my heart is pounding but, it's just a conversation
So I just remembered this fic and I trawled my Lj for it.. This is probably my fave HHR ficlet I've done so, repost. I've been tempted to expand on it but I kinda like how it's a stolen moment that could fit into canon.
Been writing again too, which I'm enjoying, as I get older I stop overthinking it :) perks!
Harry/Hermione
She’s had too much to drink and her face is flushed bright pink.
Harry sinks into the sofa next to her because suddenly it looks like the most appealing place in the rowdy Common Room. She turns to grin at him and he waves off Seamus as he walks past with the last bottle of Firewhisky, offering shots.
“Are you alright?”
Hermione asks her stock standard question and he smiles and nods. Oddly, and it must be the Firewhisky he thinks, he asks her back for once. She smiles and nods.
“Mmm, I’m okay. I’m good. I just won a bet with Lavender.”
That amuses him for some reason and Harry tries to shift round further in the squashy sofa to smile at her. He doesn’t succeed in anything other than slumping further against her. She just keeps talking though.
“Yup, she bet I couldn't find something sexier than a guy in a Quidditch uniform.”
Harry’s vision seems to swim for a moment and his ears ring a little. He tells himself quickly it’s because of the Firewhisky and nothing to do with the fact that Hermione just said the word sexy full-stop; let alone that it was in the same sentence as the words Quidditch uniform. He tries to ignore the strange sensation that his world has tilted on an angle and shifts again - unsuccessfully - to straighten himself up.
She doesn’t seem to notice his unease at all, and carries on as if she’s talking to herself.
“See, she thinks the sexiest thing ever is a guy who’s all muddy and dirty just after a game of Quidditch, you know...” She shifts in the sofa with more success than Harry and turns to him which only makes him slump closer, and brings her face a few inches from his.
“....all sweaty and windswept.” Her eyes are bright and wide and he moves again but without as much conviction this time.
“But I said,” and she smiles to herself as if she’s reaching the punch-line of a joke, “’That’s not it. That’s not the sexiest thing ever.’”
His gaze slips to her slightly parted lips and he feels like he’s in some alternate reality - some parallel universe for a second. He slides his eyes across at Ginny, holding court around the table of the aggressive drinking game she and Ron are running. Hermione clutches his forearm to grab his attention again, and he thinks better of telling her she easily has his undivided interest.
“I said.... Parseltongue.” She throws her head back and laughs and he swears he’s never seen her do that before. He’s trying not to frown but she wouldn’t notice if he was on fire right now he suspects - even though he very nearly is.
She grasps his shoulders with both hands, staring earnestly into his eyes and hers are slightly unfocused which puts this into a little more perspective. But he still can’t do anything but stare as she continues.
“It’s just...it’s hot. And she knew I had her. It’s hot. Nothing hotter.”
She’s grinning and he’s just watching her, trying desperately to muster a smile. He knows it’s coming but he still can hardly bear to watch as it hits; her smile fading slowly, the colour draining from her face at the realisation, the slow dawning of awareness of who she's been talking to. Her fingers tighten on his arms and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing coherent comes out.
“Oh. Harry, I....You... I know... I just meant....I didn’t mean...I meant it as...”
He shakes his head, finally recognising her as Hermione for the first time since he sat down. She still babbles, trying desperately to backtrack.
“....We were just....I don’t know what I....It’s the....”
“Firewhisky.”
He finishes the sentence for her and finally he musters a grin. She nods slowly but her face is crumpled and horrified and he feels terribly for her, knowing how she’ll beat herself up about this later if she remembers. He leans his head into the couch and her hands go slack on his arms and she closes her eyes - waiting for the floor to swallow her up he guesses.
He watches her cover her face with her hands and wonders how he’s supposed to feel about this conversation. He decides he officially has no idea because his tilted world still hasn’t really righted itself. He opens his mouth and words fall out - courtesy of the Firewhisky he’s digested himself he suspects, and his fingers find her wrists and prise them apart.
“Hey.” She squeezes her eyes shut tight and it makes him laugh. “Don’t be daft. It’s fine.” She still won’t look at him and he shakes her arms slightly. “Hey. It’s quite...hey, I’m not complaining. ” She opens one eye to squint at him and he laughs. “Weird...but sort of cool, I guess.”
She smiles tentatively and he does too. They're closer than they’d ever allow themselves to be sober but he can’t move yet and the game is getting louder across the room. She glances at him and then presses her face into the couch, her smile slowly returning. Her voice is muffled when she speaks against the cushion.
“Oh god...Harry...I....I’m an idiot. Please just forget ....” She turns her face to peek at him, smiles meekly and then shakes and drops her head.
He doesn’t know what makes him do it. Later he figures it to be the fact that the whole conversation had been like an out-of-body experience and maybe it was like he hadn’t really returned to his body by then. Or maybe the drink or maybe that with her head bent like that, her ear was too close to his lips and too enticing.
He leans the two inches further forward required and closes his eyes, picturing the snake enchanted to writhe on the Slytherin banner at the banquet earlier that night. Then he opens his mouth and speaks.
“So, you mean....like this?”
The soft and low hissing brushes across her ear and he feels her whole body stiffen. Her head comes up, but not all the way and it’s as if she’s waiting. And so he does it again.
“If I speak like this. In your ear.”
He hears her sharp intake of breath; becomes aware that his own has gotten shallow.
Her hand comes up to his shoulder and she pushes weakly. Her face, when it turns up to him, is attempting an offhand smile but it’s a little frozen and unconvincing.
“Stop... Harry. Stop it.”
With the pretence of being unmoved, but he hears - and feels the desperate edge to her tone, the subtle humming of her tense body.
Ginny shouts his name and he jumps visibly, along with Hermione. He looks over but Ginny isn't watching them, is still preoccupied with her game, yelling for him to come and join. He turns back to Hermione, their eyes catch; then her fake smile draws wider and she leans right back into the couch, away from him.
He tears his eyes away from her; away from the pulse beating fast at the base of her throat, and gets up to go over to Ginny.
Been writing again too, which I'm enjoying, as I get older I stop overthinking it :) perks!
Harry/Hermione
She’s had too much to drink and her face is flushed bright pink.
Harry sinks into the sofa next to her because suddenly it looks like the most appealing place in the rowdy Common Room. She turns to grin at him and he waves off Seamus as he walks past with the last bottle of Firewhisky, offering shots.
“Are you alright?”
Hermione asks her stock standard question and he smiles and nods. Oddly, and it must be the Firewhisky he thinks, he asks her back for once. She smiles and nods.
“Mmm, I’m okay. I’m good. I just won a bet with Lavender.”
That amuses him for some reason and Harry tries to shift round further in the squashy sofa to smile at her. He doesn’t succeed in anything other than slumping further against her. She just keeps talking though.
“Yup, she bet I couldn't find something sexier than a guy in a Quidditch uniform.”
Harry’s vision seems to swim for a moment and his ears ring a little. He tells himself quickly it’s because of the Firewhisky and nothing to do with the fact that Hermione just said the word sexy full-stop; let alone that it was in the same sentence as the words Quidditch uniform. He tries to ignore the strange sensation that his world has tilted on an angle and shifts again - unsuccessfully - to straighten himself up.
She doesn’t seem to notice his unease at all, and carries on as if she’s talking to herself.
“See, she thinks the sexiest thing ever is a guy who’s all muddy and dirty just after a game of Quidditch, you know...” She shifts in the sofa with more success than Harry and turns to him which only makes him slump closer, and brings her face a few inches from his.
“....all sweaty and windswept.” Her eyes are bright and wide and he moves again but without as much conviction this time.
“But I said,” and she smiles to herself as if she’s reaching the punch-line of a joke, “’That’s not it. That’s not the sexiest thing ever.’”
His gaze slips to her slightly parted lips and he feels like he’s in some alternate reality - some parallel universe for a second. He slides his eyes across at Ginny, holding court around the table of the aggressive drinking game she and Ron are running. Hermione clutches his forearm to grab his attention again, and he thinks better of telling her she easily has his undivided interest.
“I said.... Parseltongue.” She throws her head back and laughs and he swears he’s never seen her do that before. He’s trying not to frown but she wouldn’t notice if he was on fire right now he suspects - even though he very nearly is.
She grasps his shoulders with both hands, staring earnestly into his eyes and hers are slightly unfocused which puts this into a little more perspective. But he still can’t do anything but stare as she continues.
“It’s just...it’s hot. And she knew I had her. It’s hot. Nothing hotter.”
She’s grinning and he’s just watching her, trying desperately to muster a smile. He knows it’s coming but he still can hardly bear to watch as it hits; her smile fading slowly, the colour draining from her face at the realisation, the slow dawning of awareness of who she's been talking to. Her fingers tighten on his arms and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing coherent comes out.
“Oh. Harry, I....You... I know... I just meant....I didn’t mean...I meant it as...”
He shakes his head, finally recognising her as Hermione for the first time since he sat down. She still babbles, trying desperately to backtrack.
“....We were just....I don’t know what I....It’s the....”
“Firewhisky.”
He finishes the sentence for her and finally he musters a grin. She nods slowly but her face is crumpled and horrified and he feels terribly for her, knowing how she’ll beat herself up about this later if she remembers. He leans his head into the couch and her hands go slack on his arms and she closes her eyes - waiting for the floor to swallow her up he guesses.
He watches her cover her face with her hands and wonders how he’s supposed to feel about this conversation. He decides he officially has no idea because his tilted world still hasn’t really righted itself. He opens his mouth and words fall out - courtesy of the Firewhisky he’s digested himself he suspects, and his fingers find her wrists and prise them apart.
“Hey.” She squeezes her eyes shut tight and it makes him laugh. “Don’t be daft. It’s fine.” She still won’t look at him and he shakes her arms slightly. “Hey. It’s quite...hey, I’m not complaining. ” She opens one eye to squint at him and he laughs. “Weird...but sort of cool, I guess.”
She smiles tentatively and he does too. They're closer than they’d ever allow themselves to be sober but he can’t move yet and the game is getting louder across the room. She glances at him and then presses her face into the couch, her smile slowly returning. Her voice is muffled when she speaks against the cushion.
“Oh god...Harry...I....I’m an idiot. Please just forget ....” She turns her face to peek at him, smiles meekly and then shakes and drops her head.
He doesn’t know what makes him do it. Later he figures it to be the fact that the whole conversation had been like an out-of-body experience and maybe it was like he hadn’t really returned to his body by then. Or maybe the drink or maybe that with her head bent like that, her ear was too close to his lips and too enticing.
He leans the two inches further forward required and closes his eyes, picturing the snake enchanted to writhe on the Slytherin banner at the banquet earlier that night. Then he opens his mouth and speaks.
“So, you mean....like this?”
The soft and low hissing brushes across her ear and he feels her whole body stiffen. Her head comes up, but not all the way and it’s as if she’s waiting. And so he does it again.
“If I speak like this. In your ear.”
He hears her sharp intake of breath; becomes aware that his own has gotten shallow.
Her hand comes up to his shoulder and she pushes weakly. Her face, when it turns up to him, is attempting an offhand smile but it’s a little frozen and unconvincing.
“Stop... Harry. Stop it.”
With the pretence of being unmoved, but he hears - and feels the desperate edge to her tone, the subtle humming of her tense body.
Ginny shouts his name and he jumps visibly, along with Hermione. He looks over but Ginny isn't watching them, is still preoccupied with her game, yelling for him to come and join. He turns back to Hermione, their eyes catch; then her fake smile draws wider and she leans right back into the couch, away from him.
He tears his eyes away from her; away from the pulse beating fast at the base of her throat, and gets up to go over to Ginny.