no earlier than 1989 and no later than 1994.
The name, Andrew Kirke, is the name of the Magician of the title of The Magician's Nephew by C. S. Lewis. Rowling is a great admirer of Lewis's books.

Since this story is set in their sixth year (1995 according to the Lexicon's timeline) and I wanted Andrew to be in the year above the Trio, it means he started at Hogwarts in 1989 which fits in with what they say as being the earliest he would've done so.

Please leave those ten little words and if you do - thank you, thank you, thank you!!