She could feel him staring. For the third time in the last half hour. She was trying to focus on her Transfiguration essay, on ignoring the heat that hadn't quite left her face from the kiss she'd shared with Draco a few hours ago — a kiss they hadn't talked about yet — and now Harry just kept pausing his own work to look at her.
The worst part was that he had that look. The one that said, "I know something, but I don't want to say it because I know I shouldn't."
"What?" She snapped, setting her quill down a little harder than intended and looking up at Harry.
Harry blinked, ducking his head. "Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes. "Harry."
Harry stared down at his own parchment and shrugged her off. "I don't know what you're on about."
But as Hermione looked away to start working again, Harry looked back at her, and her head shot up.
"Out with it!" She snapped.
Harry hesitated, but the look on Hermione's face told him he wasn't going to get out of it anytime soon. "I… I have a question."
"You have a question." She repeated, staring at him incredulously.
He swallowed, then nodded.
"About?" She pressed.
He tilted his head. "Malfoy."
Hermione stilled for a moment, her hand clenching and unclenching around the quill she had just picked up. She blinked. "You're kidding me," she finally said quietly, though her irritation didn't seem to simmer down.
"You're mad."
"Of course I'm mad — you lot won't leave me alone about him!"
"I'm not going to accuse him of being a Death Eater again, I swear!" Harry held his hands up. "It's just one question!"
Hermione huffed. "One question?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
He nodded. "With some follow-ups depending on your answer," he added quickly.
Hermione stared at him. Hard. The kind of stare that usually made Ron backpedal and Ginny suddenly remember she had homework due.
And then she leaned back, her tongue pressing against her teeth as if she was weighing him up. "Five minutes," she finally said.
Harry blinked. "What?" He whispered.
She leaned forward. "You have five minutes to ask me whatever the hell you want, and I'll answer."
Harry stared at her as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This is a joke, right?"
She shook her head. "No. I'll answer whatever you want for five minutes. But you're not allowed to ask me anything else about him for the next five days. You're not so much as allowed to breathe his name near me. And I get five minutes back to ask you about Pansy."
Harry turned scarlet, opening his mouth as if he was going to argue, when Hermione held up a single finger.
"Non-negotiable." She said simply.
He narrowed his eyes, considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Fine."
Hermione cast a Tempus Charm, the glowing clock forming on the table. "8:43. You have until 8:48." She waited until the clock ticked over to the new minute. "Go."
Harry looked as though he'd just been thrown into a duel without his wand. He started immediately, like he'd been preparing for days. "Did he give you flowers today?"
"No. I never got them."
"Why?"
"He overheard me say something really stupid."
"What did you say?"
"Is this what you want to waste your time on?"
Harry scowled. "Did he give you the necklace you were wearing in Potions today?"
"Yes. Christmas gift."
"And you accepted?"
"He hid it in a book — four minutes thirty seconds."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Is this a thing?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Is what a thing?"
"You and Malfoy."
"It's complicated." She said, not offering any specifics. "Next question."
Harry made a frustrated noise, raking a hand through his already unruly hair. "That's not an answer."
Hermione shrugged. "It's the only one you're getting."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Do you trust him?"
"I trust myself." She said it confidently, as if that were the only thing she needed.
Harry let out a long exhale, staring at her as if she'd just dodged a hex instead of a question. "That's not—"
"It's a perfectly valid answer," Hermione cut in, her voice sharp. "Three minutes."
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Slytherin logic, but pressed on.
"Have you kissed?"
She didn't flinch. "Yes."
Harry's eyes went wide, and for the first time in the conversation, he looked genuinely speechless. His mouth opened and closed like he was debating whether to follow that up or let it sit — but curiosity won out.
"Merlin, Hermione." He whispered.
She glanced at the clock. "That's not a question."
"More than once?" He asked, voice lower now, cautious.
She blinked, the thought of their most recent kiss — just mere hours ago — still fresh in her mind, still lingering on her lips. "Yes."
Harry ran a hand over his face. "Recently?"
"Define recent. I've been here with you for the last two hours."
"Hermione."
Harry stared at her as though she'd just told him she'd joined the Cannons as a Beater. His eyes narrowed, searching her face for any hint of a joke. But she was steady. Calm. Maybe a little annoyed — but not joking.
"Hermione," he said again, more like a prayer than a question. "You kissed him today?"
"Yes," she said simply. Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Do you want a time stamp?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
"Harry!"
"When?"
She huffed. "Sometime during Potions. After I'd gone after him."
Harry's face cycled through several distinct expressions in rapid succession — shock, indignation, confusion, and finally something that looked suspiciously like resigned horror.
"You kissed him in the dungeons?" He said in a strangled voice.
"He kissed me." She corrected, then paused.
He raised an eyebrow, grasping at any remaining straws. "He kissed you?"
She looked at him, fire in her eyes. "I'm not under the bloody Imperius Curse, Harry."
"I didn't—"
"You implied it." She cut him off, then paused. "I lied. I kissed him. He started it, but I kissed him."
Harry squinted. "What does that mean? He started it? Started what?"
Hermione glanced at the clock, her face flushing. "He… Merlin, Harry."
"You're wasting my time. You said you'd answer!" He accused, pointing at the ticking clock. He only had about two minutes left.
Hermione let her head fall into her hands and mumbled out her response. "He was… saying… some things."
Harry leaned forward, eyes narrowing with the desperation of someone who wasn't getting nearly enough information. "What kind of things?"
She looked at him through her fingers in a silent, Seriously?
He didn't budge.
"He called me some names, all right?! Mentioned our last kiss! Said that I…" Her face was scarlet now. She could still hear it — Draco's voice low and rough against her skin, the edge in his tone, the way his hands trembled as if he hadn't quite wanted to say it. "He provoked me like he always does. Called me your pet. Said you think I'm untouchable. Wondered what you'd think if you knew how I… gods, Harry! Don't make me say it! It was awful, and instead of hexing him, like a sensible person with a shred of dignity, I kissed him."
Harry was staring at her as though she'd just admitted she was secretly Voldemort's daughter.
Hermione's chest rose and fell as she tried to hold her mortification at bay.
"You liked it?" He whispered.
Her eyes widened. "The kiss or what he said?"
Harry looked as though he might explode.
"Both, I suppose. The answer's yes." She murmured, no longer meeting his eyes.
Harry was more confused than when they'd started. "Are you happy?"
Hermione blinked.
Of all the questions, she hadn't expected that one.
"I'm burning alive." It was a breathless response.
Harry's mouth opened, then closed, as though he were trying to find the right thing to say. "Are you two dating, then?"
She hesitated. "Um, n-no. I mean, we haven't — we were a little interrupted when classes let out. I didn't — we didn't… talk."
He snorted, muttering something about typical Malfoy, but Hermione chose to ignore it. "Have you shagged?"
"Harry!" She hissed.
"That's not a no!"
"We have not shagged!"
"Have you thought about it?" Harry was grinning now, clearly enjoying her mortification.
Hermione's jaw dropped, somehow more shocked by that question than the last. She didn't need to look in a mirror to know she was red — there was no possible way she could get any redder, she was certain of it.
"You're going to use your last few seconds to ask me if I've fantasised about shagging Draco Malfoy?" She asked, sure she'd heard wrong.
He shrugged as though it were a perfectly reasonable question.
She tensed her jaw and, without looking at him, responded, "I said I'm burning alive, didn't I?" She whispered. "I'm not made of stone."
Harry laughed — actually laughed at her humiliation.
He clutched his side as though she'd physically wounded him, laughing far too hard for someone who'd just interrogated his best friend about her romantic entanglements with their childhood rival.
Hermione glared at him, crossing her arms. "Fifteen seconds."
He pulled himself together, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes and glancing at the clock as the seconds ticked by. Fifteen turned to ten. A grin spread across his face and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Do you think he's thought about shagging you?"
Hermione's jaw dropped for a second time, this time out of sheer disbelief. "You absolute tosser," she hissed, half reaching for her quill as if she were going to jab it in his direction.
Harry was laughing again, clearly revelling in every second of her torment, but the clock was ticking down.
"Five seconds," she warned, her voice deadly.
But Harry just waggled his brows and smirked. "Bet he has."
She threw a book at his head.
He ducked. "I'm just saying! Next time you kiss him—"
The clock chimed.
"Time's up," Hermione cut in, sitting up straighter and trying to ignore the heat still burning in her face. The glowing 8:48 flickered before vanishing. "My turn."
Harry's grin faltered slightly as Hermione's eyes narrowed, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was about to regret this.
She cast a new Tempus Charm. "Pansy told me you were already shagging. How many more times since I got her out of your dormitory?"
"I don't know. Four? Five?"
Hermione stared at him. "So you like it?"
"I'm not answering that."
"You asked me if I think about Draco shagging me, Harry. You're answering whatever the bloody hell I ask."
"Well, I've shagged her eight times now, haven't I?" He muttered. "If I didn't like it, I'd be a complete idiot."
"Do you two kiss?"
"You're just trying to figure out if what we're doing is the same thing Malfoy wants with you."
Hermione blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his response. It took her a moment to compose herself, but she managed to level a steady gaze at him. "Do you like kissing her?"
"When she lets me." He shrugged.
Hermione held back a groan. "Do you think about her?"
"The same way you think about Malfoy?"
"Harry."
"Sometimes."
Hermione leaned back, expression unreadable. "Do you think she thinks about you?"
Harry blinked. "I don't know."
"Would you want her to?"
He was silent for a moment. "I don't think so. I like that I'm just… Potter. She's not shagging me because I'm the Chosen One — she's shagging me because I'm a good shag."
Hermione felt a strange mixture of surprise and something she couldn't quite name at Harry's response. She hadn't expected him to be so candid, so introspective. There was something quietly vulnerable in the way he spoke, and she found herself almost reluctant to press him further.
"Did you smell her in Amortentia today?" She whispered.
He shook his head, without hesitation. "I smelled the Burrow. Broom polish. Something I couldn't place, like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. But it wasn't her."
She nodded, not asking another question.
"You smelled Malfoy?" Harry asked quietly.
"Your five minutes are done, Harry." She whispered.
That was answer enough for him.
"Do you like her?" She asked.
"You have much nicer questions than I did." Harry pointed out.
She shot him a pointed look. "Pansy's my friend. I'm not going to go after her just to get under your skin."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the parchment in front of him as he turned the question over. "She's complicated. And brilliant. And confusing. Nothing's ever going to come of it — I can tell you that much with certainty, Hermione."
Hermione glanced at the clock. She still had about three minutes left. "She talks down to you and you enjoy it," she said plainly, simply letting him know that Pansy had told her, before cancelling the charm. "I don't have any more questions, though."
Harry stared at her, jaw having dropped, as Hermione turned back to her parchment to continue her essay as if the last ten minutes had never happened.
Then Harry spoke. "I can't wait to see how Ron handles any of this."
She snorted. "You'll know he's found out when the Great Hall catches fire."
She worked on her essay — or tried to, at least — but Hermione's mind was drifting far more than before, thanks to Harry's questions.
Do you think he's thought about shagging you?
Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it, the idea tangling with thoughts of Draco's mouth on hers, on her jaw, on her neck — the look in his eyes, the warmth of his hands.
She hadn't even let herself consider the question. She had barely allowed herself to wonder if he'd wanted to kiss her again after the first time.
Across from her, Harry was laughing softly to himself. "Burning alive?" He teased, and she snapped her head up, colouring all over again.
Hermione glared at him. "You're never allowed to say those words again."
Harry was grinning like he'd just won the Quidditch Cup. "You said it, not me. In the most dramatic way possible, too. Like you're in one of those soap operas my aunt watches."
She made a show of dipping her quill back into the ink and rolling her eyes. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are."
Because yes. He was right. She was burning. Still burning. And now Harry had fanned the flames with questions she hadn't dared ask herself — had forced her to put into words things she hadn't let herself feel too deeply.
The trouble was, she did think about it. Constantly. About him. About kissing him. About what it all meant. About what it didn't. And now? Now it did mean something. Because the words she'd used — I'm burning alive — had been Draco's first. He'd said them to her while he was kissing her.
"You're lucky I didn't ask how far you'd gone. You did have the whole castle to yourselves." Harry pointed out.
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't bother to hide the faint flush that bloomed across her cheeks. "We studied, Harry. You know — books? Research?"
Harry gave her a look. "Sure. Research. Bet Malfoy's brilliant at independent study."
"Think about him often?"
"Not as often as you do." He snorted.
A loud noise sounded through the castle — much like a Muggle school's intercom — and Harry and Hermione shared a look.
"May the sixth years please make their way to the Hospital Wing." Madam Pomfrey's voice echoed through the corridors.