A/N: A little something written for the very supportive marenkp. I was first thinking about something bordering on PWP, but then I thought of doing something sweet with the prompt.
Prompt: He just can't seem to keep his hands off of her.
To Touch, To Try
.
He had never really noticed it until Luna told him.
"Why do you always touch her, Harry?" she asked him, her tone light and breathy while her eyes focused on something other than him.
Harry's gaze snapped up to hers, his expression one of confusion as he eyed his friend in surprise. "Who?"
"Hermione." She turned to look at him as if her very words didn't shatter an illusion that had been carefully constructed around him. "Why do you always touch her?"
He blinked at her. "I don't… It's not like…" He then frowned thoughtfully. Did he always touch her? Did he really?
Her shrug was light. "I was only wondering. Ron doesn't touch you half as much."
As she left him to return to her own common room, Harry stood still, his mind whirring with memories as he tried to make sense of what Luna had said.
That was how his best mates found him, standing with a frown marring his features as he contemplated the portrait of the Fat Lady.
Hermione's smile waned the moment she saw him. "What's wrong?"
Harry shook his head, his lips splitting into a quick smile. "Nothing. I was just waiting for the two of you."
The way she eyed him made Harry think that she clearly didn't believe him.
Ron groaned distractedly as he passed them only to mumble the password to the Fat Lady with slumped shoulders. Once the door flew open, he trudged inside tiredly, effectively ignoring his two best friends.
Harry watched his best friend enter Gryffindor Tower with amusement. "What happened with him?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Detention with Filch. Professor Snape caught him trying to look over Neville's shoulder and he thought Ron was trying to steal his answers."
"From Neville?" Harry asked incredulously.
Hermione shrugged. "I told Ron that Neville was not the best person to copy from for Potions answers. Herbology, maybe." Her expression then turned into something a bit more concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Harry said quickly. "Really."
She didn't look convinced, but she did drop it nevertheless. "Come on. We need to prepare for tonight's meeting."
Her hand found his and she threaded her fingers amongst his before she started pulling him towards the door that had been revealed by the portrait. His breath paused when he realised that they did this a lot, almost every day.
He remembered how she had brushed the hair out of his eyes the day before, how she held his hand only to pull him to and from class, and how she usually sat against him near the fireplace with a book in her lap while her shoulder and knee touched his.
Harry thought about all the times that he and Hermione had touched, his mind undergoing an internal battle as to how to process this new bit of information. Part of him thought it best to ignore it, another part of him thought that maybe it should stop.
He was distracted throughout the rest of the day and later when he led the newest lesson for the DA. He made sure to keep his distance, always a step behind and always a few feet away. She didn't seem to notice, which irked him more than it should have.
That night he pushed aside his previous thoughts regarding his best friend by kissing Cho Chang for the first time.
He was sixteen when he first noticed the pale column of her throat.
Her hair was pinned up; her messy brown curls clipped high so that a few loose strands fell gently against her neck. He watched her huff in annoyance as her hair irritated her skin, her hands brushing them back roughly only for the curls to fall once again to the place where they had been. They were supposed to be studying in the library, but Harry was easily distracted by the small sounds of annoyance that escaped her.
Out of a deep-seated impulse, he reached forward and pushed the loose curls behind her ear. Hermione squirmed, her eyes low.
Harry's eyes widened. "Are you… ticklish?"
Hermione scoffed. "No."
But when he reached for her again, his fingers touching her sensitive flesh while he sported a mischievous grin, she squealed in protest as she jumped away from him.
"Stop that!"
His grin widened. "You are ticklish."
As he reached for her again, she moved further away from him, causing her body to balance precariously on her chair.
"I'm not!"
"You are!"
Rolling her eyes, she turned towards him and tilted her head to the side. Harry looked at her quizzically.
"Go on, then. I told you. I'm not ticklish."
Harry reached for her, his confusion increasing when she looked steadfastly over his shoulder. Determined to prove himself right, he let his fingers brush against the base of her throat and the delicate slope of her neck. Her skin was soft under his, softer than her hands, although not as soft as her cheek. She breathed deeply as he tried to imitate the movements from before, but she didn't squirm and she didn't flinch. She didn't even look at him. When he lightly stroked her behind her ear, her eyes closed briefly before they opened and her gaze focused on him.
Suddenly self-conscious, Harry dropped his hand. "I suppose you're not ticklish, after all."
"No." Her smile seemed forced before she returned her attention back to the book in front of her. "I'm not ticklish at all," she said with a low, controlled breath.
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon staring at her neck, his fingers itching to touch her again.
He wasn't sure when it began, but staying alone, just the two of them, started small practices between them. She was better at cooking and he didn't mind cleaning. She liked keeping watch during the day and he rather enjoyed keeping watch at night. They didn't mention Ron; not once. And sometimes, when she was feeling the cold right through to her bones, she would circle her arms around him so that he could rub his hands up and down her arms so as to knead the heat right back into her body.
He liked it when she read silently beside him. He liked it more when she ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. He especially liked it when she fell asleep on his lap, her head resting peacefully on his legs. Times like these, his mind turned in turmoil as he contemplated the task ahead while he curled her hair around his fingers absentmindedly.
Some nights he traced the bone of her jaw lightly, and some nights, she sighed softly into his hand. It was the small touches that made him smile; the small touches that made Harry feel grateful for having someone like her in his life.
It was the way others touched her that irked Harry. He hated the way the men in her life used to place a hand on the small of her back, of the way they would lean close until their cheeks touched. He especially hated it when she let go of his hand in order to take the hand of another.
Harry didn't approve of any of Hermione's boyfriends. He never said anything, because it wasn't his place, but he disapproved of them nonetheless. But when it was someone who he knew, someone who he respected and loved like a brother, the feeling was so much worse.
It was the first ball since the fall of Voldemort and Harry couldn't find the needed time to wallow in self-pity with a goblet of Firewhisky. He had people to catch up with and even more people to meet for the first time. Hermione had let him go a while back and so he only had himself to entertain since Ron was busy trying to keep Luna out of trouble.
It wasn't until Hermione's latest date sidled up near him that caused Harry to perk up. He asked the usual questions and got the usual answers, but when Hermione joined them and linked her arm around her date's did Harry feel his patience wane.
He was tired, that was all. That's why he snapped at her date, and later, when she had reprimanded him, snapped at her. That's why he shoved away the rest of his drink and proceeded to mope around with two very nice house-elves for company. He was far from a treat that night.
Harry knew he had to apologise. And he knew that this wasn't the time or place. He would have to visit her after the ball is done. He only wished that it wasn't going to be so hard.
She slapped him so hard his teeth rattled.
"That was mad!" she gasped out.
"It was." He nodded, feeling ashamed, his face stinging as he turned to face her.
"Idiotic!"
He agreed. "Undoubtedly so."
"You're mental, Harry!"
"I have no doubt about that." Because, really, he should apologise. He hadn't been thinking. It had been an impulse. A stupid, rash, mindless impulse; one that was going to lose him the best friendship he had ever had, apparently.
Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed and her breathing deep as she placed a trembling hand over her heart. "I want you to do that again," she said breathlessly.
He blinked at her in surprise. "Okay," he breathed out before his hand encircled her neck and his mouth latched onto hers.
Unlike a few moments ago, she kissed him back enthusiastically, her lips parting under his and her back arching when his hand trailed down the slope of her spine. Her breathing was ragged when she yanked him even closer, allowing him to pin her against the wall of her apartment as he attacked her throat.
This was, beyond a doubt, not what he had had in mind. He had visited her with an apology in his mind; one that was articulated in the most surprising way possible. He hadn't intended to kiss her. He never thought that he would ever kiss her. But Hermione had been angry, her tone curt and it had annoyed him to no end. When she had told him that she didn't understand him, that had angered him further. Out of everyone in his life, she knew him the most; and the fact that she couldn't see the one thing that he was finding hard to accept, had irritated him to such an extent that he had yelled at her moments before kissing her.
She buried her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back, her lips pulling against his, her tongue teasing his in a way that made his grip tighten around her. She was all around him. She was intoxicating.
"Hermione…" Harry pulled back, suddenly aware that he had his hands under her dress and his shirt was unbuttoned. He wanted this, he wanted more, but above all, he wanted to know that this was fine.
She didn't say anything as her eyes met his.
Her curls were a mess, her lips void of lipstick that he had kissed off her as her chest rose against his. Hesitating for a moment, he leant forward, his heart expanding in happiness when Hermione met him halfway with a gentle kiss that caused his insides to flutter.
"Will you stay the night?" she whispered against his lips as her eyes met his again.
Harry tightened his grip around her the bare skin of her hips at her words. He wouldn't have been able to stop touching her even if she had asked. "Yes," Harry said just as softly as he nudged his nose against hers and placed a light kiss on her lips.
Her smile made him smile. And when she pushed his chest lightly so he was forced to step away from her while his hands fell down his sides, she kissed him gently before taking his hand in hers and leading him to her bedroom.
Harry couldn't help the silly grin he sported as he closed the door behind them and pulled her body towards his own before he kissed her deeply and gladly.
Fin.