Only You: Harmione Fanfic *editing*

Chapter Eleven - Friends

    

     Staying clear of Harry's path had been surprisingly very easy, seeing as whenever Hermione came near, he turned the other direction accompanied by cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She knew that he was probably a bit occupied with trying to gain Slughorn's trust, knowing how stubborn the professor was, but their last confrontation would give him a good reason to avoid her. Hermione's response was simple. Nothing. Without a doubt, she spent countless minutes of the day mentally pounding on herself for not being there. After all, that was all Harry needed; for someone to be there.

     It was ironic. Hermione wanted nothing more than to be able to tell Harry that she felt the same way. A piece of her wanted to race the corridors just to find him, and express her feelings. Similarly, she faced an internal struggle with thinking she could ever be with Harry. It had always been a possibility in her mind, and the tension between them for the last few weeks had been undeniably strong. Dating Harry Potter? It was such an odd thing to say. Her friendship with Harry was everything. It was the best thing she ever felt, but there was no denying that at many points in time, she felt the urge to lean over and just feel his lips against hers. She did indeed love him, but the thought of actually snogging him always managed to go through one ear and quickly out of the other. There was no way Harry actually thought Hermione was attractive. Although, she would occasionally find him looking at her oddly, to which she would blush. Perhaps he did think she was pretty. Even the slightest gesture of fascination would earn an emotion of surprise from her.

    

     Hermione Granger, the girl who had been the boy with the lightning scar's rock for several years, finally came to her senses and began to romantically pursue him, is what people would say. She had read most of the books in the library by now, which was a great accomplishment, but now, she could only tend to her great boredom by rereading the books that fascinated her most.

     Her feelings with Ron were rushed. Maybe she even considered having them because she knew that she never would have stood a chance with Harry. But now she did, and was more conflicted than ever. However, now that Ron was out of the hospital wing and was very clearly back to his daily routines with Lavender, and Harry narrowly dodging Hermione, she had no one to talk to. Of course, she had no one but herself to blame for the latter, but it would be nice to have someone to be with, to have him to be with. He was a very good listener. He managed to listen to Hermione babble on and on about her misfortunes and the things in her life that bothered her. Most of the time he replied with sarcastic comments that never ceased to make her laugh.

    Hermione suddenly swore when her shoulder collided hard with the one of another, and she dropped all umpteen books she was carrying swiftly in her arms. She could hear several students snicker as she maddeningly brushed several pieces of wild hair out of her face and huffed, rubbing the knots out of her arm. The perpetrator's eyes sidestepped her's as he knelt down to pick the books up.

     "Sorry," Harry said, easily sliding the books into his arms, using his chin to keep them in place. She shivered by the sound of his voice; she hadn't heard it for days. Hermione reached to grab one, but seeing as Harry had already retrieved every single one, frowned, and stood up. "I didn't see you there."

     "Don't worry about it," Hermione replied, even though she was slightly skeptical. You didn't see me? She thought. I am a girl with a lion's mane for a head of hair with ten million meaningless books in my arms, strolling down the corridors like there was a wildfire behind me. A blind troll would spot me from miles away.

     As Harry carefully set the books in Hermione's hands, one of his finger's softly caressed a bare spot on her arm, and she could feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She sharply chewed the inside of her cheek to refrain from acknowledging the far from foreign spark she felt whenever Harry touched her. He was extremely flushed, and his hair was ruffled. He looks adorable. Hermione thought. The weight of the books returned, and as she could only see the bottoms of his shoes through the stack, she rolled her eyes and released a sharp sigh.