Hermione barely slept that night. She feared that if she slept, she might wake to find it all a dream. For hours she lay in bed, quelling a fluttering in her chest that would rise unexpectedly at random moments and dash around her ribcage as uncoordinated as Pig flying about her parents' library. It felt as though it wreaked nearly as much havoc. When it surged through her she clutched her pillow and tried very hard not to squeal like most of the other girls in the room would have under similar circumstances. Hermione Granger did not 'squeal', but for the first time in her life she really, really wanted to.

Harry had kissed her. He'd knelt before her in the firelight, and they'd been talking like they'd done countless times at her parents' house, and then he'd leaned in and kissed her.

She could scarcely keep it right in her head, even when it was as clear as though seen in a pensieve. Her heart came into play, and it clouded the mind she usually relied on unerringly. She was rattled by the way he'd pressed his lips to hers, the way his hands had gone to her waist, the way he'd smiled at her. And the things he'd said. He wanted to be with her. Harry Potter wanted to be with her, in a relationship.

She closed a fist around the corner of her pillow so tight it left creases when she opened her fingers.

She wasn't stupid. She'd known since third year that she felt things for Harry that weren't strictly friendship-based. She never meant to, and it was disgustingly humiliating to realize she had a crush on her best friend, but she did all the same. But she kept it in perspective. She was good at that, level-headed Hermione.

Because Harry cared for her, she knew that, but more as a sister than a possible girlfriend. And she was grateful to have that much of his affection. All her life she'd had her parents, Grandmum Berti, a few favorite teachers, but among her peers she'd always been alone. Then she came to Hogwarts, and Ron and Harry saved her from a troll in the girls' loo, and things changed forever. For the first time, she knew what it was like to have friends, people her own age to laugh with.

They weren't a prefect trio, not by far. Ron had a nasty tendency to say things without thinking, and half of them hurtful. He wasn't a bad bloke, by any means, but he was impulsive and hotheaded at times. Hermione discovered just how bad she was at relating to other children. She talked like an adult, acted like someone thrice her age, and she realized just how defensive she'd trained herself to be when she was dealing with peers. She used her books as a shield. And Harry… he was so quiet and intense, tentative and unsure. He looked like he was just searching for a place to belong. His upbringing made him shy, but even still he had such a sense of honor, a valor that even Draco Malfoy hadn't been able to erase right from the start when he stole Neville's remembrall and Harry stood up to him.

That was how it started, the three misfits as Hagrid was so fond to call them. But they'd become tried and true friends. Hermione got used to Ron's teasing, because with him he actually didn't mean it. Everyone else in her life had. She stopped playing the stuck-up valedictorian shoo-in, too good for friends, and let herself be a kid around them. In doing so, she realized she could trust other kids as much as she did adults, sometimes more. And Harry opened up, and proved to be the fiercest, most loyal friend one could ever hope to have. There was not a question that Harry would walk into the hands of Voldemort himself for his friends.

Hermione cared for both her friends dearly, the pair who'd put up with her long enough to look past the rough exterior and bushy hair. Things had been perfect.

And then third year her feelings for Harry changed. The brotherly affection she bore toward him wasn't quite the same as it was toward Ron anymore. Harry, the gentle, valiant, wild-haired boy in glasses. She'd gone and developed a crush on Harry.

But Harry never noticed, and he certainly never showed any indication he might return her feelings. Nor had Hermione expected that to ever happen. She was plain, boring Hermione Granger, and Harry had his own chapter in half the wizard books in publication. He tended to shrug those off and wince a little if he reacted at all, but it didn't change the fact that he was someone, and she was nobody.

So it was his friendship she treasured, and of her stronger feelings she said nothing. It kept things the same between the three of them, and that would serve. Hermione became an expert at pushing away those feelings. She dare not let them jeopardize her friendship with Harry or Ron.

Then last year Harry was mooning over Cho Chang. It stung a little, but by then Hermione had guarded against that inevitability. And it proved her right that Harry could never feel more than friendship toward her. Cho was beautiful, and popular, and a fellow Quidditch player aside. Hermione didn't have jet black shiny hair, she didn't have the school's collective adoration, and she couldn't fly a broom to save her life. And that was obviously Harry's type.

The unexpected part was Ron… he started acting like he might have a thing for Hermione. She'd been taken off guard, and a little awkward about it at first, but she thought maybe Ron would be the best she'd ever do. He cared about her, and she did love him in a way. She admired his almost dog-like devotion to Harry, and he could be a good laugh. He'd tried to hex Draco that one time for calling her a mudblood (even if he'd been the one to end up burping up slugs, it was the thought that counted). She knew she might as well forget about ever being involved with Harry, so there was no point in holding out hope. It seemed like fate in a sense. She could do loads worse than Ron.

But it never felt right. She tried to be open to the possibility of dating Ron, but he just made her so angry sometimes. He needled and heckled until she just lost her cool and either yelled or worse, cried. And whether he meant to or not, Harry was always there to cheer her up afterwards. It was its own death stroke. She couldn't fake a love for Ron that wasn't real, not real in the way Ron wanted it to be.

There was also Viktor Krum who walked into the scene of her social life fourth year, and at first Hermione didn't rightly know what to do with him. She'd never figured on a Bulgarian. She'd had a good time with him at the ball, and he was nice enough, but it never went anywhere. Maybe it was the language barrier; Viktor's English was spotty at best and Hermione was so in love with words (albeit mostly written). Or maybe Hermione was too intent on Harry and his trials during the tournament to really pay another person the proper attention. She would admit that Harry had been her overriding concern the entire year, to the apparent detriment of her social life. Viktor had passed through her world, been her first date and maybe even a fleeting crush for a brief moment, but he'd seemed to have faded back out as effortlessly as he'd arrived. Hermione hated to admit it, but she was just as fine to have him in her past. There wasn't a future with Viktor Krum.

So she accepted the mantle of spinsterhood at the young age of fourteen. And it wasn't so bad. She'd have plenty of time for her studies, and a career, and if she never fell in love she'd never be hurt by it, either. There was something to be said for that. Fortress Hermione Granger, who had friends but not boyfriends, love but not that kind of love.

And then the third task of the Triwizard Tournament put all her carefully constructed walls to ruin, proved her cinder blocks to be made of fine sand. Seeing Harry, bleeding and crying, clutching the body of Cedric Diggory… it scared her to death. How near had that come to being Harry's lifeless body on the ground? How close had she come to losing him?

Too close, too near, and she caved. She went to Harry, intent only on comforting him, but when he'd started kissing her, and touching her… she'd let him. She let herself want him to.

But even then, even as he made love to her, she knew it meant something different to her than it did to Harry. He'd been tortured, he'd seen a friend murdered, he'd faced the very demon who killed his parents thirteen years past. He'd needed a touchstone outside the pain, a point of juxtaposition to cast light upon the dark, something to counter the horror. Love and life to face down the shadow of death. And if Hermione could provide that, she would do so gladly, without hesitation. His friendship alone was worth that and more.

If it reawakened feelings for him she'd worked so hard to bury, so be it. She could suppress them again as she had once before, for the love of Harry. And maybe that was part of what helped see Harry through that night, a love stronger than even he knew.

And then they were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger again, the same old friends since first year, and if Harry was kinder to her then it was just his sense of gratitude for what she'd done. Because he wasn't the type to thank her with words, he'd show it with his behavior toward her. Harry had always been knightly in actions while common with words. It was one of the quirks about him Hermione found endearing.

But then he'd kissed her. Without the trauma of a near-death experience for an excuse. She could still feel the electricity of his touch on her mouth. He'd kissed her and told her he wanted to be with her. Be with her in the sense she'd long wanted to be with him. It seemed too incredible to be real, but she was going out with Harry Potter.

And then that wild clamoring in her chest that brought her to the brink of squealing like a girl.

She slipped into a fitful doze some time well after midnight, but still she was up before the dawn. For once, it had not been dreams of grasslands, golden yellow stalks parting at the point of her muzzle, or her racing the blazing sun over the savannah that woke her out of breath. It was the memory of Harry kissing her in front of the fire, a memory that would not fade even as she slept, that woke her in time to see the light in the room lift from black to gray-blue.

Crookshanks jumped up on her bed to wake her, as he did every morning before he went and roused Harry so the two might meet for their morning run, and he seemed surprised to find her with her eyes already open. Hermione gave the cat a quick pet and quickly got out of bed. Crookshanks watched her a moment, perhaps a bit baffled at the change in routine, then turned and padded out of the room, no doubt to similarly jump on to Harry's bed. Would the cat find Harry similarly sleepless? Hermione wondered.

Hermione dressed quickly in her exercise clothes by the early dawn light. She could barely stand waiting to see Harry again. There was a seed of doubt (Merlin, what if she had dreamed it?), and there was also a healthy dose of uncertainty. How was she to act around him now that she was his girlfriend? Should she kiss him when she met him downstairs? No, that sounded a bit… sappy. What about a hug? What would he expect? Would he expect anything? Harry knew as much as she did about relationships, if not less, which was really depressing if one thought about it too long.

Fully dressed and with trainers laced up, Hermione started down the steps to the common room and hoped the right thing just occurred to her when the moment presented itself.

Harry was downstairs already waiting for her. He was leaning against the back of the couch, Crookshanks beside him and enjoying a scratch. Hermione paused at the sight of him. No different than he'd looked a hundred mornings in the past, but it stole her breath a moment. He was so relaxed. No one would know to look at him now, as she did, that he'd seen so many dreadful things in his young life. He looked like he had not a care in the world beyond this run. It made him unspeakably handsome in her eyes.

She could admit that now, the taboo was lifted.

Harry looked up just then, his eyes landed on her, and Hermione's brilliant plan of letting the moment provide inspiration failed because she couldn't think of a thing to do. Unless stomach fluttering and heart pounding counted.

At least Harry looked just as lost. They stared at each other across the room a minute, as though trying to gauge from the other what their next move should be.

Then Harry smiled, timid and cautious, but beautiful all the same. It freed Hermione from her spot.

Hermione took the last three steps and walked quickly to him, a smile on her face to match his. Harry stood to meet her. When she stopped in front of him she had to look up to meet his eyes. He'd grown a good deal taller than her in the last year. On the topic, broader and stronger, too. She let herself notice it now.

Harry clearly searched for something to say but came up empty. Hermione chewed on her bottom lip lightly with her front teeth.

In the end, Harry's smile turned into more of a smirk for their ungainly dance, and he reached down and took her hand. Hermione beamed at him and they left for their run side by side.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Harry had had butterflies in his stomach all morning. Even as the jaguar they'd been there. From the moment he woke up, which was well before Crookshanks sniffed at his chin, he'd felt the fluttering in the pit of his gut. But it was giddy, happy fluttering. He didn't often have those.

Hermione had put them there. When he was around her he felt like grinning like a right idiot. At the thought he glanced over at Hermione, walking at his side on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She had a tiny little smile on her face, the kind she wore (though she didn't know she did) when she was reading a happy part in a book. They were holding hands, natural as breathing. Harry relented to his impulse, for a second, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Was there such a thing as a Cheshire panther?

Admitting to himself that he had feelings for her beyond mere friendship had been one of the more eye-opening experiences of his entire life. Finding out he was a wizard was the only competing revelation for shock factor. The prospect of confessing those feelings to Hermione had been terrifying… almost as scary as it had been to admit them to himself. He wasn't even certain he meant to spill the Bottz beans to her so soon after figuring it all out himself; it had just kind of tumbled out of him when Hermione said she never thought anyone would have her. Anyone would be lucky to, but she didn't see that at all. It made him react, knee-jerk-like. Enter the unplanned unloading of his new understanding about his feelings. It could well have become a prize-winning Harry Potter blunder.

But it hadn't turned out that way. In fact, it became one of his smarter moves.

To discover that Hermione felt the same way about him… He was still dopey with the kiss they'd shared last night. First his naked leap into the air, the taking of the chance with what he felt, then her leap right after him. And it was a sweet, sweet fall.

Now she was his girlfriend. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he should do with her in her new role. He hoped to get more of those toe-curling kisses of course, but outside of that he wasn't sure how he was supposed to treat her. She was still Hermione. In the end, he decided the best option would be to treat her as he always did. She seemed to have found that fanciable enough before. When she wanted something more, or different, he trusted she'd tell him. He'd taken her hand in absence of anything to say when she first came downstairs, and she'd seemed to like that, so he did that again when they started down to breakfast. They would probably stay finger-locked all the way to the Great Hall, which was fine with him. He thought he might try putting his arm around her at breakfast… just for a little while, to see if she liked that, too.

Or maybe not. That was pretty big, and he didn't want to upset her. And in front of the whole school, too… potentially humiliating. Perhaps best try that one out in a setting a bit more private. Maybe he should ask if she'd like that before he went and did it. Not knowing was terribly frustrating. Even the jaguar deep inside him, always confident and decisive, seemed to be pacing with ears back and tail low to the ground.

They were near the Great Hall, they could hear the din of voices from within, and it jarred Harry back to the task they'd set for the morning. 'On second thought,' Harry thought to himself with a sinking sensation taking hold of him, 'best wait on any of that until this business with Ron is finished.' He was not looking forward to this confrontation. Not one bit.

Hermione took her hand out of his before they came around the entrance of the Great Hall. He could see her take a steeling breath and draw back her shoulders. Seemed she was looking forward to the having out no more than he. The butterflies were in his stomach still, but they were of a different kind.

He knew this thing with Ron could go badly. He'd been in a tizzy about Harry and Hermione's non-existent relationship half the time since they'd come back from summer holiday. He wasn't sure how the redhead would take the news that it had finally happened, perhaps fair to say his worst nightmare (though Harry would hope Voldemort and an acromantula would nudge in at the top of the list before him and Hermione snogging). Ron had feelings for Hermione, that much Harry knew. 'But that's too bad, she's with me,' Harry thought resolutely, bristling at the insinuation that Ron would fashion himself competition. And Harry knew he would if their fellow Gryffindor had half a say in it. Ron fancied Hermione. He had for some time. And Harry really believed that he'd never liked that much.

It rankled Harry's nerves that he felt cause to get edgy about telling Ron in the first place. For that even the jaguar could stop its fretful pacing long enough to snarl. Ron had no right to begrudge them being together. Ron and Hermione had never been an item; Harry didn't steal anything from Ron, much less someone as strong-willed and opinionated as Hermione.

When they entered the Great Hall Harry saw Ron tucking into his breakfast with customary gusto. He looked to be in a good mood, or as good as his mood got in the morning. Harry hoped it worked to their favor.

Hermione cast a quick look at him and gave a small smile. "Well, best get on with it."

Harry nodded and they headed toward their friend.

Ron looked up when they reached the table. "Mor'ing," he said around a biscuit. Harry and Hermione sat down across from him, customarily side by side. Harry unaccountably found himself watching Ron critically, sizing him up like he might a rival come into his territory. If it came down to a choice between his friendship with Ron and staying with Hermione, he would pick Hermione. That settled cold and unyielding in his chest, and it sobered him well and fully.

It was Hermione who took the plunge. "Ron… could Harry and I talk to you for a minute? It's important."

Ron swallowed and paled a little at Hermione's serious tone. "It's not You Know Who, is it?"

"No, nothing like that."

Ron was visibly relieved. "Well," he took a drink of pumpkin juice, "anything short of that can't be so bad, right? What is it, then?" He bit into a piece of sausage.

Hermione frowned faintly at him. "Could you stop eating a second, please?"