Chapter Text
Harry slung his books onto his bed and collapsed against the mattress. Taking off his glasses he rubbed at his eyes and tried to ignore the headache forming at the base of his skull. The first week of classes was finally over. He had gone in with the vain hope that if Snape was finally teaching the subject he wanted to teach that he’d be … less Snape-ish. Ha. How delusional.
Now one of his favorite subjects was the equivalent of wrestling a flobberworm. It sucked.
“Why,” Ron moaned, lying spread eagled on the floor of their dorm room, “do the professors think it’s a good idea to give us so much homework. Already?”
“Masochists,” Seamus said.
“Sadists. You mean sadists, dude.” Dean didn’t flinch as Seamus chucked his grimy quidditch jersey at him.
Quidditch tryouts were next week, which meant everyone in between classes and homework, including Harry, were out on the pitch getting in last minute practice with hopes of making the team. Harry had already been ordained team captain, but that meant there was even more pressure on him to not only play well, but to also choose the best team and guide everyone to glorious victory.
How was he supposed to keep up with the mountains of homework and quidditch? (And helping Dumbledore figure out what was going on with Slughorn?) (And trying to ignore how cagey Malfoy was being?)
“Alright lads.” Seamus pulled a bottle out of his trunk and held it aloft. “I was going to save this until after tryouts, but desperate times. Desperate times.”
“What’s that?” Neville asked from his bed where he’d attempted to lay out his assignments in some sort of logical order.
“This, my friend, is just the finest muggle whiskey this side of wizard-dom.”
“Ugh,” Harry moaned and covered his face with his arm.
“Please say it isn’t that swill you brought last year?” Ron said in voice of despair. “I’m ill just remembering the smell of it.”
“Whatever,” Seamus said. “It’s my mum’s favorite so I could easily nick it. So what if it’s cheap and disgusting. It’s liquor. You in or not?”
Ten minutes later the five of them lounged on their dorm room floor, eager to forget the mountains of homework and responsibilities that loomed over them. For one night they could completely skive off. Harry was all for it even if he felt a tad bit guilty. He knew Hermione was already getting started and would probably lecture him about wasted time, but … this wasn’t a waste of time. Just a different use for it.
“Rules, boys.” Seamus took a swig directly out of the bottle and passed it to Harry. Harry quickly gulped some down, passed it to Dean, and attempted to keep a calm face as his throat burned gold. “Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Courage. Honesty. Sneakiness. Knowledge. Whichever color you choose is what you have to do. We go clockwise, so the bloke who’s on your left holds your life in your hands. I hope you haven’t pissed each other off this week.”
“Can we reset our individual rules?” Neville asked. “I’d really like to.”
Harry agreed emphatically. Last year he’d unwisely used his rule on the first game, which had thankfully kept Snape out of the game, but had left him without recourse for the rest of the year. He still cringed at the dare to swim in the lake without getting caught by Umbridge.
“Sure.” Seamus shrugged. “We each get one veto, one all powerful rule that lasts the schoolyear. Use it wisely, lads! Now, who’s got some beans?”
Ron wheezed into his fist and handed the bottle back to Seamus.
“I do. Gran always sends me with some.” Neville pulled a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Bean from his trunk and magicked out the wrong colors.
“I go first, since I provided the whiskey.” Seamus rattled the box dramatically and stuck his hand in. He pulled his hand out and opened his fist. A garishly yellow bean sat in his palm. (Lemon, Harry hoped, for Seamus’s sake.) “Alright, Potter, do your worst.”
A bubbly fuzziness was already settling over Harry’s stomach. Yellow for honesty. “Alright. Who do you fancy?”
“That’s the best you can do?” Seamus took another swig from the whiskey and then grinned. “Who do I not fancy?”
“Here we go,” Dean moaned.
“Something was in the air this summer; I tell you what. Our classmates have returned fit. Cho Chang cut her hair and -” Seamus whistled. Harry couldn’t help but agree. Cho’s hair was now cut in a short bob, accentuating her long neck and it made that awkward crush he’d put to bed flutter anew in his stomach. (Until he remembered how awkward and uninspiring their kiss had been.) “And Ginny -”
“Don’t you dare bring my sister – or brothers – up in this game! You or anyone else.” Ron’s face had gone pink. “I invoke my one rule.” This was the same rule he had established last year.
“Are you sure?” Seamus grinned devilishly.
“Absolutely.”
He sighed. “Alright, alright. Where was I. That’s right. Well, Theodore Nott has grown a few inches and his trousers hug his arse nicely while walking up the stairs.”
“Ugh.” Ron cringed. “But he’s a Slytherin.” Dean laughed and Harry tried very hard not to.
“Michael Corner too. I think those muscles he’s put on will make him a mighty fine beater. And -”
“You’re not done yet?” Ron asked.
“- our very own Hermione Granger is looking quite pretty these days, especially when she piles that glorious mountain of hair atop her head, revealing that bit of tanned skin just asking to be kissed. Don’t you agree?” Seamus turned to Harry and raised his eyebrows.
Harry blinked, blood rushing up to his cheeks. “Wh-what? Why’re you asking me?”
“No Hermione either!” Ron yelled.
“You used your one rule, Ron,” Dean said. “Hermione’s fair game. Besides, Seamus is just pointing out what we’ve all noticed. Hermione is quite a looker.”
“I don’t know,” Neville hedged. “She kind of scares me. In a good way. Like a bossy sister.”
“What do you think, Harry. Is Hermione sister material or snogging material?” Seamus asked.
Harry grabbed the bottle and quickly took a gulp. “Thankfully,” he choked out, “I don’t have to answer that.”
Seamus laughed. “Touche. Touche.” He shoved the box of beans at Ron.
Ron grimaced, face still red, and begrudgingly shoved his hand into the box. He pulled out a muted blue bean. He grimaced again and took a long drink from the bottle.
Seamus cracked his knuckles. “Rank our classmates – girls, or boys if you’re into them like me, – from hottest to nottest.”
Ron bit at his nails, hemmed and hawed, before finally listing out as quickly as he could his top ten. Unsurprisingly Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were near the top, but he also included Pansy Parkinson, “Well she is hot, just a hag too,” and Hermione.
Harry’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. Did everyone really think Hermione was … hot? Sure, Hermione had been breathtaking in fourth year during the Yule Ball when they’d all put in effort to look their nicest, but Hermione was just Hermione. Unruly brown hair that she didn’t give two hoots whether anyone liked it or not (Harry did – he liked that it got frizzier the more magic she used). Average height (shorter than him now, which meant she had to tilt her head to look up at him, and something about that made Harry pleased deep in his stomach). Normal brown eyes and normal pink lips (eyes that lit up upon seeing him and lips that liked to chew on sugar quills …)
Harry swallowed and tried to push these strange thoughts of Hermione out of his mind.
Neville pulled a red bean out of the box and groaned.
“Ha!” Ron rubbed his hands together causing Neville’s face to whiten in fear. “You have to ask a girl -”
“Or boy!” Seamus chimed in.
“- to the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend!”
“Yeah!” Dean patted Neville, who had blanched, on the back.
“A-alright. I accept.”
Harry grinned and Seamus quickly passed the bottle around the circle.
“Who’s the lucky lady?” Dean asked. “Or bloke?”
Neville’s face quickly turned from white to pink. “Oh, um, I have a girl in mind, who I kind of fancy. But, um, well …”
“You don’t have to tell us, Nev,” Harry said taking pity on his friend. “Unless you want to.”
“Especially if the girl happens to have the last name of Weasley,” Dean added with a grin.
“Wh-what? Oh, no!” Neville turned to Ron and shook his head. “I’m not. Ginny’s not.”
“It’s okay, Nev.” Ron awkwardly patted his shoulder.
Neville quickly shoved the box of beans at Dean. Quick in and out, a green bean held between his fingers. “Do your worst, Nev.”
Neville sniffed and leaned back against his trunk. “Since this round is clearly about embarrassing each other over who we may or may not like … well, I dare you to sneak in a proper snog in Snape’s classroom without getting caught.”
“Oh-ho!” Seamus grinned while Ron roared with laughter.
“That’s brutal,” Harry said, very much glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that particular dare. He might’ve had to resurrect his No Snape rule.
“Geez, Nev,” Dean spluttered. “Don’t hold back. But, fine, I accept. I will give my crush, who I shall not name, a thorough snog in Snape’s classroom. And I won’t be caught.”
“Proof,” Ron said. “We’ll need proof.”
Instead of being affronted, strangely Dean smiled slyly. “Of course. Nev will too.”
Neville shrugged muttering something about how taking a girl to Hogsmeade wasn’t exactly a secret act, and that from what he could tell, girls didn’t really like being treated like a secret anyways. Ron narrowed his eyes at Dean, ignoring Neville.
Harry quickly grabbed the box of beans, afraid he knew exactly who Dean’s crush was. He fished out a bean and held it up. “Red,” he announced, popping it into his mouth. He immediately coughed at the assault of hot chili pepper and attempted to wash it away with whiskey. His throat burned.
“Red.” Dean cocked his head and then his face lit up. “Alright. You have to kiss Hermione. On the lips. With feeling.”
“What?” Both Harry and Ron spluttered.
“Proof!” Shouted Seamus. “You’ll need proof too!”
Dean leaned back and simply smiled pleasantly at Harry, as if he hadn’t just dared him to kiss one of his best friends.
Harry glanced at his other best friend and quickly looked away as Ron, red faced and scowling, gulped back some more whiskey. Harry didn’t like bringing Hermione into these dares, just like Ron, but there was nothing for it. He wasn’t going to use his one veto on her. He sighed and heaved a melodramatic shrug. “Alright,” he simply said.
Seamus, Dean, and Neville shouted in excitement.
Did Harry want to kiss Hermione? Honestly, he’d never thought about it before, but now that he was thinking about it, he decided he’d come out of this round rather lucky. Hermione knew about the game and he’d tactfully used her to fulfill a couple of his dares last year (when he’d had to provide photo evidence of being in a broom cupboard with a girl, she had (after rolling her eyes) placed a hand on his chest while he took a purposefully blurry photo with Creevy’s camera). She would understand.
“In fact,” Harry said standing up and wiping his hands against his trousers, “I’ll go do it right now, assuming she’s studying in the common room.”
Another thing he’d learned was that the faster he fulfilled the dare the better.
Did he want to kiss Hermione that very moment in front of his friends? It could be quite a bit worse, especially if he stalled and they forced him to do it when it was even more awkward and inconvenient. That was how Hermione had found out about the game and provided her hand as broom cupboard evidence. He was technically supposed to make out with someone in a broom cupboard, but he couldn’t decide who to ask, then found the idea of asking abhorrent and too nerve wracking, and then Seamus and Ron had declared he had until that night when they’d be playing a new round. In a fit of despair, he’d poured out his stress to Hermione and she’d saved the day. When asked who he’d seduced he simply said that a wizard never kisses and tells.
They hadn’t kissed (or come anywhere close to kissing) then, and well, wasn’t that just ironic that now he would have to.
Best to get it over with.
Harry took the bottle of whiskey from Ron (who was oddly glaring at him in a manner reminiscent of when he’d thought Harry had lied and put his name in the Triwizard Cup – what was up with him?) and took a small sip for luck. He forced the burning cough to remain in his throat as they all made their way down the twisting stairs and into the common room.
Given that it was a Friday evening, most of the Gryffindors were hanging out in the common room playing exploding snap, wizards chess, or gossiping about this or that. A fire smoldered in the fireplace. The wizard wireless hummed a crooning song by the Weird Sisters. Lavender, Parvati, Ginny, and a couple other girls were huddled over a magazine by the fire.
Harry searched for Hermione, suddenly feeling nervous, and found her exactly as he had expected.
He stumbled forward to the hissing and shoves of his friends. He glanced back and Seamus was attempting to not bust out laughing, Ron’s ears had somehow gotten redder, and Neville was watching with wide eyes behind his hands.
Hermione sat at one of the small study tables by one of the tall stained-glass windows. Despite the constant chatter of conversation, occasional whoop from exploding snap, and the wizarding wireless playing, she was deeply entrenched in taking notes from a pile of books in front of her.
Harry cleared his throat, heart beating uncomfortably despite the fire of the whiskey sitting in his belly, and pulled out the chair next to her. “Hey, Hermione.”
Her eyes flitted to him in acknowledgement and immediately went back to her cramped handwriting on the parchment. She had loosened her tie and pulled her hair partly away from her face revealing, now that Harry was thinking of such things, her (very kissable, in Seamus’s opinion) neck and the line of her jaw which led to her lips. Lips that he was going to kiss.
He cleared his throat again and shifted in the chair. “You know that game? The one that Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, and I sometimes play?”
“Hmm,” she acknowledged as she pried her eyes from her notes again to give him her full attention. Lifting the quill to her lips – lips he was about to kiss – she nibbled on the end and immediately made a face and spit it out. It wasn’t a sugar quill, but a normal one.
“I got red.”
“Red for courage. Or performing stupid acts.”
“Right. And well … I’m over here because I have to … please don’t hate me.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You’re not about to banish my notes, are you? Or my planner?”
“What? No! No, nothing like that.” Thank Merlin Dean didn’t want Harry dead.
She tipped her head, brow furrowing slightly. Then she shrugged, as if anything else was trivial. “Well, in that case, go on then.”
“Promise you won’t hate me?”
Hermione sighed and gave him one of her small, private smiles. “Because you warned me, I won’t hate you.”
Harry took a deep, steadying breath and before he could stop himself or worry again (should he have brushed his teeth?), he reached forward, placed his fingers against her jawline and neck, and pulled Hermione’s face towards him. Her eyes widened and then his lips were on hers.
“You have to kiss Hermione. On the lips. With feeling.”
Harry tried to pretend like he wasn’t kissing his friend only because he’d been dared to.
“With feeling.”
He tried to pretend that she wasn’t Hermione-Hermione, his very real friend who was a thousand times more interested in books than boys … except Viktor Krum, his brain reminded him. She’d never talked much about her … relationship? … with Krum. Had they kissed? Had they –
He wrenched his thoughts away from the other boy and back to Hermione. Who was kissing him back. Whose hand was tentatively resting on his arm.
His fingers shifted and found the nape of her neck, fingertips pushed against her hair. Her head tilted slightly, mouth opening just a bit and something deep in the pit of his stomach glowed with buzzing energy. She tasted like sugar (had she eaten a sugar quill before he’d come down?). Did he taste like whiskey?
Harry finally pulled away, a strange buzzing in his ears.
Hermione’s cheeks had turned pink and her lips were parted in what was probably shock.
The buzzing subsided and the raucous noise of the common room exploded around him. Seamus was whooping “he did it! He did it!” while others were strangely clapping and whistling.
“Th-that’s what you needed to do?” Hermione asked, strangely breathy.
Harry nodded, dropped his hands, and tried not to stare at her lips. Lips that he had just thoroughly kissed.
He failed. He couldn’t help but look at her mouth in ... he couldn’t name the feeling.
“Was it satisfactory?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out and then, realizing she didn’t mean how she kissed (which was indeed beyond satisfactory – much, much nicer than the kiss he’d shared with Cho), cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. On the lips. With feeling. I think I passed.”
She blinked rapidly and then ran her hands down her shirt. “Good. Good. Should I expect any other displays of courage or sneakiness this evening?”
“Unless Neville asks you to Hogsmeade, doubtful.”
Hermione bit at her lip – he was not staring – and turned her attention back to her notes. “I’ve still got the rest of this chapter to review. Professor Vector expects us to begin working on a new arithmetic computation next class and I want to be prepared.”
“Oh, right.” Harry stood up, the chair squeaking against the floor, and walked a hair too fast away from her.
Seamus pounded him on the back, grinning. Harry couldn’t help but grin shyly back. Ron’s ears had gone even redder and he had an expression on his face that was like he was trying to smile but had forgotten how.
For some reason Dean was now snogging Ginny (or, rather, it looked like Ginny had tackled Dean and Dean was all for it) and the room exploded anew. When had that happened, Harry wondered. Then his face reddened. Was that what he and Hermione looked like to everyone else?
Harry turned back to where Hermione sat, back to studying as if nothing had happened. For some reason the idea that she could refocus so quickly didn’t sit well in his stomach, but he didn’t know why.