Fierce
Ficlet written for the French Kiss Challenge
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Fierce
Characters: Hermione/Harry
Word Count: 973
Rating: K for Kissing ;)
Fierce
Hermione dipped her quill in red ink and underlined the word ‘fiercely’ in little Alison’s essay. The first year girl had not only misspelled the word, she had used it improperly. Hermione tried to think of a quick definition to jot in the margin of the parchment.
Fiercely......
Across the Common Room, Harry was scratching out something on his own homework, frowning with concentration as he pored over his NEWT level assignment.
Hermione loved Harry fiercely. There was no other word for it, she thought. Sometimes she tried to analyze what she felt for Harry Potter, define it, compare it with other things. Lioness love, sort of, because she felt quite capable of snarling at anyone who stepped too close, even in innocent settings like the Great Hall. Certainly she would fight to the death to protect him. Motherly love, perhaps, not that she would really know since she was only seventeen and had no children, but she always had the urge to straighten his glasses, and make sure his homework was done. Sisterly love, maybe? Not that she would know that either since she had no siblings, but she imagined it would feel a lot like it did whenever he tried to pull her on the Firebolt for a joyride, and laughed at her for refusing to go.
But then there were all the strange impulses that kept cropping up, that didn’t seem to fit into any of those categories. There was this odd little part of her that just wanted to grab Harry by his jacket sometimes, and shake him, just to make sure he was really aware of her, to wake him up, see him react. “I’m here!” she wanted to shout at him. “In front of you! Look at me!”
She didn’t know what that kind of love was called. Whatever it was, it was not orderly or controlled, and it was not tame or docile or quiet, and so she had kept it locked carefully away.
Harry looked up slowly from his parchment, and Hermione wondered how long she’d been staring at him. He arched a brow. ~What?~
She smiled back at him a little, with the slightest shake of her head. ~Nothing. Sorry.~
She settled back into her armchair again and turned back to Alison’s essay on her lap.
Fiercely ~ she wrote, underlining the ending ~ means very strong.....intense
She looked up to find Harry standing over her.
“Are you all right, Hermione? Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“What? No - my mind was just wandering, that’s all. I’m proofing an essay for Alison....”
“It’s not just tonight. Every time I turn around these days you’ve got this funny look in your eyes.” Harry knelt down in front of her chair. “You know I’m not the most adept person in the world when it comes to reading people’s expressions,” he complained. “Help me. Spell it out.”
Harry was so close it was rather difficult to keep her eyes trained on his. Hermione usually had no trouble addressing Harry’s bright green eyes directly, but that didn’t mean she never looked at his wide, shapely lips on occasion, too. When he was farther away she could do that without fear of getting caught, when he was sitting across the table from her at breakfast, for instance, innocently reading the Prophet between bites of blueberry muffin. But this close.... so close....surely he must be noticing where her gaze was drifting.
Intense...... very strong.....
Hermione felt hyper-aware of everything all of a sudden ~ of the firelight flickering behind him, the smell of red ink, the ostrich feather shaft that she felt herself dropping.
She couldn’t really be about to do what she was about to do.... could she?
She reached out, taking his head in her hands, feeling countless wisps of silky black hair under her fingers, and leaned down. She tilted her head, and brought her lips to his, trusting that when he inevitably pulled away he would do it with kindness and forgive her for it, and she would at least have tasted him just one precious time.
He didn’t pull away. In fact, he tipped his head the opposite way for a better angle in which to kiss her back, more forcefully than her chaste beginning, and she almost gasped in surprise, feeling his lips part under hers.
The inkbottle on the arm of the chair tipped over and Alison’s essay floated to the floor as Hermione slid off the cushion to kneel with Harry on the carpet. The kiss grew deeper and more frantic. She wanted to pull his glasses off and kiss every part of his face from eyelid to cheek to scar to nose, but that would have to come later. Right now all she wanted was lips and tongue. Her fingers wrapped into the fabric across his shoulder blades as his hands slid up her back, as if they could pull each other in even closer.
What a welcome and wonderful surprise, she thought in a distant daze, to find his passion mirrored hers. Perhaps he’d been just as confused as she had been, trying to put a name to what he felt for her, perhaps he hadn’t been able to identify it any better than she had. Whatever it was, it was undeniably love.
And it was fierce.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Fierce
Characters: Hermione/Harry
Word Count: 973
Rating: K for Kissing ;)
Fierce
Hermione dipped her quill in red ink and underlined the word ‘fiercely’ in little Alison’s essay. The first year girl had not only misspelled the word, she had used it improperly. Hermione tried to think of a quick definition to jot in the margin of the parchment.
Fiercely......
Across the Common Room, Harry was scratching out something on his own homework, frowning with concentration as he pored over his NEWT level assignment.
Hermione loved Harry fiercely. There was no other word for it, she thought. Sometimes she tried to analyze what she felt for Harry Potter, define it, compare it with other things. Lioness love, sort of, because she felt quite capable of snarling at anyone who stepped too close, even in innocent settings like the Great Hall. Certainly she would fight to the death to protect him. Motherly love, perhaps, not that she would really know since she was only seventeen and had no children, but she always had the urge to straighten his glasses, and make sure his homework was done. Sisterly love, maybe? Not that she would know that either since she had no siblings, but she imagined it would feel a lot like it did whenever he tried to pull her on the Firebolt for a joyride, and laughed at her for refusing to go.
But then there were all the strange impulses that kept cropping up, that didn’t seem to fit into any of those categories. There was this odd little part of her that just wanted to grab Harry by his jacket sometimes, and shake him, just to make sure he was really aware of her, to wake him up, see him react. “I’m here!” she wanted to shout at him. “In front of you! Look at me!”
She didn’t know what that kind of love was called. Whatever it was, it was not orderly or controlled, and it was not tame or docile or quiet, and so she had kept it locked carefully away.
Harry looked up slowly from his parchment, and Hermione wondered how long she’d been staring at him. He arched a brow. ~What?~
She smiled back at him a little, with the slightest shake of her head. ~Nothing. Sorry.~
She settled back into her armchair again and turned back to Alison’s essay on her lap.
Fiercely ~ she wrote, underlining the ending ~ means very strong.....intense
She looked up to find Harry standing over her.
“Are you all right, Hermione? Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“What? No - my mind was just wandering, that’s all. I’m proofing an essay for Alison....”
“It’s not just tonight. Every time I turn around these days you’ve got this funny look in your eyes.” Harry knelt down in front of her chair. “You know I’m not the most adept person in the world when it comes to reading people’s expressions,” he complained. “Help me. Spell it out.”
Harry was so close it was rather difficult to keep her eyes trained on his. Hermione usually had no trouble addressing Harry’s bright green eyes directly, but that didn’t mean she never looked at his wide, shapely lips on occasion, too. When he was farther away she could do that without fear of getting caught, when he was sitting across the table from her at breakfast, for instance, innocently reading the Prophet between bites of blueberry muffin. But this close.... so close....surely he must be noticing where her gaze was drifting.
Intense...... very strong.....
Hermione felt hyper-aware of everything all of a sudden ~ of the firelight flickering behind him, the smell of red ink, the ostrich feather shaft that she felt herself dropping.
She couldn’t really be about to do what she was about to do.... could she?
She reached out, taking his head in her hands, feeling countless wisps of silky black hair under her fingers, and leaned down. She tilted her head, and brought her lips to his, trusting that when he inevitably pulled away he would do it with kindness and forgive her for it, and she would at least have tasted him just one precious time.
He didn’t pull away. In fact, he tipped his head the opposite way for a better angle in which to kiss her back, more forcefully than her chaste beginning, and she almost gasped in surprise, feeling his lips part under hers.
The inkbottle on the arm of the chair tipped over and Alison’s essay floated to the floor as Hermione slid off the cushion to kneel with Harry on the carpet. The kiss grew deeper and more frantic. She wanted to pull his glasses off and kiss every part of his face from eyelid to cheek to scar to nose, but that would have to come later. Right now all she wanted was lips and tongue. Her fingers wrapped into the fabric across his shoulder blades as his hands slid up her back, as if they could pull each other in even closer.
What a welcome and wonderful surprise, she thought in a distant daze, to find his passion mirrored hers. Perhaps he’d been just as confused as she had been, trying to put a name to what he felt for her, perhaps he hadn’t been able to identify it any better than she had. Whatever it was, it was undeniably love.
And it was fierce.