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: Many, many thanks and virtual hugs to all of you who have reviewed. I’m so happy that you are enjoying the story and apologise for any and all cliffhangers *cackles evilly*
And now, presenting Chapter 7 of,
WAKING UP HARRY
Chapter Seven: Plan? What Plan?
Breathing was difficult right now. As that small warm hand rubbed against his bare abdomen, Harry felt his stomach muscles contract painfully, and once again he was drowning in those liquid chocolate pools.
‘Answer her, you idiot! Answer her!’ he thought savagely. But no words came. Everything in the room had vanished into a black hole of darkness from which no word or movement could escape. He existed in a vacuum. The only thing he could see was Hermione; the only thing he could feel”Hermione, and that soft, soft little hand burning into his stomach. Then she pulled her hand away and the room came back into focus once more. Cold. The air was so cold.
“Harry,” she repeated in a small voice. “Please . . .”
“Er . . .” he cleared his throat and jumped at the sound. “I’m . . . I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” she said dubiously. “You don’t sound like yourself at all.”
“No, really,” he said again, managing to speak over the enormous lump lodged in his esophagus. Then he looked back into her eyes. Big mistake. The lump got bigger.
Hermione was becoming quite worried. Harry was always so brave. No matter how badly hurt he was, whether it was a Quidditch injury or an attack by a troll, a Basilisk, or an evil lord, he never whined. She just knew that he was in pain and didn’t want her to feel badly. Typical Harry; he was worried about how she might feel.
Giving a small sigh of exasperation at this stubborn refusal to admit he was hurting, Hermione seized hold of his arm, knelt down in front of him, and gave him her most severe “McGonagall” look.
“All right, Harry. I’m going to probe your stomach. I want you to tell me, truthfully, how you feel!” And with that rather strict command, Hermione began a relentless but gentle poking and prodding in the area of Harry’s abdomen.
“How does that feel?” Poke, prod. “How about that?” Poke, prod. “And that?” Poke, poke.
“Uhhhh.”
‘You want to know the truth about what I’m feeling, Hermione?’ Harry thought desperately. ‘All right then, how’s this for the truth? The truth is I want nothing more than to grab your elbows, haul you up, pull you onto my lap, hold you tight, and kiss you until you’re as incoherent as I am! I want to kiss you until you can’t hear or see straight! I want to feel your beautiful mouth against mine; I want your tongue tangled up with mine. I want to plunge my hands into that wild cinnamon-brown hair and then find out if that peach-scented neck of yours is as soft as it looks. That’s what I want! But I’m too much of a bloody coward to do anything about it. What a Gryffindor I’ve turned out to be.’ He groaned out loud and lowered his head, clapping his hands to his forehead in frustration.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione pleaded, “I’m so sorry.”
Harry looked at her and was shocked to see tears sparkling in her big brown eyes.
“NO,” he said vehemently. “Hermione, it’s okay. I’m okay. Really.” Reaching down, he gathered her hands in his and pressed them gently. “Please don’t cry.”
Cradling her face with one hand, he ran a thumb over an escaping tear. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I was just . . . I don’t know . . . off in space there for a minute. You really didn’t hurt me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said unsteadily, giving him a tremulous smile.
Harry smiled back, and for a minute they stayed that way, gazing at each other and smiling a bit shakily. Harry was spellbound by Hermione’s eyelashes, spiked together into little sparkling clusters from the dampness of her tears.
Then,
“Harry?”
“Hmmm?”
“You’re . . . um . . . you’re still . . .”
“Hmmmm?” he murmured absently. Hermione’s smile widened. She let out a small laugh and nodded at their still joined hands.
The sound wrenched Harry back into the present.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He made to pull his hand away but was met with resistance as Hermione lapsed into deep reflection.
‘Not so fast, Potter! ’ thought Sensible Hermione. ‘All right now. Let’s analyze this situation. One of two things is happening right now. Either Harry has noticed me as something other than an honorary boy, or else I really did hurt him with my ever-graceful assault on his abdomen.’
‘His gorgeous, well-toned abdomen you mean,’ inserted Hermione-in-Love with a smirk. ‘Ooooo, what I wouldn’t love to do to that . . .’
‘That will be quite enough of that,’ interrupted Sensible Hermione crossly. ‘Can we focus on the issue at hand here please?’
‘Hmmmfff!’
‘Yes, well,’ Sensible Hermione continued, ‘which is it then? Do you think he has finally woken up? And how do we know if he has? What if his stomach does hurt and he’s trying to be all brave and Gryffindor-like and we’re taking it the wrong way and thinking that he has woken up and that he likes us in that way or maybe that he has woken up and doesn’t like us in that way but knows that we like him in that way and. . .’
‘Stop!’ said Hermione-in-Love with a mental shout. ‘Will you pleeease stop analyzing the situation to death here? You’re giving me a headache. And what was with the whole pointing-out-that-he-was-still-holding-our-hands-bit back there? That was smooth going, Granger! Way to make him feel self-conscious and ruin the moment. And by the way,’ she added, ‘that last sentence of yours? It was one of the worst run-on sentences I’ve ever been forced to endure.’
‘HONESTLY,’ said Sensible Hermione furiously, ‘this is hardly the time for a grammar critique! We have more important things to worry about. And what “moment” are you referring to exactly? There was hardly any “moment” going on. He was still holding our hands and I was merely trying to draw his attention to that fact; thus, of course, giving us the opportunity to study his reaction to our noticing the joined-hands-incident and . . .’
“Hermione?”
“Huh?” Both Hermione’s were rudely snapped back into the present. Uh oh! Harry was looking puzzled. Better distract him.
Hermione let out a peal of laughter and released Harry’s hands so abruptly that he almost toppled over backwards.
“Oh, sorry,” Hermione said blushing. Distraction. How to cause a distraction? She chuckled feebly, jumped to her feet, and slapped him heartily on the back. “Ha, ha, you certainly had me fooled there for a moment, Harry. I thought I’d really injured you. Heh, heh.”
Harry was looking at her as if she had suddenly grown an extra head or two.
For some reason, she was desperate to get things back to normal. Forget the bloody plan for a minute and get your act together, woman!
“Well,” she said nervously, eyes darting around the room, “looks like that rain won’t be stopping anytime soon, right?” She clapped her hands together in agitation. “Let’s see here, what can we do to warm this place up?” And she began to pace around the small area, peering into corners as if expecting a fire to burst forth from the stone walls. Then she flung off her cloak and collapsed into a chair beside a very mystified Harry who was staring at her with his mouth half open.
“What?” she asked sharply. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Hermione,” said Harry slowly and patiently, as if speaking to a not-very-bright toddler, “you’re acting a bit . . . strange.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Hermione asked with a frown.
“Well, for one thing, you’re worrying about this room being too cold, but you’ve just taken off your cloak,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Oh that!” she exclaimed, thinking feverishly. “I just thought I’d let myself get cold and then I could put my cloak back on again and then I’d be warm. You know . . .” her voice trailed away.
“Riiiiight,” said Harry dubiously.
“It’s obvious, ” she responded with an uneasy chortle, “that the contrast between the cold without the cloak and then the warmth with the cloak would make me feel warmer.”
“Okay Hermione. Although you wouldn’t be feeling the cold quite so much if you weren’t wearing that particular . . . those particular . . . clothes,” he said critically, indicating her fitted and stomach-revealing-if-she-raised-her-arms top and showing-two-inches-of-leg (three if she crossed said legs!) skirt.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she inquired in a dangerously sweet voice.
“Nothing’s wrong with it exactly,” Harry said hastily. Poor Harry. He’d been through a lot over the past couple of weeks, what with the arm-grabbing, the cheek patting, and the almost-kissing; having to deal with an angry Hermione while cooped up in a small room together did not seem like the best strategy for a peaceful life.
“Exactly?”
‘Oh man. Now I’ve done it. How do I get out of this one? Easy enough, ’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Just tell her that girls’ clothing, although lovely to look at, isn’t necessarily as warm as what guys wear sometimes. Tell her the shorter skirt shows off her lovely legs to perfection. Wait a minute! “. . . shows off her lovely legs to perfection?” Oh man, that sounds so gay!’
“That skirt could be longer.” ‘Bollocks!’
“Reeeaaally. Any other suggestions Potter?”
‘All right. She called me Potter. Not a good sign. How about pointing out that no skirt could be short enough for me? Haha. Right! That’d get me the business end of her wand for sure! Okay, forget the skirt for now. Talk about the top. That bloody top that makes me want to . . .’
“Yeah. While you’re at it, you might want to reconsider switching that top for a nice warm loose-fitting turtleneck.”
“Are you implying that the top I’m wearing right now is too tight?” she ground out through clenched teeth.
“Are you mental, Hermione. Too tight? Tight is good. Tight is very good. Don’t think there’s any such thing as too tight. In fact . . .”
“Yes,” he stated baldly.
“Oooooo,” Hermione jumped to her feet, eyes flashing and fists clenched. “So my clothes are slutty, are they?”
‘Uh, oh. I’m dead.’
“Yes. I mean no. I mean . . . NO!” Harry burst out in desperation. “That’s not what I meant at all! You’re the opposite of slutty! You are so far from slutty! You’re . . . you are . . .”
“Yes? I’m what? Prim, priggish, boring?” Hermione’s face had gone very red and she was breathing in short rapid pants.
“NO! You’re not . . . You’re putting words into my mouth . . . You’re . . . I DON”T KNOW!” Harry roared, jumping to his feet and turning equally red. “I don’t know what you are any more! You’re driving me absolutely--MAD!”
Complete. Absolute. Silence.
The two teens stood staring at each other, eyes widened in shock.
‘Bloody hell, ’ Harry swore to himself. ‘I’m turning into Ron. I just shouted at Hermione. I never shout at Hermione. Ron does that, not me. Look at her! She’s angry enough to punch me. Or worse, hex me. She’s beautiful when she’s angry”all flushed cheeks and wild unkempt hair. Oh wow”she makes me want to . . . to . . . She’s so livid she can’t speak. She’s . . . Oh my great. . . Oh Merlin. She’s crying! I’ve made Hermione CRY!’
Indeed, Hermione was crying. And it broke Harry’s heart to watch her. A tear seeped slowly out of her eyes, slid down her cheek, and plopped to the floor. Then another. Plop. Then another. And another. Plop. Plop. And all the while she kept looking at him with those large, reproachful brown eyes.
Harry decided he would rather fight a hundred Voldemorts than see that look on his Hermione’s face; see those tears running unimpeded down his Hermione’s face. With a loud groan he reached out and hauled her against his chest, arms encircling her waist.
At the feel of Harry’s arms around her, Hermione lost all control. The dam burst and she sobbed hysterically into his shoulder.
In a panic, Harry moved one hand up to the back of her head and began anxiously stroking her long hair. His other hand stayed at her waist, moving in small circular motions as he tried to comfort her.
“Hermione, please . . .” Harry murmured into her hair. “Please . . .” I didn’t mean to . . . please,” he whispered softly and desperately. “I’m so sorry.” Her hair smelled wonderful”like peaches.
Hermione continued to sob as all the emotions raging through her for the past year bubbled to the surface.
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry.” Sob. “So sorry.” Sob. “I’m such an idiot.” Sob.
“No, I’m sorry,” Harry said remorsefully, continuing to stroke her hair. “I’m the idiot.” Stroke. “You’re not an idiot.” Stroke.
Gradually Hermione’s sobs diminished and she let out a rather loud sniff. “Your cloak,” she said in a small voice. “It’s all wet.”
“Yeah, well, it was already wet from the rain. A bit more won’t hurt,” said Harry with a smile.
A watery chuckle greeted this comment. “It’s certainly soaked through now,” said Hermione ruefully to his shoulder.
The room had suddenly got very close, very warm. Hermione was aware, oh so very aware, of being held by Harry. Harry was equally conscious of the fact that he was the one doing the holding. And that he liked holding Hermione. He liked it a lot.
“Hermione, I really am sorry.”
“I know Harry. It’s all right,” she said, still speaking to his shoulder. The Plan! The Plan! She needed to do something, to say something. This was the perfect moment! But an unexpected shyness prevented her. When she felt Harry’s thumb on her cheek as he gently wiped some of the tears away, Hermione closed her eyes. His touch filled her with a quiet contentment and she thought that she could stay this way forever--just standing here in the circle of his arms. Then his other hand came up and tugged at her chin.
“Hermione, what’s going on?”
“Erm . . .”
The hand tugging at her chin became more insistent, forcing Hermione to lift her head up.
“I don’t have to pull on your eyelids too, do I?” asked Harry.
Hermione giggled softly. Slowly, face aflame, she raised her eyes to meet his.
And saw something she had been waiting to see all this time. Harry was awake. Oh yes he was. He was awake and on his face was the most tender, loving, compassionate expression she had ever seen.
Wait a minute”compassionate? Hermione went into a panic. He knew! He knew how she felt and he didn’t feel the same! He was trying to figure out how to let her down easily! He loved her all right; there was no doubt about that. But it was the love of a brother for a sister. The love of a friend for a . . .
“Hermione?”
“Y-yes, Harry?”
“You think too much.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do. Now for once just stop thinking.”
“Stop thinking?” she repeated indignantly. “Well, really! I don’t think that . . .”
“Well I do,” interrupted Harry. “I do think that you think too much and analyse too much and scrutinise every detail way too much. In fact, Miss Granger,” Harry stated, “I think that what you should do right now is . . .” his voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.
“Yes? Is what?”
“Oh bugger,” said Harry. And on that romantic note, he pressed his lips to hers.
To Be Continued