Disclaimer: Nope. I’m not JK Rowling. This will become fairly obvious as the story progresses and my lack of brilliance shines through. Therefore, all recognizable characters belong to her and her alone. Only the plot is mine.
Author’s note: Please don’t hate me! Remember that patience is a virtue. *smile* The promise of snogging still holds, but when dealing with someone like Harry, slow and steady is the only way to go”besides, it’s the best way to torture your readers *laughs* Seriously, though, I do believe in building the tension and setting the stage for what is to come.
WAKING UP HARRY
Chapter Three: Plan of Attack
Hermione was frustrated. No, make that very frustrated. For a full two weeks now she had grabbed, patted, hugged, and tugged Harry at every possible opportunity. Nothing. Harry was still acting like the sweet, gentle boy she knew so well: utterly without a clue. More desperate measures were called for”it was time for Stage Two of The Plan: ambiguous physical contact.
When Hermione had drawn up her list, she had described every possible type of physical contact in excruciating detail. Hermione was nothing if not thorough. Contact that could be described as ‘innocent’ included the following: a. patting (any part of Harry above the waist); b. rubbing (on or above Harry’s neck only); c. tugging, yanking, or grabbing (Harry’s arm[s] and any appendages attached thereon); and d. (Hermione’s absolute favourite, but to be used sparingly) kisses on Harry’s cheek.
Stage Two, ambiguous physical contact, required much more of that famous Gryffindor courage. Stage Two included everything listed under Stage One, plus these measures: a. patting (Harry’s knee or thigh); b. rubbing (Harry’s back or chest); c. stroking (Harry’s cheek or hair”she was looking forward nervously to that one); d. tugging, yanking, or grabbing (Harry’s arm[s] and any appendages attached thereon and then (gulp) holding on to said arm[s] or appendages); and e. kisses on Harry’s cheek near the vicinity of his mouth (double gulp).
Considering Harry’s current oblivious state, implementing measures “a” through “e” under the category of “ambiguous physical contact” might not be enough to wake him up, but Hermione was willing to give it a go. Besides, she truly would need to be desperate to commence Stage Three of The Plan, not to mention Stage Four! She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Right then, she told herself. No time like the present. Unconsciously straightening her shoulders to muster up a fresh shot of courage, she darted a quick glance at Harry, who was immersed in taking notes from his Transfiguration textbook. The library was gradually emptying out, as students sought the greater comfort of their respective common rooms.
“Ummmmm,” Hermione sighed dramatically. “Getting a bit late for the library, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Harry answered absently, still absorbed in his note-taking.
“You seem tired,” she continued, stroking the back of her hand along Harry’s cheek. That’s Stage Two, Part C accomplished, she thought, placing a mental checkmark beside 2c. Oooo, his cheek feels so good; soft in places, with little bristly hairs in parts. I wonder how often he shaves?
“Huh,” he said, looking up somewhat nervously. “What?”
He had been feeling slightly uneasy the entire evening. Hermione was sitting close to him; so close that he could smell the sweet scent of peaches radiating from her hair. He wondered if her skin would smell like peaches too. And if it smelt like peaches, how would it taste?
Stop it! he told himself angrily. What’s the matter with you? This is Hermione. You’re sitting beside Hermione”whom you’ve known since you were eleven.
Yeah, but she didn’t look like this when she was eleven, his traitorous subconscious piped up. I wonder if she smelled this good back then? Were her hands this soft--kind of silky? I never really got much of a chance to find out. Her hand sure felt soft now, though, as it stroked his cheek. Wait a minute! She’s stroking my cheek.
“I said that you seem tired,” she repeated patiently, still stroking his cheek. At his surprised look she pulled her hand away, flushing. “Shall we finish up on the couch?”
“Umm, finish what up?” Harry asked uncertainly.
“Our homework, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Er, right.” ‘hat was bloody brilliant! What did you think she was talking about? You sound like a blithering idiot. Get a grip. What is wrong with you tonight, Potter?
“What did you think I was talking about?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. She appeared as composed as ever; inside, however, she was anything but, her stomach churning madly.
You should have gone in order, she chastised herself mentally. You should have stuck to The Plan and done A and B before moving to C.
Yes, but I didn’t go in order before, when implementing A through D of “innocent physical contact.” Why should I worry about going in order now? The mental argument continued as her subconscious sarcastically reminded her that the whole "innocent physical contact" bit had not exactly been a smashing success.
“Umm, nothing,” Harry responded. He jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair fell and crashed to the floor, startling them both.
Hermione smiled to herself and helped Harry pick up the chair. If nothing else, at least she had rattled him. They gathered up their belongings and headed for Gryffindor tower.
“Hermione?”
“Yes?”
“Why were you stroking my cheek back there?”
“Uh,” Hermione could feel her face turning red. Stupid fair skin. “What do you mean?” she asked, stalling for time.
“Back in the library,” Harry persisted. “You were . . . erm . . . you . . . uh, stroked my cheek.”
Yes, and I enjoyed it too, piped up that pesky subconscious.
“Oh, well, I thought you looked flushed and I was checking to see if you had a fever,” she burst out. “You see,” she continued, “when my mother thinks I’m coming down with something, she always checks my forehead to see if it feels hot. Doesn’t your Aunt Petunia do that to Dudley?” she asked. She knew very well that Harry could be dying before his aunt would care enough to check him.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“Well then.”
“Aunt Petunia does do that. But she puts her hand on his forehead. You stroked my--”
“Honestly,” Hermione interrupted, speaking rather loudly, “it doesn’t matter which part of a person’s face you touch. What possible difference could it make? It’s all the same really.
“Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, glancing at her watch and beginning to walk very quickly, “just look at the time! We only have ten minutes until curfew! Hurry up!” she snapped, seizing Harry’s arm (the heck with gentle, she thought, harried) and dragging him down the corridor and into Gryffindor tower.
The common room was packed with Gryffindors talking, laughing, flirting, snogging, and (a minority) studying, but as luck would have it their favourite couch by the fire was unoccupied. An agitated Hermione made a beeline for it and sank down into its voluminous cushions with a sigh of relief. She tossed down her bulging book bag, hauled out an enormous book, and threw it open. Two bright spots of colour on her cheeks were the only hint of her inner turmoil. Harry followed more slowly, still puzzling over his friend’s odd behaviour.
For the next hour, as students gradually headed up to their dormitories, the pair concentrated on their studies, Harry darting occasional anxious glances at Hermione. Hermione appeared to be focused on the thick Charms textbook in her lap, but she was actually engaged in a furious mental battle between Sensible Hermione and Hermione-in-Love.
You idiot, scolded Sensible Hermione. You went too fast! You scared him. He suspects!
So what if he suspects, protested Hermione-in-Love. That’s the whole point of The Plan, isn’t it? To wake him up?
Well, really! Sensible Hermione responded condescendingly. The whole point of The Plan, of any plan, is to succeed. Scaring the poor boy out of his wits is certainly not the way to go about that. We’re trying to wake him up, not shake him up and chase him away! Any fool knows that.
Hmmmmf, Hermione-in-love was feeling very put-upon. If he’s that skittish, how on earth are we supposed to implement Stage Two Part E without scaring him then? The silly git!
You might try thinking before acting, said Sensible Hermione loftily. Stroking his cheek like that. Honestly, how obvious can you be?
I suppose you would have done everything just flawlessly, Hermione-in-Love retorted angrily. Miss Perfect would never be too obvious, would she? I suppose, she would know exactly how to behave in every situation!
No need to get snippy, Sensible Hermione huffed. I’m only trying to help.
Well then, what brilliant idea do you have for our next move?
Unfortunately, Sensible Hermione had no answer.
“Hermione?”
“Huh. What?”
“What’s the matter?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you all right? You look like you’re in pain. Your face is all screwed up like something hurts.”
“I’m fine. Just concentrating,” she said abruptly.
“On what?”
“What do you mean? ” she asked crossly. Honestly! Mister “Harry-the-Clueless-Wonder” Potter goes through five years at Hogwarts, completely oblivious to anything he’s not hit over the head with. Now he’s suddenly Sherlock Holmes, looking for clues and alert to every nuance, word, and facial expression.
Harry was getting a little tired of being asked what he meant, when his questions seemed perfectly clear to him.
“What are you concentrating on? You’ve been staring at the same page for the past hour.”
Oh, yeah. That he notices, she thought bitterly. Then out loud: “This particular transfiguration is exceptionally difficult. Not everyone gallops along, zooming through their lessons so quickly that nothing sinks in. Some of us care enough to concentrate on our lessons,” she noted irritably.
“But you’re studying charms, not transfiguration,” he pointed out reasonably, puzzled.
“Argh,” she bit out, standing up abruptly and savagely shoving books, quills, and parchment willy-nilly into her already-bulging bag. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight!” And she stormed upstairs.
Harry sat there, mouth agape.
“What’s with her?” Ron plopped down into Hermione’s vacated spot on the couch.
Harry gave him a sour look. “Where’ve you been all night?”
“Quidditch pitch with Ginny,” said Ron glumly. “We play Slytherin next Saturday, remember? Got to practice my keeping skills or else we’ll be hearing that bloody song again.”
“Right.”
Ron tried again. “So really, what was Hermione on about? Seemed right unchuffed, if you ask me.”
“She’s been acting weird all night,” Harry confessed. “Something must be bothering her. And she’s stroking my cheek,” he mumbled to himself.
“Stroking your cheek”what?” Ron’s asked, startled.
“Ummm,” Harry stammered. He hadn’t meant for Ron to hear that part. “Like I said, she’s been acting really weird. We were in the library earlier, you know--studying--and all of a sudden she starts rubbing my cheek and going on about fevers. Then she races us back to the common room so she can spend the next hour staring at one single page in her charms book. A charms book! I ask you!”
“O-okay. So she was reading her charms book.” Ron repeated, confused. “Nothing unusual about Hermione reading a charms book . . . does it all the time.”
“WHEN STUDYING TRANSFIGURATION?”
“Er . . .”
“Then when I asked her what she was doing,” Harry ground out, making a visible effort to calm himself, “she said she was working on a difficult transfiguration. ‘This particular transfiguration is exceptionally difficult. Not everyone gallops along, zooming through their lessons so quickly that nothing sinks in. Some of us care enough to concentrate on our lessons,’ ” he mimicked in a fake high-pitched voice, “BUT STILL STARING AT THE SAME BLOODY CHARMS PAGE!” he finished, almost shouting in frustration.
“All right mate,” Ron said, glancing uneasily around the common room. “Calm down. People are staring.”
“Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down?” Harry leapt to his feet and began pacing in front of the couch. “Then, when I point out that she’s studying charms, not transfiguration, she goes off in a huff. In a bloody huff! As if I was to bloody blame. As if I was the bloody one acting like a bleeding mental case,” he snarled, waving his arms about wildly, wand in hand. “Made no sense whatsoever.”
“Might want to watch it there, mate,” said Ron apprehensively. “Take someone’s eye out with that thing.” Harry’s pacing was making him dizzy.
“Can’t expect girls to make sense,” Ron pointed out reasonably. “They never do. Only thing they’re good for is driving a man mad. Well, that and snogging,” he added fairly with a small, secret smile.
“Ron, this is Hermione we’re talking about. She doesn’t act like other girls. I think maybe there’s something very wrong with her. Maybe she’s getting sick, or--”
“Maybe all that studying has finally cracked her brain,” Ron snorted. “Come on, Harry. Hermione might be brilliant, but she’s also a girl. A scarily brilliant girl, granted. But still a girl. And girls have moods. Weird moods that no one can understand. Scary moods. Maybe it’s that time?”
“Huh?”
“You know”that time.”
Harry was obviously totally at sea.
“That time. Of. The. Month.” Ron said crossly. “Blimey Harry, do I have to spell it out?”
Harry stopped pacing to look intently at Ron. “Do you think that’s it?”
“Would make sense, wouldn’t it? Moody and emotional; cuddling you one minute, storming off the next?”
“Ron!” Harry sounded scandalised, blushing furiously. “She didn’t cuddle me.”
“Oh, whatever,” Ron waved him off. “She rubbed your cheek, didn’t she?”
“She stroked it actually.” Harry said, still staring.
“Rubbed, stroked”what’s the difference?”
“She was checking to see if I had a fever,” Harry said in agitation, resuming his pacing. “A fever, Ron. A fever!”
Ron raised both eyebrows.
“WHAT?”
“Don’t you think you’re getting a bit wound up over nothing? Bloody hell, Harry, will you sit down? You’re making me giddy with all the bloody pacing and waving!”
“Doesn’t it bother you that m--. . .our Hermione, our best friend Hermione, sensible Hermione, may be having a . . . a . . . a nervous breakdown or something?” Harry asked frantically.
“Harry, she’s not having a nervous breakdown. Studying a bit too much, maybe. Emotions out of control, definitely. But that’s normal for girls.”
“HERMIONE ISN’T A NORMAL GIRL!” Harry bellowed.
Ron sank further down into the couch, gazing uncertainly around. The common room was deathly quiet, every Gryffindor present eavesdropping unabashedly.
“Er, Harry? You might not want to yell that out for the whole common room to hear. Might get back to Hermione that you don’t think she’s a real girl. Wouldn’t be a good thing, that.”
“I didn’t say she’s not a real girl. Of course she’s a real bloody girl. That’s the problem,” Harry said fiercely, lowering his voice and collapsing onto the couch, scowling horribly.
“Then what do you mean?” asked Ron in confusion.
“The problem is that she is a real girl. But she doesn’t usually act like one”like a real girl. I mean a regular girl. A normal girl. I mean like other girls. I mean, sometimes she does, but not really. I mean . . . oh, sod it!” Harry growled.
“Starting to wonder if you’re not the one I should be worrying about,” mumbled Ron, raising a hand to his aching head.