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The wind whipped your hair viscously as you kicked off the ground. You soared around the Slytherin and Ravenclaw team before landing with your own Gryffindors. You perched next to Harry.
“It’s pretty windy out Harry, that mop on your head won’t block you from seeing?”
He chuckled, “Hasn’t before, and it won’t now. I’m the—“
“Youngest seeker in a hundred years. I’m well aware, Potter.”
He grinned mischievously at you.
Friday nights like this were rare. You had to make sure the Quidditch field was open, that no teachers were suspecting you (really they all knew what was going on, but they didn’t mind. It was a civil time, even Draco wasn’t an arse), and that all students were able to sneak out of their dorms. Even the ghosts (surprisingly Peeve too) and the paintings helped. They all like to place bets on which houses would win. Gryffindoor and Hufflepuff were always on a team, as Slytherin and Ravenclaw were. The Hufflegins and Raverins for short.
It was tricky to figure out at first, but you all decided that every Quidditch position would just be doubled in players (“Double the fun!” Fred and George had said).
Four Seekers. Eight Beaters. 12 Chasers. Eight Keepers. It was chaos. But definitely amazing. No one really took it seriously, you all joked and played around. You had even convinced Hermione to be the referee (“You’re asking me? To break a rule? Are you daft?”).
Hermione bent down, ten feet from under you, and opened the box. Loud roars and cheers from the spectators filled the stadium.
“I want a clean match,” she said, eying the Slytherins— and you.
“No promises, Granger,” you winked.
She whipped her head down and muttered to herself (you picked up a couple words like “daft” and “a bloody idiot”). The balls shaked the container, begging to be used, and so, Hermione stuck two fingers into her mouth and blew. The loud whistle echoed across the stadium as the balls whizzed out of the container. The snitch danced around Harry and Cedric Diggory’s heads, then whipped away to do the same to Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy.
You didn’t stick around too much though, with a final wink to Hermione, you sped off to get the Quaffle. You saw George whack a bludger at Fred, who in turn smacked it right back at him. You continued zipping across the field, gaining speed to Slytherin and Ravenclaw’s posts. Ginny tossed the Quaffle to you, and you threw it with all your might. Slytherin and Ravenclaw’s keepers tried to block it, but they ended up crashing into one another.
“Ten points for the Hufflegins!” Hermione shouted.
As the night went on the match only got more intense. You and many others were dripping with sweat— it really wasn’t suppose to go on this long.
The teams were tired, but never the less, they got back into the game. Well, they would’ve if Hermione hadn’t had something to say about that.
“You are all bloody idiots, get down here now. You’re going to get someone hurt.“
You wiped the sweat off your forehead, “But—“
Hermione cut you off with a glare that could very well kill.
You gulped, “Alright fellas, take a recess? Back in ten then, alright?”
Hermione nodded and trudged off to Ron’s direction who was eating a truffle.
Unfortunately your broomstick started going haywire. The top was seemingly being yanked left and right, while the bottom was twisting and pulling downwards.
“This isn’t funny, Y/N! Get down!” Hermione yelled.
“I—Hermione—I can’t!”
“Damn you! It’s been jinxed,” she sighed. “Really sorry about this.”
“Wait! What are you—“
Turning her wand to the left of you, she shouted.
“Bombardo!”
A loud explosion erupted so close that you could feel the scorching heat from it, searing off some of your arm hair as well as your robe.
Your broomstick harshly came to a stop, flinging you right into Hermione, and knocking her down. You tumbled and rolled off of her, your body could already feel the bruises and cuts that were starting to scatter themselves amongst you.
She rubbed her temples and shakily stood up. Marching over to you, she leaned down to her knees and helped you upwards. You cradled your arm in pain, your aching body being forgotten about.
“Who would jinx my broom?” You asked, wincing in pain as your elbow moved slightly. Her eyes darted across your body, checking it for visible injuries.
“I don’t know, but it was probably Slytherin.”
Hermione marched towards the center of the field, students watched her every move with rapt attention.
“THE GAME IS OFF!” She yelled.
Loud boo’s and groans filled the stadium as the students started to file down the stairs somberly.
“Well I could’ve played Hermione,” you pouted.
“And what? Get jinxed again? Die? Break another arm? Or worse, expose this entire thing and get expelled? Mind you, we’re not even suppose to be doing this,” Hermione scolded.
Un-similar to her harsh tone, she gently folded your arm out from where it was being cradled. She began to examine it with her eyebrows pressed together. You thought she looked pretty adorable like that.
“Does this hurt?” She poked your arm gently.
A sharp pain vibrated throughout your arm, and you gritted your teeth.
“Yup—Yeah—Definitely.”
She nodded. “Keep cradling it like that alright? I’ll treat it when we get back to the common room.”
You followed her quick pace back to the school, not wanting her to leave you in the dark. Well, that’s what you told yourself. There were still students walking out out of the stadium— most of them were doing spells or drinking potions to avoid getting caught by mean, grumpy Filch and his wicked cat— Crookshanks was much better.
“Why cant we just have Madam Pomfrey do it?” You whined.
“Because you cant break an arm whilst sleeping can you? No, you cant—“
“If you’re Neville—“
“—but that’s what we were suppose to be doing.”
Hermione laced her hand with yours and your breathing became bated. Her soft hands made your aching arm and body feel ten times as better. She stepped closer to you, almost no distance separating the two of you, and you could’ve sworn your heartbeat stopped. A deep blush found its home on your cheeks.
“Bear with me, I’m still not the best at Apperating,” her minty chuckle filled your senses, along with her flowery scent.
You nodded dumbly, thankful she couldn’t see you.
She muttered something incoherent, and soon your senses ceased. Then they abruptly came back to you like a sling shot. Your body was being stretched to the moon and back, then being compressed into an adam. Well, that’s what you thought anyway, you really didn’t understand what was happening. Then, as soon as it started, it’s stopped and you were shoved to the hard, unwelcoming floor of the Gryffindor common room.
You groaned in pain and cursed, your arm felt like a thousand snakes had just sunk their poisonous fangs deep into your flesh. Tears sprung in your eyes and you clamped them shut, gritting your teeth painfully. An echo of words— that Mrs. Weasley would no doubt have washed your mouth out for— left your mouth.
Hermione rushed over to you and kneeled down. “I’m sorry, oh god, think I’ve just made it worse, haven’t I?”
“Who’s God?”
She chuckled, heat rushed up to her cheeks and even to the tip of her ears. You decided then and there that making Hermione blush furiously was your new favorite thing.
Her teeth came out and bit her bottom lip softly as she tried to think of a simile for you. You didn’t catch the explanation Hermione provided, instead being captivated by her hands creating gestures and her occasional blush when she stumbled.
When you finally stood up, she wrapped an arm around your waist tightly (“You—I mean you could…fall?” was her excuse when you’d asked).
This time it was your turn to blush as her thumb started to move vertical and back along your waist. A soft pattern against your skin that could’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so focused on not trying to look like a bloody fool— which failed anyways because you stumbled on the stair case.
The hand secured around your hip (you were unsure when that adjustment had been made, but you weren’t particularly complaining), guided you towards the girls’ bathroom and onto the sink. Luckily, people had chosen to gather around at the Slytherins common room for some Firewhiskey, as one big “screw the rules” hoorah.
She took out her wand and looked up at you, “Good news, I can heal that broken bone of yours—“
“Bad news?”
“We’re going to have to use some muggle stuff for those cuts.”
“Count on magic to fix broken things, but not for it to fix a bloody cut,” you blew a raspberry to accommodate your mood.
She smiled and shook her head at your antics.
“This might be a tad grievous, so take my hand and squeeze it tight if you need to, alright?”
You nodded confidently, but your sweaty hand and nervous gulps contradicted your actions. Hermione must’ve sensed this, as she gently cupped your chin with her hands. You swallowed harshly and were damn grateful you could blame it on nerves.
“It’ll be alright, no need to fret,” her kind eyes eased you easily and you nodded.
Her hand slowly retreated— you tried to push away the thoughts about missing her warmth.
“Do you want me to count?”
Your head nodded shakily, and you took hold of her free hand.
“1…”
“2– Brackium Emendo!”
You jumped seeing as her voice startled you, your bone easily found its right and proper place as well.
You pouted.
“That wasn’t til three.”
Her eyebrows raised as did a corner of her mouth.
“Yes, but you didn’t even realize it. Stopped you from that anxious worrying, didn’t I?” Her victory laid out across her face smugly.
“Damn you Granger, always right, aren’t you?”
“Well I have to spite Malfoy somehow don’t I?”
You snorted and were about the hop off the counter, but her hand came against your stomach and stopped you.
“Ah-ah, where do you think you’re going?”
Your face twisted into confusion, “They have Firewhiskey in Slytherins, that’s where.”
“No, you’re staying here. I need to patch up those wounds you’ve got yourself.”
“Merlin, you’re about to do Madam Pomfrey of her job, ‘Mione.”
Her head shook in disagreement, “Going for old Cornelius’ actually.”
Her wand had been set aside, and she was now working the layers of your robe off.
“Ministry O’ Magic, eh Hermione?”
She nodded, her teeth coming out once again in concentration. As you stared— probably much longer than you should’ve— you noticed something.
“Your teeth.”
Her movements stopped and she looked up at you.
“What about them?” She dejectedly asked.
“They’re shortened. Hermione did you—did you change them?”
She cleared her throat and fixed her posture— her hands resuming their goal previously and her head downwards now. Controlling her voice she answered, “I was bullied for them, rather large and obnoxious I suppose, so I just did a small spell.”
You frowned, “Hermione—“
“Really, it’s fine. Was doing myself along with everybody an honest favor.”
Hermione could never hide her emotions well— it was something that she might’ve deemed a flaw. Her eyes were glossy and voided of the light they usually carried. Her lips were compressed to a thin, horizontal line, and her cheeks were sucked inwards, as she anxiously bit them.
You placed a hand on the one to be undressing you, and the other on her chin. As you did this, you could’ve vowed her breathing stopped— but regardless of your imagination, you lifted her chin upwards. Her tear-filled eyes met yous and you frowned deeply.
“I rather liked them, so don’t you go assuming things. It made you different, something I admire about you— besides your wit and brains,” you paused for a moment, but continued. “Is that what you did you your hair too? A spell?”
You hand that once was holding hers, left and traveled to her hair. You rain your fingers through it, taking note of how it was much more flatter now.
“No, I uhm— I used a—“ her words died on her tongue and she met your eyes once again. The ones holding love and compassion in them.
“I spent the summer of second year continually straightening it. Almost fried my hair, but it was better than that unruly—“
“Don’t you go on about that, Granger. I loved that hair of yours— still love it now,” your left hand reached for another piece, but to your surprise, Hermione held it in her own.
She timidly settled it on her jaw, and mimicked the placement with her own hands on yours. Your hand on her chin, migrated to her other jaw, and you took the time to acknowledge her other features.
A light dust of blush was spread across her cheeks. You noticed flecks of gold in her amber eyes as your own pair greedily took in her beauty. Her lips were slightly agape, and her eyebrows lightly lifted, revealing a small portion of eyeshadow she must’ve forgotten to take off before her duty as referee.
In the short, few seconds you were looking at her, Hermione was looking at you. Her bated breath getting caught within her lungs every time your eyes would meet hers. Gathering enough nerve, Hermione slowly brought her lips closer to yours.
Your heart sped up in anticipation, whilst your breathing ceased. Your eyes slowly fluttered closed, and you leaned down gently. You heart grew louder, and you could’ve sworn Hermione could hear it— hell, half of Hogwarts probably could.
Her soft lips landed gently on yours. You melted into her warmth— like winter into spring. Her lips parted from yours, but came back again, wanting more. Hermione pressed closer to you, and your legs unconsciously wrapped around her upper legs. Her head left again, but no sooner had she separated she returned once again, only this time from a different angle. A soft sigh left your lips.
You’d spend all day kissing Hermione— even if it meant failing your classes. Her hand traveled down to your waist, and slowly pulled you off the counter and closer to her.
Your senses welcomed all of Hermione— her scent, her watermelon chapstick, and her soft skin flooded into you. Your brain was in overdrive, but simultaneously working at an agonizingly slow pace. You hadn’t even realized when Hermione had trapped you against the wall, your kisses becoming more messy— more needy.
She pulled back again, and you chased after her, only to be met with a a soft finger to your lips. You opened your eyes and set your head straight, looking at Hermione. Her lips were pulled into a knowing grin, and her eyebrows rested higher on her face.
“Believe me, as much as I’d love to kiss that adoring pout away, I need to help you with those wounds.”
The pout on your face deepened— only to be replaced by a grin moments later. Hermiones smirk faded and turned into a look of worrisome confusion.
“See, Im not minding the fact that my bodies essentially bleeding out right now, but I know you are, so could I possibly—maybe—hopefully get another kiss— and then you could patch me up, Doc?”
She scoffed, but the grin plastered on her face sent you a different message.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” you sighed as her lips met yours again.
You knew Ron would never let you forget that he’s the whole reason you’ve got this. Fifteen galleons was worth the broken arm and the jinxed broom.