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Harry never thought a day would come where he’d be upset to see his two best friends standing next to each other. Ron’s arm is nestled around Hermione’s shoulder, and he’s whispering something into her ear. She laughs periodically, complimented by Ron’s bright smile and twinkling eyes.
Something hot rises in his chest, and an ugly feeling edges in his gut. He watches Hermione’s arm wrap around Ron’s back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The vision helps not a bit, and he tears his eyes away.
Homework. He has homework to focus on – he ducks his head low and tries to focus. Snape wants this essay in two days and Harry really doesn’t want to deal with his endless chastising.
The common room is stifling – Harry pulls at his neck collar and wonders how he could be so hot in the middle of winter while inside of a tall tower. Hermione giggles not ten feet away. The ugly feeling intensifies. Harry dips his quill in his ink bottle and starts writing. Word by mind-numbing word, he continues until he has a sentence, now two, now three, until he has finished a paragraph. When he reads through it, it barely makes sense, but he can hardly bring himself to care.
He can’t help it – he glances at Ron and Hermione. A plate of gingerbread cookies sits in Hermione’s lap, and they’re sharing the spoils like Harry isn’t even there. His face heats up unpleasantly, and he bristles angrily.
“I’m tired, mate,” Ron yawns. His arm slips out from behind Hermione’s head and he stands up, stretching his arms up. Four pops of his bones later and he relaxes. “I think I’ll head to bed.”
“Goodnight, Ron,” Hermione says, picking up another cookie. Ron takes one last cookie and heads up the stairs to the boys' dorm.
“Goodnight, mate,” Harry says to Ron’s retreating back. Funny; the ugly, heated unpleasantness has all but gone from him. It’s easy, now, to return to his homework. Within minutes, he has vanquished the rest of the essay. As he reads over it, it doesn’t look half-bad – though, Snape will probably give him bad marks, anyway.
He rolls the parchment back up and tucks it away in a cupboard with his quills and ink bottle. Hermione is still sitting on the couch with a plate of cookies in her lap, so he lays down beside her and rests his head on her free thigh.
“Hello, Harry,” she smiles. In the firelight, her hair looks like cinnamon and golden pastries. “Finished with your essay, finally?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, accepting a cookie from her hands. “That was really unruly, honestly. Don’t know why he bothered assigning five inches of mandrake science to us – Potions isn’t Herbology. My entire essay is filler.”
“It’s important to know, Harry,” Hermione reminds him, and he sighs. The gingerbread tastes as good as he expected it to be.
“I know, I know,” Hermione’s fingers card through his hair, which is distracting, but not unpleasant. Something soft stirs in his chest, preens with delight. “What did you put on your essay? I’m already finished, so you might as well tell me.”
Hermione frowns. “The anatomy of mandrakes are complex enough that I filled up six inches – did you not copy down all of the notes I told you to?”
Harry looks away sheepishly. “I did, but you’re better at making words stretch than I am–”
Hermione taps his nose. “No excuses.”
There is a comfortable, warm silence between them for a long few moments. Harry finishes another cookie and watches Hermione as she stares into the fire. A question nags at the back of Harry’s mind.
“So who do you fancy now?” Harry asks – the question comes out sounding worse than he intended, but Hermione just raises an eyebrow.
“Why do you ask?” She questions. He shrugs half-heartedly and reaches for another cookie.
“Just curious,” he tries to say nonchalantly. He fails; he sounds fake, like he’s trying too hard (he is, really, truly, because he'll be damned if she ignores him and falls in love with someone that won't give her what she deserves). Hermione is quiet, for a moment, and suddenly a smile pops onto her face.
“Oh, are you jealous?” She teases playfully. Harry’s cheeks burn hotter than the fire, and he rolls his eyes. “Have I been paying too much attention to everyone else? Feeling left out, are we?”
“Oh, shut up,” Harry groans. Hermione giggles and pinches at his cheeks. He bats her hands away and fruitlessly tries to defend himself. “You know as well as I that lots of the men in this school are only looking for – stop it, Hermione, my cheeks hurt – a pretty bit of flesh! I just want to make sure that my best friend is not falling in love with anyone who doesn’t have her best interests at heart.”
“And if I can make that decision for myself?” She asks – it’s a trick question; he can sense that he’s trodding on eggshells. He sobers immediately.
“You are perfectly capable of making that decision on your own. I never meant to imply that you couldn’t.” Harry quickly states, feeling relieved when her eyes un-narrow and stop glaring daggers at him. “It just makes me feel better to know who my best friends have crushes on, so I know who I have to kill if you end up hurt or something. And – I mean, you know I won’t tease you if you like someone ridiculous or anything. I just need to keep track of these things so I don’t make a fool of myself, later. You surely understand that–”
A warm, soft pair of lips descends upon his own and he stops talking. Hermione’s hair falls around his face, shielding him from the light and surrounding him in a subtle, flowery smell. Hermione’s eyes are open – in the firelight, her brown eyes almost look golden. The rest of the world falls away. Something in Harry’s chest expands and aches.
She pulls away – it’s barely an inch of space, but it’s enough that he sees her slow smile curl into place. His own awestruck grin forms and he blinks slowly.
“Does that answer your question?” She asks, biting the corner of her lip in a way that almost seems shy.
“Yeah–” his voice cracks in the middle of the word and he clears his voice, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “Yeah. Question definitely answered.”
“Good.” She agrees, leaning back against the sofa. Her fingers absentmindedly play in his hair. He closes his eyes and enjoys the content feeling in his chest.
Time passes on quietly, slowly, gently. Harry dozes for a long time, thinking about this or that, sometimes not thinking at all. Hermione makes him get up and go to bed a while later, but she sends him off with a soft kiss on the cheek, so he doesn’t mind.
The sheets are warm when he slides into them. Sleep comes quick and silent. He dreams of soft things and golden-brown eyes with the smell of flowers lingering on his skin.