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The wind whispered its icy song through the turrets of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Outside, snow blanketed the grounds, muffling the usual sounds of the castle and wrapping everything in a serene hush. Inside the Gryffindor common room, however, the atmosphere was far from quiet. The fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully, bathing the room in a warm glow. Students lounged in armchairs or worked at tables, quills scratching against parchment as the evening wore on.
Hermione Granger sat in her favorite chair near the fire, her legs curled beneath her and Advanced Rune Translation Techniques open on her lap. Her brow was furrowed, but not in the focused way that typically heralded an intellectual breakthrough. No, she had been stuck on the same passage for nearly an hour, her mind stubbornly wandering elsewhere—namely, to the boy across the room.
Harry Potter sat with Ron Weasley at a low table, their wizard chess match the latest in a long line of fiercely competitive games. Ron was hunched over the board, his tongue poking out as he plotted his next move. Harry, however, seemed less interested in the game and more preoccupied with stealing glances at Hermione. Every now and then, his green eyes flicked toward her, his expression unreadable.
“You’re going to lose your knight,” Ron muttered without looking up, nudging his rook forward.
“What? Oh, yeah, right,” Harry said, jolting and moving a piece at random.
Ron snorted. “You’ve been distracted all week, mate. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry said a little too quickly, his ears reddening.
Ron smirked. “Uh-huh. And I suppose ‘nothing’ has a lot to do with Hermione?”
Harry choked, nearly knocking over his pawn. “What? No! I mean—she’s just been acting weird lately. I’m worried about her, that’s all.”
“Sure you are,” Ron said, leaning back with a knowing grin. “You’re about as subtle as Hagrid trying to sneak a dragon egg into the castle.”
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment, Hermione stood abruptly. She hugged her book to her chest, her cheeks unusually pink, and swept out of the common room without a word.
Harry slumped in his chair, groaning. “See? She’s avoiding me!”
“Maybe,” Ron said, moving his queen with a flourish, “or maybe you’re avoiding her. Ever think of that?”
Hermione’s boots clicked sharply against the stone floor as she marched down the empty corridor. Her breath came in quick bursts, fogging in the cold air. She clutched Advanced Rune Translation Techniques tighter, though it did little to calm the storm raging in her chest.
“Pining idiot,” she muttered to herself. “You absolute, ridiculous, pining idiot.”
She’d spent weeks agonizing over her feelings for Harry, feelings that had crept up on her like a rogue spell, impossible to contain. He was Harry—brave, kind, and frustratingly oblivious Harry. How could she possibly tell him how she felt without ruining their friendship?
Lost in her thoughts, she almost collided with Luna Lovegood, who was drifting along with her usual serene grace, an upside-down copy of The Quibbler in hand.
“Hello, Hermione,” Luna said dreamily, her gaze lingering on Hermione’s flushed face. “You look quite out of sorts. Did you see a Wrackspurt?”
“No, Luna,” Hermione said with a sigh. “I’m just—ugh. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Luna said, tilting her head. “Is it about Harry?”
Hermione froze. “How did you—?”
“Oh, it’s obvious,” Luna said, smiling. “You look at him the way a Puffskein looks at treacle. And he looks at you the same way, though he probably hasn’t realized it yet.”
Hermione felt her heart drop. “You think so?”
Luna nodded. “Definitely. But boys can be dreadfully slow about these things. Maybe you should give him a little nudge.”
“A nudge?”
“Yes. Something small,” Luna suggested, twirling her wand absentmindedly. “Ask him to help you with something. Give him a reason to spend time with you.”
Hermione hesitated. “Like what?”
Luna’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Flying. You’re dreadful at it, aren’t you?”
Hermione spluttered. “I—I am not!”
Luna simply smiled, her expression inscrutable, and floated away down the corridor, leaving Hermione to mull over her suggestion.
Later that evening, Hermione found Harry in the library, surrounded by a half-hearted pile of books. His gaze was distant, and his quill was still, as if he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be writing.
“Harry?” Hermione said, her voice quieter than she’d intended.
Harry looked up, startled. “Oh, hi, Hermione. What’s up?”
She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “I was wondering… would you help me with something? I—I thought it might be time to, um, improve my flying.”
Harry blinked. “Flying? You?”
“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. “Unless you’re too busy?”
“No, not at all!” Harry said, standing so quickly he knocked over his inkpot. “I mean, I’d love to help.”
The snow fell in gentle flurries as Harry guided Hermione onto his broom that night. The pitch was quiet, the world around them muffled by the falling snow and the faint glow of the castle windows in the distance.
“Relax,” Harry murmured, his hands steadying hers on the handle. “I’ve got you.”
As they rose into the air, the tension in Hermione’s shoulders eased, replaced by a fluttering warmth that had little to do with flying. She glanced back at Harry, his face alight with encouragement.
“Harry…” she began, but the words failed her.
When she kissed him, it was brief and impulsive—so brief, in fact, that she almost convinced herself it hadn’t happened. But then the broom wobbled, and they tumbled through the air, landing in a snowdrift with a soft whump .
Harry groaned as he realized he was sprawled awkwardly on top of Hermione, his glasses askew and snow clinging to his hair. “Did you just—?”
Hermione’s cheeks burned. “I—well—you see—” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I kissed you, all right? And now we’ve crashed, and it’s absolutely ridiculous—”
“You kissed me,” Harry interrupted, his voice oddly soft.
Hermione peeked through her fingers, startled by the small, genuine smile tugging at his
lips. “Yes. And I suppose I’ve just proven Luna’s theory about Wrackspurts affecting judgment.”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “No Wrackspurts. Just you.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to her lips. “And for the record… I didn’t mind. At all.”
Hermione stared at him, her breath catching, and then she laughed—a bright, breathless laugh that echoed into the snowy night.
Harry’s cheeks reddened further as he adjusted his glasses and carefully moved off her. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” Hermione said, brushing a stray snowflake from her hair. “Just that Luna was right.”
“About the Wrackspurts?” Harry teased, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione shook her head, her cheeks still flushed. “No. About you being dreadfully slow about these things.”
Harry chuckled, looking down for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “You’re probably right. I—I guess I was scared. Of messing it up, you know?”
Hermione’s smile faltered, replaced by a faint blush. “And now?”
Harry hesitated, his gaze flicking to her face. “Now I think messing it up might not be so bad, we finally stopped dancing around something we’ve both known for a while.”
Her heart skipped at his words, and for a moment, she felt utterly lost in the warmth of his expression. “You’re really hopeless, you know that?”
“Completely,” Harry said with a grin. “But it seems to be working out so far.”
She laughed again, this time softer, and leaned back into the snow, staring up at the stars. “It’s so quiet out here,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”
Harry settled next to her for a moment, the snowflakes landing on his unruly hair. “Maybe it doesn’t,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Maybe it’s just us.”
Hermione turned to him, her lips curling into a small smile. “That’s a dangerous thought, Potter.”
“Good thing I’ve got a Gryffindor to keep me in line,” Harry replied, the teasing lilt back in his voice.
Finally, Harry stood, brushing the snow from his robes and offering Hermione a hand. “Come on. Let’s get back inside before someone notices we’re gone.”
Hermione took his hand, her fingers curling around his as they stood. The snow crunched softly beneath their boots as they began their slow walk back to the castle.
“Harry?” she said, glancing sideways at him.
“Yeah?”
“Let’s not make a habit of crashing brooms just to talk to one another,” Hermione said, her tone half-teasing but laced with warmth.
Harry grinned, his glasses still askew. “Fair enough. But if it’s the only way to get us to stop overthinking and actually talk, it might be worth it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Hopeless.”
“Completely,” Harry agreed, squeezing her hand lightly.