A Tale of Two Kisses

Harry studied the chess board carefully. "Rook to E2," he finally said. The little black castle-shaped piece obediently slid over and hurled miniature bricks at the bishop until the white piece fled the board in defeat.

Ron, lazily stretched out on the armchair opposite him, turned to see the new configuration. "Queen to D7," he responded. "Oh, and checkmate."

"Dammit!" Harry looked up into Ron's easygoing smile. "I thought I had double-checked everything so carefully!"

"You probably did, mate, but it's almost midnight." Ron yawned and then grinned again. "Even the best heroes need sleep to function properly."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too. "Shut it." He stretched and checked his watch. "Yeah, we should probably call it a night soon."

Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading nearby. "You two heading to bed, then?"

"Yep," Harry answered. "Are you staying up?"

She checked her own watch. "A little bit longer. I'd like to finish this tonight so I can start my essay for Professor Flitwick tomorrow."

Ron groaned. "Hermione, it's the Easter hols. We have a whole week to get that done. And besides," he added, eyeing her book, "you've still got quite a few pages left there."

Hermione shrugged. "You know I like to get things done early. And it won't take me that long to finish the book - it's really interesting."

Harry smiled as he hoisted himself out of his chair. "All right - but don't stay up too late."

"Yeah," Ron quipped. "Bookworms need their proper rest, too."

"I'll be fine," she responded, rising to give each boy their customary goodnight kiss on the cheek. "See you at breakfast."

"Night, Hermione," they called, heading for the dormitory stairs. "See you tomorrow."

<*>*<*>*<*>

"Argh, how am I supposed to get eight more inches written by tomorrow?" Ron grumbled.

Harry measured his parchment wearily. "You only have eight to go? I've still got ten."

"Maybe you should write larger."

"Maybe you boys should have started sooner," Hermione interjected. A tiny smile curved at the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe the Head Girl should transfer some of her incredible brainpowers to her hapless best friends," Ron replied, sticking his tongue out. It was a familiar exchange with all of them; they knew she couldn't help but reprimand them from time to time, but she also knew by now that it would have no effect whatsoever on their behaviour. Instead, the banter and retorts had become part of a comfortable routine.

Harry eyed his parchment again. "If I change my handwriting now, Flitwick will notice," he sighed. "I'll just have to produce the proper ten inches."

Their corner of the common room fell quiet as Ron and Harry feverishly worked on their essays and Hermione got even further ahead in her reading.

"Finished," Ron finally said, throwing his quill down. "Bloody hell, that was hard." He looked over at Harry. "How are you doing?"

Harry looked up, briefly. "Still have four inches to go," he mumbled, dipping his quill back in the inkpot.

"Tough luck, mate." Ron hauled himself out of his chair. "I hope you don't mind if I desert you, but I'm knackered."

Harry waved his free hand without looking up. "Go. Someone might as well get some sleep."

"All right, then. See you in the morning." He leaned over as Hermione kissed his cheek, then hoisted his bag to his shoulder and headed upstairs.

Harry worked for another half hour, finally managing the required length. "I think I'm done," he announced tiredly, massaging his right hand.

"Do you want me to check it over for you?" Hermione offered, as Harry began gathering his things.

"No, that's all right. I don't think I could stay awake long enough for you to do it at this point."

Hermione marked her place in the book and carefully put it back in her bag. "I suppose I should go up now, too, since we have Herbology first thing tomorrow. I have some questions about chapter thirty-seven of our textbook and want to ask Professor Sprout before the lesson starts."

"Aren't we only up to ... um...?" Harry was blearily searching for his quill, without success.

"Twenty-one," Hermione filled in for him. "Yes, I know, but it's good to see in advance how it all fits together." She knelt down to pick up Harry's quill, which had fallen on the floor. "Here it is, Harry." She placed it in his hand, then rose to give him his goodnight kiss.

"What?" Harry turned in confusion as he felt the quill suddenly appear in his palm. "Oh, thank-"

Dazed and tired as he was, he was not prepared for Hermione to be standing just there. The kiss meant for his cheek caught him unexpectedly full on the lips - and held for a moment. In his exhausted state, it took his brain a while to catch up with his mouth: Whatwhatwhat?? He wasn't sure who pulled away first, only that they were somehow suddenly three feet apart, his heart was racing, and he was still trying to process what had happened.

"I ... I should ... uh ... get to bed now," he mumbled hastily, reaching blindly behind him for his bag.

Hermione flushed. "Um, right. See you tomorrow," she replied, but Harry had already sprinted halfway up the boys' staircase by the time she had finished speaking.

<*>*<*>*<*>

Ron found himself unexpectedly caught in the middle of something he did not understand the next morning, starting the moment he and Harry came down the stairs and met up with Hermione in the common room. She was uncharacteristically quiet, turning bright red before stammering out a greeting and making none of her usual homework-oriented chatter on the way to breakfast; Harry, meanwhile, didn't seem to want to look at Hermione at all. Ron raised his eyebrows when Harry managed to hand out materials for their table in Greenhouse Seven without looking up; his eyebrows went up higher when he caught Harry sneaking looks at her in between putting dabs of potion on the two branches they were supposed to be grafting together.

At lunch, Hermione's cheeks turned varying shades of pink every time Harry was so much as mentioned; given that Dean and Seamus were excitedly rehashing Gryffindor's last victory in anticipation of the upcoming match against Ravenclaw, his name came up astonishingly often. By the time dinner was over, Ron had had enough; he grabbed Harry by the arm the moment they set foot in the common room, explaining to Hermione that he needed to show Harry something, and all but hauled his best friend up the stairs to their dormitory.

"All right," Ron demanded, as soon as the door had closed behind them. "What's going on?"

Harry rubbed his arm. "What are you on about? Why'd you drag me up here?"

Ron made an impatient noise. "Somehow I doubt you'd want to explain yourself in front of a room of curious third-years. Or worse, Hermione." He grinned triumphantly as Harry turned his head away at the mention of their friend's name. "Hah! I saw that - so spill. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Harry shrugged, scrutinising his fingernails.

"Boy, are you a rotten liar," Ron challenged. "I have eyes, you know. Hermione keeps turning red and you won't look at her at all unless you think she's not looking. Yesterday, you were perfectly normal. Today, you're both acting off your rocker. What'd I miss?"

Harry thumped down on his bed. "I kissed her last night. Or she kissed me, I suppose. I'm not really sure."

Ron felt his eyebrows reach new heights. "You're not sure? How can you not be sure?"

"Well, she went to kiss me on the cheek, you know, like she always does-" Ron nodded "-but I was looking for something and didn't see her, so ... I guess I turned my head at the wrong moment and she kissed me on the mouth instead."

"Yeah, and...?" Ron prodded.

"And nothing. We both sort of jumped away and I ... uh ... practically ran away from her and came to bed." Harry flushed slightly. "Well, it's not like I was expecting that!" he added, somewhat defensively.

"Hey, I'm not criticising," Ron grinned. "So, how was it?"

"Was what?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Boy, you really are addled by this. The KISS, dunderhead. How was the kiss?"

"Oh." Harry flushed a deeper red. "It was ... uh ... pretty amazing, actually. Given that it was a surprise and all."

"Really?" Ron's grin widened. "I saw the way you were sneaking looks at her today -do you like her now?"

"I've always liked her!"

"You have?"

"Well ... you know, as her friend."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Friends don't kiss each other on the mouth, Harry. Not in England, anyway. And they don't sneak looks when they think the other person isn't looking."

"Well ... I never really thought about it much before - it was always easier to just stay friends." Harry bit his lip. "I might, though," he finally admitted. "Like her, that is."

"So why don't you pursue her, then?"

Harry shrugged, turning to face his friend. "Wouldn't it be weird? What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Now who's the dunderhead? I know full well you used to have a crush on her."

It was Ron's turn to shrug. "Used to, mate. Used to. But that faded ages ago - nothing ever happened between us, and in the end it seemed better that way. I'm not in her league. Besides, I've got my eye on Hannah Abbot now. You know, that blonde Hufflepuff girl in Herbology?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know her - she's pretty." Ron beamed. "Hermione's not out of your league, by the way - don't sell yourself short."

"Aren't we trying to sell you here?" The taller boy laughed. "I already said I'm not interested in her like that anymore. But you've got to talk to her about this."

"What am I supposed to say? Just waltz right up and tell her I think I want to be more than friends after all these years?"

"It's a start." Ron sat down next to Harry and slung a supportive arm around his shoulder. "And given the way she kept going red today, maybe she's thinking the same about you, too."

Harry made a face. "How can you ever tell what a girl is thinking? I couldn't figure out Cho at all - I needed Hermione to translate for me! And there've been plenty of times when we haven't understood her, either. I can hardly ask her to translate herself now, can I?"

"Well, maybe she'll be easier to figure out this time - we've understood her most of the time lately, haven't we? But you've got to say something to her soon, before I go stark raving mad. We have that horrid Potions project to work on for Snape, and I'm going to need her to be able to explain things without her going all red and stammery every time you clear your throat."

"She's not that bad."

"How would you know?" Ron countered. "You wouldn't look at her today except in little peeking glances. She blushed about a million times today, whenever you came within thirty feet of her or somebody mentioned your name - I think she even turned red when Neville asked you to pass the salt at dinner tonight."

"Really?" An unstoppable smile crept across Harry's features.

"Yes, really. So go out there and talk to her before she becomes a permanent shade of Gryffindor red."

The smile faded. "I still don't know what to say."

Ron stood and turned to pull Harry to his own feet. "You'll think of something. You've faced You-Know-Who loads of times, and have always managed to do the right thing. After that, talking to Hermione, who, at worst, might slap you or put a bat-bogey hex on you, should be a piece of cake."

"You certainly know how to make a bloke feel better," Harry sighed. "All right," he added, as Ron prodded his shoulder. "Stop pushing me - I'll go! But if I come back with the bat-bogey hex or worse, I'm blaming you."

Ron grinned. "Fair enough."

Harry left his friend to the Herbology essay they were supposed to be writing, and nervously went downstairs to the common room. The object of his pursuit was seated at one of the corner tables, surrounded by books and parchment.

"Erm... Hermione?"

She jumped, then looked up, flushing slightly. "Oh. Um - sorry, Harry. I didn't know when you two would come back down, so I just got myself a table. It's easier to write here than in one of the armchairs you favour. But I can move," she added hastily. She craned her neck around. "Where's Ron?"

"He's still upstairs," Harry answered. "Look ... erm ... I actually didn't come here to ask you to move or anything. Well, sort of, but not to an armchair. I mean," he cleared his throat, then blurted out, "I was going to ask if you'd come for a walk with me."

"Now?" The blush crept further across her features. "I ... I have work to do. Maybe another time."

Harry shook his head. "I'm guessing you've already done Sprout's essay, right?" She nodded. "And McGonagall's reading assignment?"

"I'm almost done," she admitted.

"Then you can come walk with me. Please," he added. "I have to talk to you about something and it's kind of important."

"All right." She took a moment to arrange her work into orderly piles, then rose and followed Harry out through the portrait hole. Silence fell as they went down the stairs towards the front entrance; both of them jumped as their hands brushed along a particularly narrow corridor, but, aside from a hastily murmured "Sorry," they said nothing until they were finally outside.

"So," Hermione prompted, as they walked under the copse of trees overlooking the lake. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well," Harry hesitated; he still hadn't worked out exactly the best way to approach this. "Um ... you know, last night."

"Oh." He couldn't tell if she was blushing again, but suspected she might be, given what Ron had said. "Yes, well ... I'm sorry. I didn't know you were going to turn your head just then."

"Right. Yes. Well ... yes. There's that. So much for my Seeker reflexes, eh?" He laughed nervously. "But ... um ... well, don't apologise, okay? I mean, it was my fault, you didn't know I'd do that, and um ... anyway ... I uh-" he felt his own face growing hot, "-I kind of liked it."

"You ... you did?" He saw Hermione's dark eyes widen in the moonlight.

"Yeah, I did." Harry was aware he was fidgeting - he decided to risk putting a hand on her arm to still his own movements. "I mean, I know it was an accident and all, but I liked it, and I thought maybe...."

"Maybe what?" she whispered.

Although he had hugged her and casually touched her hundreds of times, the feel of her arm under his hand was affecting him entirely differently tonight. He ran out of words to explain what he was thinking; instead, he pulled her towards him and bent to kiss her. This time, neither of them pulled away, and he had a long, glorious moment in which to appreciate the soft feel of her lips moving against his. "Maybe that," he whispered, when they finally separated.

Hermione opened her eyes and smiled. "Yes," she said, smiling. "I think I'd like that."

[End]