'Not again!' Harry thought, clenching his teeth. 'Not now!'

Just minutes ago, he'd been laughing and talking with Ron on his way to the Great Hall, both anticipating the Halloween Feast with watering mouths. The scent of treacle tart and other, more savoury aromas had been wafting maddeningly from the kitchens all day. Harry hadn't been quite as preoccupied with the feast as Ron, who'd made longing noises as they walked in the lower-floor corridors, where the scent was particularly strong. Harry had ended Quidditch practise just a bit early, mindful of Ron's pitiful looks and his own rumbling stomach.

When Ron and Harry entered the Great Hall, reality had proven better than their imaginations. The tables were sagging with the weight of numerous dishes, many of them favourites, and Harry had happily taken a seat at the Gryffindor table. He smiled as Hermione deftly filled his goblet with pumpkin juice without breaking her conversation with Ginny.

"Thanks," Harry said just before taking a large gulp, still hot and thirsty from practise.

Harry had helped himself to the mash, then passed the dish to Hermione, apologising for catching her fingers under his, when he began to feel ill again. He groaned inwardly as he'd really been looking forward to the Feast. But, just as he'd transferred the platter to Hermione's hands, that weird, weak, breathless feeling crept over him again. Harry's cheeks begin to warm and he took another drink of pumpkin juice. His hand shook as he tried to put his goblet back on the table without spilling it.

It wasn't the first time this had happened.

Harry had experienced these sensations in several of his classes, in the library, the Gryffindor common room, and even in the corridors. The only place he seemed to be free from these episodes was in his dorm room and when he was practising or playing Quidditch.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione whispered.

Harry turned toward her, managed a small smile, and nodded. "Fine," he lied, not wanting her to make a fuss.

Hermione tilted her head, scrutinizing him. "You're all flushed," she said, placing her palm on his forehead, much to his discomfort as this attracted the glances of several others at their table. His heart raced as he tried to covertly wipe his palms on his robes.

"Your face feels warm," Hermione continued as she moved her hand to his arm. "But the rest of you feels fine. Why don't you let Madame Pomfrey have a look at you?"

"I might later," Harry evaded, not meeting her eyes as he pushed his plate away, surreptitiously removing Hermione's hand from his arm in the process.

"Hasn't this been going on for quite some time now?" Hermione persisted, her dark eyes full of concern.

"He said he'd go later, Hermione," Ron interjected through a mouthful of shepherd's pie. "Let him enjoy the feast, for Merlin's sake."

"Well, I just…" Hermione stopped in mid-sentence, as she was pressed from the other side to the point that she had to budge over against Harry.

Harry felt the symptoms grow suddenly worse and scrambled out of his seat.

"I've decided to go to Madame Pomfrey," he said breathlessly, as Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "Catch you up later." And with that, he hurried from the Great Hall.

vvvvvv

"I can't find a thing wrong with you," Madame Pomfrey said, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she passed her wand over Harry one last time.

"I feel fine now," Harry shrugged, nonplussed. "It just comes and goes."

"Any particular time or place the symptoms seem to appear more than others?" Madame Pomfrey asked as she pocketed her wand. She strode over to a tall wooden cabinet whose doors sprang open as she neared it.

Harry thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything. "No, ma'am."

"Well, that certainly doesn't give me much to go on. Have you ever been diagnosed with allergies?" Madame Pomfrey asked with a frown as she returned to Harry, uncorking a red phial.

Harry shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Well, that's what it sounds like to me—an allergic reaction." She thrust the bottle at him. "Here, drink this down. It should help calm your autoimmune system a bit, and hopefully you won't have any more of these episodes."

Harry tipped the bottle to his lips, letting the liquid within slide into his mouth. It tasted pleasantly like honey, for once. When he had finished, he thanked Madame Pomfrey and walked back to the common room. Ron and Hermione's heads turned anxiously toward the portrait hole as he clambered through. Hermione's expression changed to one of relief when she saw that it was him.

"All right, mate?" Ron asked as Harry lowered himself into the seat next to him.

Harry nodded. "Madame Pomfrey said it might be allergies."

"Allergies?" Hermione frowned as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "You've never had allergies before."

Harry shrugged. "I've heard of people developing them later in life. Anyway, Madame Pomfrey gave me a potion and I'm fine now."

But it didn't last for long.

The symptoms came back the next day in Charms. And in Potions. And then again at lunch. And dinner.

Harry was growing tired of the situation. He went to the infirmary several times, but Madame Pomfrey couldn't find anything wrong, saying, "Until you can recognize whatever it is that's causing the problem, I can't do very much to help."

Harry continued to experience the problems for a few weeks, but didn't return to the hospital wing as he had nothing new to report to Madame Pomfrey.

At first, this seemed to bother Hermione a great deal, and she begged him to go back to the infirmary. But then, one night, they were both studying with their heads together over a Potions book in the common room and his symptoms flared again. He sighed in frustration.

Hermione noticed his discomfort and gave him a sympathetic look. But then, he wondered at the strange look that crossed her face. He became even more perplexed at the small, secret smile that grew in place of the strange look. After that, she inexplicably stopped urging him to go to Madame Pomfrey.

The week before Christmas hols, the students of Hogwarts could be found revising in earnest. At least, most of them.

Ron pushed his book away on the library table, then yawned and stretched. "I'm calling it a night," he announced. "I can't cram anymore information into my brain."

"But Ron—" Hermione began with raised eyebrows.

"No, I'm done for the night." Ron stopped her, shaking his head as he stood. "See you in a bit, Harry?"

"Yeah, I've only got a few more pages to go," Harry nodded.

"Goodnight, Ron. Sleep well," Hermione said, just a bit sniffily.

Ron waved back over his shoulder as he left the library.

After a few minutes, Harry made a frustrated noise. "What are the ingredients for the Shrinking Potion?! I know I've got them in my notes somewhere, but I can't find them!"

"Here," Hermione said, fingering through her notes, quickly finding the page she was looking for. "Here they are." She slid them over to Harry, her hand brushing his on its way.

Harry felt that weak feeling sift through his body as his face warmed and his heart rate increased. His abruptly stared at Hermione.

"It's you…" he said, his eyes widening. "It's you…I'm allergic to you!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are most certainly not allergic to me. Don't be silly."

"But…when you touched my hand, all the symptoms started again!"

"Harry," Hermione sighed. "Trust me. You're not allergic to me."

"Then why—" Harry began heatedly.

But Hermione cut him off with a shake of her head. "You're not allergic to me—all right?" She stood up suddenly, closing her book with a snap. "I'm tired. See you in the morning. Good night."

Surprised into silence at this sudden departure and show of bad temper, Harry was left staring open-mouthed at Hermione's back as she left the library.

vvvvvv

Harry had mixed feelings, being back at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. A group of Order members had collected Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and him at King's Cross and brought them here.

He'd been a little jumpy around Hermione since he'd figured out that she was the cause of his allergic reactions, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She seemed a bit irritated with him, and had been since that night in the library. If anything, Harry thought that he should be the one irritated, as Hermione had refused point blank to stay away from him. Of course, the idea of her keeping clear of him gave him a strange sinking feeling, and he didn't know which was worse.

That night he had sat at the table in the basement kitchen, and Hermione had plopped right down beside him as she had been wont to do in the past several days. When his heart had begun to race, he'd tried to slide down the bench slightly, so as not to let her notice. But, of course, she did notice, shot him an impatient look, and slid down the bench after him.

Harry glanced up to see Fred looking at him curiously. Fred's gaze flicked to Hermione, who was now stabbing at her food with her fork, then back to Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Fred shook his head slightly and mouthed, 'Later.'

Harry gave a one-shoulder shrug and nodded.

After dinner, as everyone was making their way upstairs, Fred and George pulled Harry aside, into the dining room. "So what's happened between you and Hermione?" Fred asked, lighting the sconces with a wave of his wand. "She looked like she wanted to smack you upside the head, and you looked fairly miserable."

Harry explained what had happened in the past several weeks; how Hermione didn't believe him, and wouldn't stay clear of him.

Identical grins were growing on the twin's faces and Harry was beginning to feel irked.

"What did you say the symptoms were?" George asked, coughing to smother a chuckle, much to Harry's chagrin.

"I said, I feel weak, my heart races, my face warms, my hands shake, and I feel like I'm going to be sick." Harry said heatedly, then added, "Oh, and sometimes my palms sweat."

Fred and George burst out laughing.

"It's not funny, damn it!" Harry fumed. "Here, she's my best friend, and I've gone and become allergic to her! I can't even be near her without it happening. It's been absolutely awful…stop laughing!"

"Harry…" Fred managed to choke out in between laughs. "You're…not…allergic…to Hermione."

"What d'you mean? I most certainly am," Harry answered angrily. Why would no one take his suffering seriously?

"No…you're not," George had finally calmed down. "You've got feelings for her, you dolt."

"I—what?" Harry frowned.

"Feelings for her, Harry." Fred was still chortling. "Feelings."

"Feelings? What do you mean…" Harry asked confusedly, but then suddenly realized what Fred was implying. "I do not!" he said hotly.

"Oh, yes you do, poor thing," George grinned. "You, mate, are a—ttrac—ted to Hermione."

"I am not…" Harry protested weakly, and he began to feel bothered for an entirely new reason. Thoughts and visions of Hermione flashed unbidden through his mind.

Her face as she smiled at him…her eyes shining with pride for him when he had finally accomplished a task…

The sadness in her eyes for him when he had to go back to the Dursley's each summer…her face nearing his as she kissed him at King's Cross…her warm, soft lips on his cheek…

Her long, hugs—her body pressed against his as their arms held each other…

Harry's heart began to race, and his breathing quickened as the familiar weak feeling worked its way through his body. And Hermione was nowhere near. All it had taken were thoughts of her.

Harry's wide-eyed gaze shifted between Fred and George.

"I think he's just realised something," Fred stage-whispered to George, whose eyes were twinkling.

"Shut it," Harry growled, but without rancour.

"You're welcome," the twins chorused.

Harry was silent for a moment, but then asked quietly, "Now what do I do?"

Fred and George appeared to sober almost instantly at the tone in Harry's voice.

"I reckon you'll have to tell her, mate, and find out how she feels," George answered seriously.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets dejectedly. He couldn't imagine telling Hermione how he felt.

"Well, I think we've done enough damage here," Fred said, tugging on his twin's arm. "C'mon, George. Let's go and see if there's any trifle left."

Harry stuck around in the room for a while, trying to get used to the new thoughts flying about in his head like a flock of owls.

'When had this happened?' He wondered. 'When did these feelings start, and why didn't I catch the change for what it was?'

Revealing his feelings to Hermione was one of the scariest things he'd ever thought of doing. He knew that she'd be understanding and compassionate, even if she didn't return them, but he shivered as he imagined a shocked, then apologetic look in her eyes. He thought that look, and the pity he imagined in her voice, would be far worse than living his whole life with hidden feelings for her. At least that way, they could still be comfortable around each other.

'But then, what if someone else decided to ask her out…decided to try and win her heart?'

Harry ground his teeth and his hands squeezed into fists as he imagined her in someone else's arms.

'What if—'

He jumped as the door swung open, and turned to see Hermione's silhouette in the frame.

"Sorry to give you a fright," Hermione smiled an apology. "I just wondered where you were."

Harry didn't respond.

"What's wrong?" Hermione took a step toward him.

Harry could tell that she was trying to read his face and shifted his gaze to the floor.

"Harry…" Hermione said tentatively. "You can tell me…it's just me, you know."

"It's not 'just you'! That's the problem!" Harry burst out, then gathered himself, and continued softly, "It's not just you…it's you…"

"Me… What?" Hermione asked, confused.

"You're not 'just you' to me anymore…haven't been for some time, I guess," Harry dragged a frustrated hand through his already messy hair, and then shook his head, as he couldn't figure out what to say. "It's…it's complicated."

The confusion cleared from Hermione's face and she took another step toward him, a gentle smile growing on her face. "How complicated?"

His heart began to race.

"I'm not sure," Harry answered, his eyes locked onto hers, finding something in her gaze that he'd not dared to hope for.

His breathing shallowed.

"I like complicated things," Hermione moved another step closer and took his hand in hers.

He hoped she didn't think his palms were too sweaty.

"I think I will, too," Harry said breathlessly, closing the gap between them. He slowly leaned forward and watched as her eyes fluttered closed. Then he captured her lips with his.

He hoped his legs would stay strong enough to keep him on his feet.

"So..." Hermione said, with a grin, much later, as she tried to return Harry's hair back to its normal shape. "You don't seem to be allergic to me anymore."

"Oh, yes, I am," Harry grinned back, thoroughly enjoying holding Hermione in his arms.

"What?!"

"Wait!" He spoke quickly, seeing an indignant spark in her eyes. "Do you know what one of the remedies for allergies is?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"This had better be good." Hermione warned, her hands going to her hips.

"Continued exposure to the allergen in measured doses until the body no longer reacts to it." Harry answered.

"But I like the latest reaction," Hermione grinned slyly.

"Well, there's really no hope of that reaction ever diminishing with exposure." Harry said, taking her arms and pulling her back against him.

"So your point was?" Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, tilting her face up to his.

"I can't remember," Harry feigned confusion, as he slid his hands around her waist. "You've obviously given me brain damage now."

"And I'll have to do you even more harm, if you don't shut up and kiss me." Hermione managed just before Harry's lips swiftly covered hers again.

vvvvvv