Fluff for your Friday
He and Hermione were like brother and sister, he always told himself. They had been best friends for almost a decade now, had essentially grown up together. So of course they were like brother and sister, he always told himself.
Well, always, as in from the moment a couple weeks ago that he’d suddenly lost his mind.
Hermione was like a sister to him. Which meant that, as far as he was concerned, any part of her body below the neck didn’t exist. And he certainly, definitely, never ever thought about Hermione’s lips or how pretty she was. And he absolutely never thought about kissing Hermione. Never. Ever. She was like a sister to him. Really.
Or she had been before he’d lost his mind.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
It wasn’t even like anything had happened-like him getting hit in the head by a bludger, say, and forgetting that she was like a sister to him. Or Hermione-he didn’t know-using some sort of charm to make herself irresistible to every man in England. She didn’t need to use a charm for that; she already was irresis-he cut off the thought savagely. No no no no, he wasn’t thinking like that. He couldn’t think like that.
She was like his sister. She always had been before and she still was-would be-really-once he regained his sanity. Which he absolutely would. Any day now.
He didn’t know why he’d lost his mind. He just knew he had.
On an otherwise perfectly normal day, Harry Potter had suddenly lost his mind.
That was the only explanation for it. He, Ron, and Hermione had gone to Diagon Alley to run some quick errands and as they were leaving, stopped for ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s. He and Hermione were both laughing at something Ron had said and then… A drop of ice cream lingered on Hermione’s upper lip and she quickly licked it off and-and he froze for a moment, lust slamming into him with the force of a punch to the head, so fast and so strong he was almost dizzy. The sounds of the rest of the world around them faded into a vague buzz in his ears as he stared. God, she was so… beautiful… The sun was bringing out glints of gold in her hair and catching sparks of amber in her eyes and… And her lips were… he couldn’t think of a word to do justice to them except that he suddenly wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.
This was Hermione! Whatever part of his mind that retained some semblance of sanity returned to life, shrieking a warning, and he abruptly returned to reality. Oh no. Oh no no no no. He had not just felt that way about Hermione, had not just wanted to kiss Hermione. He hadn’t. He couldn’t have. He didn’t think about Hermione like that. She was like a sister to him.
And it had only been a fleeting, temporary moment of insanity. That was all. A fluke. And it would never happen again.
Or so he told himself.
Except… the insanity hadn’t gone away.
She was driving him bloody mad! Just about everything she did, everything about her, distracted him and-yes, damn it-aroused him. He didn’t know how it had happened. How, after knowing her for so many years and never thinking about her that way before, he suddenly found himself noticing everything and wanting her.
It was insane! And impossible. And wrong. Because Hermione was like a sister to him-or she had been like a sister to him.
Until now, when suddenly it seemed like all he could think about was that she was not his sister. And everything she did made him… think things about her… Bother, who the bloody hell was he kidding-everything she did made him want her.
The way she bit her lower lip sometimes when she was concentrating on her work made her lower lip look that much fuller and… and more kissable…
She moved one hand to rub her neck as she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to work out some kinks after a few hours of bending over her desk and he found himself staring at the curve of her neck and her shoulder. He wanted to run his lips along that lovely curve of her neck, wondered what she would taste like if he kissed her there.
She went over to the bookshelf against the wall, rising up on her toes to get a book on an upper shelf, and he found his gaze riveted to her butt and her hips and her legs.
The times she bent over to get something out of the refrigerator-his mouth went dry as he stared.
And her lips… great Merlin, her lips… he found himself constantly distracted when she spoke or smiled or laughed or ate or…
Ron was telling some story from his Quidditch practice that day and Hermione was listening, her eyes alight with amusement and the hint of a smile playing with the corners of her lips-and he forgot where he was, forgot to listen to what Ron was saying-no longer cared what Ron was saying-could only stare at her lips, at that slight smile tilting the corners upwards. He didn’t know what it was but that barely-there smile of hers, the one that just slightly curved her lips, made everything and anything disappear from his mind except the desperate urge to kiss her. To kiss the corners of her lips as they tilted up and then to feel that slight smile against his lips…
“… right, Harry?”
The sound of his name yanked him back to reality as he realized that Ron had just asked him something.
“I-er-sure,” he agreed quickly, not having the slightest idea what he’d just agreed to. Fortunately, his answer seemed to satisfy Ron, who went on with what he was saying.
He caught Hermione’s concerned glance and knew she’d noticed his abstraction-of course she had-and he looked quickly away, suddenly afraid that her usual ability to know what he was thinking would extend to realizing that he’d been staring at her lips. By sheer dint of will, he kept his gaze away from Hermione, forcing himself to focus on what Ron was saying and keeping his eyes fixed on neutral spots-the wall, the floor, Ron’s ear, his own hands.
He managed to not think about Hermione like that for the next hour or so, thanks to Ron’s distracting presence. Until Ron-entirely oblivious traitor that he was, Harry groused with irrational annoyance since it wasn’t like Ron had any idea that Harry had gone insane and needed Ron around to keep from thinking… things… about Hermione- deserted him. Whatever. Ron left as he’d promised to help George out at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and he was left alone with Hermione. Hermione who was like his sister, he reminded himself firmly, his platonic best friend who was like a sister to him and that was all.
Hermione studied him. “Harry, are you all right? You’ve been… distracted today.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I just… er… didn’t sleep well,” he blurted out, the first excuse that leaped to mind.
Blast, that was not the right answer, he realized immediately as she moved closer to him, putting her hand on his arm.
“Because of nightmares?” she asked with quick concern.
He stared at her hand on his arm, a simple completely platonic gesture such as she’d done a thousand-a million-times before and yet he swore he could feel the warmth of her touch go straight through his body. He fought the urge to move his arm away. “No, not nightmares.”
“But you’re okay?” she asked.
He tried for a smile. “I really am fine,” he said, trying to sound certain, even as he wondered how it was that the slight frown drawing her brows together made him want to kiss her too.
She didn’t look reassured. “You’re sure? You still don’t seem like yourself somehow.” She hesitated and then said, “You’d tell me if anything was bothering you, right? You know you can tell me anyth-”
He cut her words off with his lips as he kissed her. He kissed her because he had to, because he couldn’t possibly not kiss her at that moment-and the crazy thing was that it wasn’t even because of lust-or not only because of lust-but because of how much she cared. She cared so much, had always cared so much, in spite of everything and what else could he possibly do except kiss her for it and Merlin, she felt so good, tasted so good and-
What was he doing, kissing Hermione?! He couldn’t kiss Hermione! Shouldn’t kiss her!
He tore his mouth away from hers and then almost leaped back to a safe distance-or a safer distance, since at this point, he had the bad feeling that the only “safe” distance between him and Hermione when he wouldn’t be plagued with insane thoughts he absolutely should not be having about his best-friend-who-was-like-his-sister was in another room where he couldn’t see her. Possibly in another county or another country or on another bloody continent would be a safe distance. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I won’t do that again, I promise. I-” he forcibly shut his mouth before it could run away from him any more than it already had. He should never speak again. Was never going to be able to face Hermione again.
And on that thought, he leaped up to flee like some terrified rabbit. What, he might as well lose his dignity as well as his sanity.
He only made it a step before she stopped him. “Harry, wait!”
He stopped, even though everything in him was telling him to leave, to get away, since clearly he’d lost his mind and really, really could not be near Hermione anymore-but in spite of all that, he stopped and turned around. Because whatever else, in spite of everything, he listened to her. Had to listen to her. Would probably always listen to her.
Her eyes were wide and dark with surprise and-and some other emotions he didn’t dare to identify, didn’t want to identify. She hesitated and then finally asked, “Was it so bad?”
Huh? What? He gaped at her, everything else vanishing from his mind in his utter befuddlement. “What? The ki-” he cut off the word, not even daring to say the word to her. “No, it wasn’t bad,” he blurted out without thinking. “It was-” Incredible. His brain finally stepped in, cutting him off before he could admit that out loud. He really, really needed to stop talking. Cutting out his tongue was starting to seem like a great idea.
He briefly closed his eyes, trying to muster up the last remaining bits of sanity he had. “I just-I can’t kiss you!”
He opened his eyes to see that her lips-oh God, her lips-were trembling into the semblance of a smile that somehow only managed to make her look… vulnerable. And his heart seemed to twist inside his chest at the sight. “I know, Harry. It’s because I’m like a sister to you. You-we’re like brother and sister.”
“We are not brother and sister!” he heard someone insist and realized belatedly that those words had burst from him. Oops. Damn it, that was not what he meant to say. He was definitely going to cut out his tongue, he decided, since his brain had abdicated its job of stopping him from saying stupid things.
“You-you don’t think of me like a sister?”
His mind barely registered the words or the thread of… hope?... in her tone, focusing-again-on her lips-her perfect, kissable lips-and the faint beginnings of a smile, a real smile, that barely-there smile that had a way of driving everything else out of his mind. What was it about the way the corners of her lips just tilted upwards that rendered him incapable of coherence? “Of course you’re not my sister,” he found himself saying. Of course? When had that become an “of course” sentiment to him? “You’re…” She was-what? He couldn’t think of a word-was there a word that could possibly explain what she was to him?
The slight beginning of a smile deepened, her lips curving just that slightest bit more-and her eyes almost seemed to glow and… and the faint color in her cheeks deepened… In that moment, he was convinced she was the most beautiful, most desirable, most irresistible woman in England-no, the entire world. So beautiful and so desirable he felt the last remaining bits of coherence he had left dissolve into nothing.
(Later-once he’d regained the ability to think-he realized that that was the moment he gave up. She wasn’t his sister. Of course she wasn’t his sister. He would never be able to think of her as being like his sister again.)
“I don’t think of you as a sister,” he repeated.
She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between them, and he could only stare, dumbly, as she smiled-a real bright smile that he swore seemed to scramble his brain-and said, “That’s good because I don’t think of you like a brother either.”
“I want to kiss you,” he heard himself blurt out.
And then he kissed her-or she kissed him, he wasn’t sure which of them had really initiated it and didn’t care-only knew that he was finally feeling the curve of her smiling lips against his and then he was tasting her and burningly aware of every inch of her body pressed against his and nothing had ever felt so good in his life. The feel of her lips against his, the way they parted for his tongue, the way her tongue played with his, the way her arms slid around his neck-it was all perfect, as if he’d been made to kiss her like this, to love her like this…
Love her like this… The words slipped into his consciousness, giving him mental pause. Love her-did he, really? His earlier wondering of what word could explain all that Hermione meant to him returned to his mind. Love her-of course he loved her… And not as a sister-she was definitely not his sister-and not as his best friend-she was so much more than just his best friend. He loved her as… as his everything…
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and pressed herself closer against him-and he stopped thinking, lost the ability to think. She was all there was, everything he wanted-and what more could he possibly need to think about?
~The End~
Well, always, as in from the moment a couple weeks ago that he’d suddenly lost his mind.
Hermione was like a sister to him. Which meant that, as far as he was concerned, any part of her body below the neck didn’t exist. And he certainly, definitely, never ever thought about Hermione’s lips or how pretty she was. And he absolutely never thought about kissing Hermione. Never. Ever. She was like a sister to him. Really.
Or she had been before he’d lost his mind.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
It wasn’t even like anything had happened-like him getting hit in the head by a bludger, say, and forgetting that she was like a sister to him. Or Hermione-he didn’t know-using some sort of charm to make herself irresistible to every man in England. She didn’t need to use a charm for that; she already was irresis-he cut off the thought savagely. No no no no, he wasn’t thinking like that. He couldn’t think like that.
She was like his sister. She always had been before and she still was-would be-really-once he regained his sanity. Which he absolutely would. Any day now.
He didn’t know why he’d lost his mind. He just knew he had.
On an otherwise perfectly normal day, Harry Potter had suddenly lost his mind.
That was the only explanation for it. He, Ron, and Hermione had gone to Diagon Alley to run some quick errands and as they were leaving, stopped for ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s. He and Hermione were both laughing at something Ron had said and then… A drop of ice cream lingered on Hermione’s upper lip and she quickly licked it off and-and he froze for a moment, lust slamming into him with the force of a punch to the head, so fast and so strong he was almost dizzy. The sounds of the rest of the world around them faded into a vague buzz in his ears as he stared. God, she was so… beautiful… The sun was bringing out glints of gold in her hair and catching sparks of amber in her eyes and… And her lips were… he couldn’t think of a word to do justice to them except that he suddenly wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath.
This was Hermione! Whatever part of his mind that retained some semblance of sanity returned to life, shrieking a warning, and he abruptly returned to reality. Oh no. Oh no no no no. He had not just felt that way about Hermione, had not just wanted to kiss Hermione. He hadn’t. He couldn’t have. He didn’t think about Hermione like that. She was like a sister to him.
And it had only been a fleeting, temporary moment of insanity. That was all. A fluke. And it would never happen again.
Or so he told himself.
Except… the insanity hadn’t gone away.
She was driving him bloody mad! Just about everything she did, everything about her, distracted him and-yes, damn it-aroused him. He didn’t know how it had happened. How, after knowing her for so many years and never thinking about her that way before, he suddenly found himself noticing everything and wanting her.
It was insane! And impossible. And wrong. Because Hermione was like a sister to him-or she had been like a sister to him.
Until now, when suddenly it seemed like all he could think about was that she was not his sister. And everything she did made him… think things about her… Bother, who the bloody hell was he kidding-everything she did made him want her.
The way she bit her lower lip sometimes when she was concentrating on her work made her lower lip look that much fuller and… and more kissable…
She moved one hand to rub her neck as she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to work out some kinks after a few hours of bending over her desk and he found himself staring at the curve of her neck and her shoulder. He wanted to run his lips along that lovely curve of her neck, wondered what she would taste like if he kissed her there.
She went over to the bookshelf against the wall, rising up on her toes to get a book on an upper shelf, and he found his gaze riveted to her butt and her hips and her legs.
The times she bent over to get something out of the refrigerator-his mouth went dry as he stared.
And her lips… great Merlin, her lips… he found himself constantly distracted when she spoke or smiled or laughed or ate or…
Ron was telling some story from his Quidditch practice that day and Hermione was listening, her eyes alight with amusement and the hint of a smile playing with the corners of her lips-and he forgot where he was, forgot to listen to what Ron was saying-no longer cared what Ron was saying-could only stare at her lips, at that slight smile tilting the corners upwards. He didn’t know what it was but that barely-there smile of hers, the one that just slightly curved her lips, made everything and anything disappear from his mind except the desperate urge to kiss her. To kiss the corners of her lips as they tilted up and then to feel that slight smile against his lips…
“… right, Harry?”
The sound of his name yanked him back to reality as he realized that Ron had just asked him something.
“I-er-sure,” he agreed quickly, not having the slightest idea what he’d just agreed to. Fortunately, his answer seemed to satisfy Ron, who went on with what he was saying.
He caught Hermione’s concerned glance and knew she’d noticed his abstraction-of course she had-and he looked quickly away, suddenly afraid that her usual ability to know what he was thinking would extend to realizing that he’d been staring at her lips. By sheer dint of will, he kept his gaze away from Hermione, forcing himself to focus on what Ron was saying and keeping his eyes fixed on neutral spots-the wall, the floor, Ron’s ear, his own hands.
He managed to not think about Hermione like that for the next hour or so, thanks to Ron’s distracting presence. Until Ron-entirely oblivious traitor that he was, Harry groused with irrational annoyance since it wasn’t like Ron had any idea that Harry had gone insane and needed Ron around to keep from thinking… things… about Hermione- deserted him. Whatever. Ron left as he’d promised to help George out at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and he was left alone with Hermione. Hermione who was like his sister, he reminded himself firmly, his platonic best friend who was like a sister to him and that was all.
Hermione studied him. “Harry, are you all right? You’ve been… distracted today.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I just… er… didn’t sleep well,” he blurted out, the first excuse that leaped to mind.
Blast, that was not the right answer, he realized immediately as she moved closer to him, putting her hand on his arm.
“Because of nightmares?” she asked with quick concern.
He stared at her hand on his arm, a simple completely platonic gesture such as she’d done a thousand-a million-times before and yet he swore he could feel the warmth of her touch go straight through his body. He fought the urge to move his arm away. “No, not nightmares.”
“But you’re okay?” she asked.
He tried for a smile. “I really am fine,” he said, trying to sound certain, even as he wondered how it was that the slight frown drawing her brows together made him want to kiss her too.
She didn’t look reassured. “You’re sure? You still don’t seem like yourself somehow.” She hesitated and then said, “You’d tell me if anything was bothering you, right? You know you can tell me anyth-”
He cut her words off with his lips as he kissed her. He kissed her because he had to, because he couldn’t possibly not kiss her at that moment-and the crazy thing was that it wasn’t even because of lust-or not only because of lust-but because of how much she cared. She cared so much, had always cared so much, in spite of everything and what else could he possibly do except kiss her for it and Merlin, she felt so good, tasted so good and-
What was he doing, kissing Hermione?! He couldn’t kiss Hermione! Shouldn’t kiss her!
He tore his mouth away from hers and then almost leaped back to a safe distance-or a safer distance, since at this point, he had the bad feeling that the only “safe” distance between him and Hermione when he wouldn’t be plagued with insane thoughts he absolutely should not be having about his best-friend-who-was-like-his-sister was in another room where he couldn’t see her. Possibly in another county or another country or on another bloody continent would be a safe distance. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I won’t do that again, I promise. I-” he forcibly shut his mouth before it could run away from him any more than it already had. He should never speak again. Was never going to be able to face Hermione again.
And on that thought, he leaped up to flee like some terrified rabbit. What, he might as well lose his dignity as well as his sanity.
He only made it a step before she stopped him. “Harry, wait!”
He stopped, even though everything in him was telling him to leave, to get away, since clearly he’d lost his mind and really, really could not be near Hermione anymore-but in spite of all that, he stopped and turned around. Because whatever else, in spite of everything, he listened to her. Had to listen to her. Would probably always listen to her.
Her eyes were wide and dark with surprise and-and some other emotions he didn’t dare to identify, didn’t want to identify. She hesitated and then finally asked, “Was it so bad?”
Huh? What? He gaped at her, everything else vanishing from his mind in his utter befuddlement. “What? The ki-” he cut off the word, not even daring to say the word to her. “No, it wasn’t bad,” he blurted out without thinking. “It was-” Incredible. His brain finally stepped in, cutting him off before he could admit that out loud. He really, really needed to stop talking. Cutting out his tongue was starting to seem like a great idea.
He briefly closed his eyes, trying to muster up the last remaining bits of sanity he had. “I just-I can’t kiss you!”
He opened his eyes to see that her lips-oh God, her lips-were trembling into the semblance of a smile that somehow only managed to make her look… vulnerable. And his heart seemed to twist inside his chest at the sight. “I know, Harry. It’s because I’m like a sister to you. You-we’re like brother and sister.”
“We are not brother and sister!” he heard someone insist and realized belatedly that those words had burst from him. Oops. Damn it, that was not what he meant to say. He was definitely going to cut out his tongue, he decided, since his brain had abdicated its job of stopping him from saying stupid things.
“You-you don’t think of me like a sister?”
His mind barely registered the words or the thread of… hope?... in her tone, focusing-again-on her lips-her perfect, kissable lips-and the faint beginnings of a smile, a real smile, that barely-there smile that had a way of driving everything else out of his mind. What was it about the way the corners of her lips just tilted upwards that rendered him incapable of coherence? “Of course you’re not my sister,” he found himself saying. Of course? When had that become an “of course” sentiment to him? “You’re…” She was-what? He couldn’t think of a word-was there a word that could possibly explain what she was to him?
The slight beginning of a smile deepened, her lips curving just that slightest bit more-and her eyes almost seemed to glow and… and the faint color in her cheeks deepened… In that moment, he was convinced she was the most beautiful, most desirable, most irresistible woman in England-no, the entire world. So beautiful and so desirable he felt the last remaining bits of coherence he had left dissolve into nothing.
(Later-once he’d regained the ability to think-he realized that that was the moment he gave up. She wasn’t his sister. Of course she wasn’t his sister. He would never be able to think of her as being like his sister again.)
“I don’t think of you as a sister,” he repeated.
She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between them, and he could only stare, dumbly, as she smiled-a real bright smile that he swore seemed to scramble his brain-and said, “That’s good because I don’t think of you like a brother either.”
“I want to kiss you,” he heard himself blurt out.
And then he kissed her-or she kissed him, he wasn’t sure which of them had really initiated it and didn’t care-only knew that he was finally feeling the curve of her smiling lips against his and then he was tasting her and burningly aware of every inch of her body pressed against his and nothing had ever felt so good in his life. The feel of her lips against his, the way they parted for his tongue, the way her tongue played with his, the way her arms slid around his neck-it was all perfect, as if he’d been made to kiss her like this, to love her like this…
Love her like this… The words slipped into his consciousness, giving him mental pause. Love her-did he, really? His earlier wondering of what word could explain all that Hermione meant to him returned to his mind. Love her-of course he loved her… And not as a sister-she was definitely not his sister-and not as his best friend-she was so much more than just his best friend. He loved her as… as his everything…
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and pressed herself closer against him-and he stopped thinking, lost the ability to think. She was all there was, everything he wanted-and what more could he possibly need to think about?
~The End~