Hermione ducks her head and he's worried he's lost her, misread everything, and he should probably just apparate away right now, when she leans in, just the slightest bit.
He wants to kiss her, wants to step up on the curb and back her up into the wall of a building and kiss her until they can't breathe. He settles for bringing his hands up to her hips. She loops her arms around his neck in return and leans forward to press her forehead to his.
"It's going to be different, Harry."
That could mean a thousand different things and he decides in an instant that he's OK with them all. A different world, a different kind of relationship, a different future, whatever makes all this right -- not easy, but right.
He tilts his chin forward, so close he can feel her breath on his lips. His glasses fog up with the humid air. Everything's gone soft and he can feel hot pinpricks all over his body. If someone had asked him to describe what Lumos feels like, it would be this moment right here. There's a sound like blood rushing in his ears, and he's alive, they're alive, and he closes the distance and meets her lips with his.
His hands curl into her hips involuntarily and her hands are fisting in his hair when she opens her mouth and slides her tongue into his. It's warm and wet and suddenly they're moving backward. He trips up the curb and they stumble into the wall and then he's pinned her there as she squirms all small and soft and Hermione against him. He skates a hand away from her hip and around her back anchoring her to him, the rough brick scraping across his knuckles.
She pulls away just long enough to change the angle and then her mouth is back on his, nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth and she's pulling so hard on his hair that he's seeing stars behind his eyelids. It's seven years of everything in one kiss and he's grinding up into her, and they never did grab that copy of the Prophet, which is fine because this will probably be on the cover tomorrow, when he hears someone speak.
"Oh, oh, sorry!"
Harry pulls away and reflexively draws his wand, he can feel Hermione reach to do the same under him.
Neville's standing in the middle of the street, cheeks on fire and eyes wide as saucers.
Hermione nudges at Harry and he backs up, putting his wand away.
"Uh, hello, Neville," his voice probably doesn't sound very steady, but at least it didn't crack. For as tight as his pants are right now, it's a wonder he can make any sound that isn't just a groan.
"Hello." Neville raises his hand a few seconds later, a delayed wave.
There's awkward shuffling, Hermione fixes her sweater and wipes at her mouth, before motioning for Harry to do the same.
When they make it back to bar, he and Hermione are still flushed and Neville's lost all the red from before, looking white -- or maybe a little green -- now.
(Ron doesn't put it together that night.)
One week later, the ring has been returned to the Weasley vault and Ron isn't speaking to either of them.
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timeasmymeasure
Harry/Hermione - fill in the holes you've made. (pg-13) Part 3
Date: 2010-11-25 12:18 pm (UTC)He wants to kiss her, wants to step up on the curb and back her up into the wall of a building and kiss her until they can't breathe. He settles for bringing his hands up to her hips. She loops her arms around his neck in return and leans forward to press her forehead to his.
"It's going to be different, Harry."
That could mean a thousand different things and he decides in an instant that he's OK with them all. A different world, a different kind of relationship, a different future, whatever makes all this right -- not easy, but right.
He tilts his chin forward, so close he can feel her breath on his lips. His glasses fog up with the humid air. Everything's gone soft and he can feel hot pinpricks all over his body. If someone had asked him to describe what Lumos feels like, it would be this moment right here. There's a sound like blood rushing in his ears, and he's alive, they're alive, and he closes the distance and meets her lips with his.
His hands curl into her hips involuntarily and her hands are fisting in his hair when she opens her mouth and slides her tongue into his. It's warm and wet and suddenly they're moving backward. He trips up the curb and they stumble into the wall and then he's pinned her there as she squirms all small and soft and Hermione against him. He skates a hand away from her hip and around her back anchoring her to him, the rough brick scraping across his knuckles.
She pulls away just long enough to change the angle and then her mouth is back on his, nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth and she's pulling so hard on his hair that he's seeing stars behind his eyelids. It's seven years of everything in one kiss and he's grinding up into her, and they never did grab that copy of the Prophet, which is fine because this will probably be on the cover tomorrow, when he hears someone speak.
"Oh, oh, sorry!"
Harry pulls away and reflexively draws his wand, he can feel Hermione reach to do the same under him.
Neville's standing in the middle of the street, cheeks on fire and eyes wide as saucers.
Hermione nudges at Harry and he backs up, putting his wand away.
"Uh, hello, Neville," his voice probably doesn't sound very steady, but at least it didn't crack. For as tight as his pants are right now, it's a wonder he can make any sound that isn't just a groan.
"Hello." Neville raises his hand a few seconds later, a delayed wave.
There's awkward shuffling, Hermione fixes her sweater and wipes at her mouth, before motioning for Harry to do the same.
When they make it back to bar, he and Hermione are still flushed and Neville's lost all the red from before, looking white -- or maybe a little green -- now.
(Ron doesn't put it together that night.)
One week later, the ring has been returned to the Weasley vault and Ron isn't speaking to either of them.
One month later, things are different.
One year later, things are right.
&&.