They will all differ by ship, and by rating. There may be Deathly Hallows for different ones. Please keep an open mind in regards to all drabbles.
Title: Up His Sleeve
Summary: He got tired of waiting.
Pairing: Any male/Hermione (but I imagine it's Harry)
Word Count: 100
Spoilers: OOTP and HBP?
"...after what happened at the Department of Mysteries..."
He wasn't really listening anymore. He'd let her continue because she needed to explain for her own sake, but he already knew his answer.
"...our OWL scores as they were..."
Though when he'd decided on patience, he hadn't imagined she'd bring up everything in their shared history.
"...McLaggen incident only seemed to confirm..."
Mid-sentence, she found his lips on hers.
It took her a few seconds to recover from the kiss. "That was a nasty trick."
"Okay, a lovely trick."
Fortunately, he had a few more "tricks" up his sleeve.
Title: Secret Admirer
Warnings: 7th year AU. Angst?
Summary: "This has to be someone's idea of a practical joke."
Pairing: (If relevant) Hermione/Tom Riddle
Word Count: 496
Spoilers: None; this is completely AU.
”A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes unnecessary.”
Hermione frowns as she reads the note for the third time. She doesn’t recognize the elegant, old-fashioned penmanship, and the yellowed parchment almost looks like something from a different era.
But that’s impossible, she decides, because she has never come across it before, not in all the years she’s had this book in her possession, so someone must have placed it there recently, especially for her to find.
Just like those roses brightening up her desk the other day.
Harry suggested Ron put them there, but Hermione dismissed that instantly; Ron’s too down to earth for such romantic gestures.
“Maybe you have a secret admirer?” Neville offered.
And Hermione could only shake her head and laugh at that, because it was such a silly thing to say.
She’s no striking beauty, after all, and she devotes most of her time to studying.
This has to be someone’s idea of a practical joke.
It’s just the sort of thing he would do, out of boredom or spite.
The next morning at breakfast, she discovers a small key-shaped locket underneath her cereal bowl. There’s no note attached, but she can definitely sense magic crackling all around it.
She puts the ornament in her pocket and rises from her chair.
She gives in to her growing curiosity, leaves all logic behind and blindly lets the object guide her steps.
It takes her to a room deep down in the dungeons, a place where even most Slytherins don't dare venture.
‘Definitely not Malfoy then,’ she decides. He wouldn’t have the nerve.
She’s proven right mere moments later.
A tall, thin figure stands at the other end of the room.
“So good of you to come.”
The male voice doesn’t sound familiar, nor does she recognize the silhouette, but then how could she recognize anyone in these shadows?
“Who are you? Why have you been contacting me?”
The man turns around and Hermione's eyes widen in disbelief.
“I’ve been told you’re the brightest witch of your age,” he replies, clearly amused at her blatant astonishment, “and I must admit I find you rather intriguing.”
“Harry vanquished you,” she says and crosses her arms in defiance, for this cannot be real.
Voldemort is dead and consequently, so is Tom Marvolo Riddle.
“Horcruxes are amazing things, Miss Granger,” he says, “and after the diary, everyone neglected to check whether more of me would appear. Incredible how naïve you all were, and how arrogant, to assume I hadn’t left a loophole.”
She grits her teeth. “What do you want from me?”
Smiling deviously, he steps closer. His green eyes are hypnotizing, and suddenly all words and knowledge fail her.
“Nothing else to add, Miss Granger?”
There isn't, for she can’t, and when he leans even closer and he kisses her, she’s not the least bit surprised.
After all, isn’t this what she came down here for?
Title: What Happens When Slytherins Read
Summary: A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes unnecessary. Ingrid Bergman
Hermione retreats to the library after a particularly hard day.
Pairing: (If relevant): Hermione/Draco
Word Count: 477
Hermione Granger sighed as she dumped her books and parchment onto the library table. Potions class normally induced her to overdo most of her homework, out of clear spite and determination to prove to her own self that she was clearly a capable witch, regardless of who her parents were. But alone in the library, all of her insecurities and misgivings insinuated themselves into her thoughts, rendering her current thought process derailed in favor of a certain Slytherin whose entire personality just oozed arrogance and superiority.
Not that most Slytherins don’t ooze superiority, but the tow-headed Death Eater in Training himself. Slughorn was too weak-willed and hungry for important contacts to reign in Malfoy's inane insults and blood-based slurs. It was people like Malfoy that drove her to prove herself, to appear that the insults don't hurt even though they cut her to the bone.
It just makes her blood boil. Since she obviously wasn't getting anywhere with her Transfiguration essay, Hermione decided to look for a book to read, any book. She was positively seething by the time she was turning into a little used section of the library behind Madame Pince's desk. "Bloody, poncy, little prat," she mumbled under her breath right as she walked right into a reading Draco Malfoy, and fell flat on her behind.
"Looking for me, Granger?" Malfoy drawled, looking up from his book, looking completely unconcerned that the Gryffindor just barreled into him and was unceremoniously sitting on the ground, scowling furiously.
"And why would I do that, Malfoy? I'm quite capable of surviving life without the insane need to follow you around like a lovesick puppy," Hermione quipped before she picked herself up, dusted her skirt off, and started to scan the shelving for a book.
Malfoy snaked his body next to hers, wheedling his face into her line of view. "Does that mean you’ve had the urge following me, Granger? Or should I say, darling Hermione?"
Hermione's jaw dropped, and gaped for several seconds as she thought of something to say back. "That is not what I implied…" Hermione was cut off as Malfoy's lips descending on hers, silencing her in the most efficient way, much to her surprise. The broke for air, and Hermione once again began to speak.
"What do you think…" Malfoy kissed her again, and this time, Hermione kissed him back with fervor. Her hands meandered into his hair, eliciting a slight moan from the blond Slytherin.
At the conclusion of the second, breathtaking kiss, Draco learned over to whisper into Hermione's ear, "A kiss is a lovely trick, designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes unnecessary." His eyes flicked to a passage in the book he dropped earlier. "Remind me to thank Ingrid Bergman for the wonderful inspiration." Hermione just smiled, and thanked Merlin that Draco Malfoy picked today to read.
Summary: Hermione loves to reminisce in her spare time.
Word Count: 498
Spoilers: None really, except for the teeny-weeny mention of the funeral of a character that died in DH - no names, though.
Hermione sipped her tea as she leant back in her favorite chair. She loved to have the house all to herself – it was a rare treat having spare time and she had come to value it more than ever during the busy years of working, marriage and motherhood. With the children away on a camping trip with Ron and his wife and her own husband on a mission in Romania to hunt down a group of escaped Chinese Fireballs, she felt completely at peace.
Hermione had always been the sort of person that needed to clear her head every so often, but she also loved to reminisce about her past.
“Hermione Granger? Is that you?” Charlie grinned widely, raising his scarred hand to ruffle his hair.
Suddenly, a shivery feeling went up her spine, making her lost for words; so she just smiled up at him, nodding. “And what are you doing here, missy? Shouldn’t you be with my brother and Harry in Britain?”
When she didn’t answer him, he continued: “And how did you find me, then? I would’ve thought it should be quite hard to find me in the vastness of Romania.” His grin widened even more if that was humanly possible.
“I just figured I wanted to take a break from everything. I remembered you were working here and I really wanted to see you again since it’s been a long time. Kingsley looked up your address for me.” She couldn’t stop the flow of words coming out of her mouth. Biting her lip, she hoped this explanation was sufficient enough. To her relief he changed the subject.
“I…do come in, then, Hermione! My, you’ve grown since I last saw you. Not in size, I mean, um… The funeral, was it?” He looked at his feet. Hermione noticed the faint blush on his cheeks and felt surprisingly affected by it.
“Um, I’m glad to see you. You could stay here, if you want, or have you booked a hotel or something? We could go to the market together and then I’ll prepare you a meal, and then…” He was still looking at his feet as Hermione edged closer, just a bit.
“I hope you like my cooking, you know, being a bachelor and all … And I’ll have to search for blankets so you can sleep on the sofa, if you want –”
Hermione finally gathered her courage and stepped forward to kiss the man she’d been fantasizing about for years on end now. Charlie gave in with visible ease and moaned softly.
As soon as she realized what she was doing, she pulled back, eyes wide with shock. He was looking at her with an expression of surprise mingled with affection. “Do come in,” he said with a tempting laugh.
Hermione carefully put her cup down on the table. She thought, smiling, that no matter how much she loved having time to herself, she could barely wait to see her husband and children again.
Title: Moving On
Warnings: DH Spoilers, Mention of character death
Summary: Hermione can’t figure out why Draco won’t kiss her.
Pairing: (If relevant) HG/DM
Word Count: 404
“A famous actress once said that kisses are nature’s way of letting people communicate when words were no longer necessary,” Hermione Weasley, informed her companion over a cup of coffee.
“Granger, if you want to kiss me, you don’t need to use some sappy Muggle quote. Just strap on a set of balls and do it,” Draco Malfoy smirked at her.
The brown-haired witch let out a deep breath, which sounded much like a growl. “I haven’t been Granger for almost two decades, Malfoy.”
“You’ll always be Granger to me, darling.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the pompous git. She wondered for the hundredth time, just what she was doing dating him. She knew Ron was rolling over in his grave at the thought of her seeing Malfoy.
Her husband had died while on an Auror mission. While Hermione had mourned Ron for three years before even contemplating being with anyone else, it still felt a bit like cheating on him whenever she dated someone new. Although none of previous dates had developed into anything serious, seeing Malfoy made her contemplate remarriage.
However, any notion of marrying Malfoy was completely wrong. They had only been dating two months and had never even kissed. The lack of physical contact between them had left her wondering whether or not he found her desirable. This insecurity had led to tonight’s rather lame attempt to goad him into kissing her.
Perhaps she needed to just ask what he wanted. “If you aren’t attracted to me, why keep asking me out?”
“What?!” he replied, dumbfounded.
“You’ve never made a pass at me - never touched me inappropriately, and when I mentioned kissing you’d rather tease me than take advantage of me. Exactly where do I stand with you?”
Draco groaned loudly. “I’ve been trying to be thoughtful.”
“I’ve wanted to shag you since you first agreed to have coffee with me, but I wasn’t sure if you were over Weasley. So I decided to be considerate and let you make the first move and not push things further than you were comfortable.”
“Sweet Merlin, Malfoy. Of all the times to be selfless,” Hermione nagged.
“Well, now that I know what you want, Granger,” Malfoy said, leaning across the table. “I’ll return to being my usual insensitive self.”
Hermione pressed her lips to Draco’s, reveling in the feelings he evoked. “Um… just the way I like you.”
Summary: Sometimes the things left unsaid say everything.
Word Count: 289.
Hermione stared at Draco’s retreating back as he walked down the street. His shoulders were slumped slightly and there was an air of defeat about him.
Heart pounding in her chest, wind whistling in her ears, she began to run after him. He had finally, after she had accused him incapable of a serious relationship, declared his feelings for her. Like a fool, she had stood there dumbfounded, then bleated that she needed to return to her paperwork. Which is how, ten minutes later, she was running down what seemed an endless street (she made a mental note to exercise more) after…. Well, after the love of her life.
‘Draco!’ she called.
He didn’t even turn to look at her.
‘DRACO!’ she tried again.
Her breath was coming in short, sharp, gasps and a stitch stabbed at her side. She reached him, flustered, and still panting hard.
He turned to face her and a genuine smile broke out across his face.
‘I - I just want you to know,’ she began, ‘That I’ll change to make things work. I won’t be so demanding, organised, and controlling -’
He moved a step closer toward her.
‘Quite honestly I might be but I’ll try to change, Draco. Obviously you’ll need to stop being such an arrogant git too but -’
He placed a hand over her mouth.
‘Stop,’ he said.
He removed his hand, and circled his arms around her waist instead, lifting her slightly up off her feet into the air. Then he placed his lips upon hers and Hermione felt her brain lock down and her body melt into his arms; she inhaled his scent and smiled as she realised he smelled exactly like Amortentia.
Summary: Some secrets are best left to ripen.
Word Count: 404
“It will cost you a kiss to find out.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one asking questions. And no dry little peck on the cheek. I want a lovely long one with lots of lips and tongues.”
“You just had one. Which makes me wonder why you need to trick me into another. What are you up to, Charlie?”
“Hermione. Love. I’m wounded. Your lips were designed to be kissed by mine. I’m simply encouraging them to fulfill their destiny.”
“By blackmailing me? Not to mention that you are being uncharacteristically soppy. You are up to something, I just don’t know what.”
“Did you always have such a suspicious nature, my dear? Besides, it wasn’t a reasonable question.”
“I have to know something about what you’re planning for my birthday so I can dress appropriately. Knowing you, I’ll dress for a fancy dinner and end up in a Hippogriff rodeo being tossed into the dirt.”
“Stop worrying, love. I’ll take care of you.”
“I’d be happier if I had something a little more tangible than words. Like an itinerary.”
“You’ll know what we’re doing when it’s time. Trust me. It’s something you’ve been wanting us to do for a long time.”
“I’ve been wanting us to attend the Founder’s Day speech at Hogwarts and I’ve been wanting us to clean out the attic and, oh, right, I’ve been wanting us to stop keeping bloody secrets about my birthday. Could that be it?”
“You know, I never realised it before, but uncertainty really becomes you.”
“Fine. I’ll wear something nice and pack a bag in case. Clothes I don’t mind getting dirty. Sturdy shoes. I trust that a first-aid kit will be unnecessary?”
She was still wearing the blindfold he had placed over her eyes when they Apparated.
“I know that you hate organizing parties, almost as much as you hate making a fuss, but we’ve put off getting married for nearly a year now. I think it’s time.”
He pulled off her blindfold, and she looked around at their family and friends standing in a flower-covered pavilion in the middle of a grassy meadow. Then she looked down at the nervous man on one knee before her. “It’s all arranged. Kingsley’ll perform the ceremony and Mum’s got a load of food waiting back at the Burrow. So you don’t have to plan anything and …”
She stopped his mouth with a kiss.
Summary: A kiss replaces words when there is nothing that can be said.
Pairing: (If relevant)
Word Count: 100!
Spoilers: Happens in DH. It would not ruin the book for you though.
After Ron left, there was little to say. I spent most of the night crying as silently as I could, hoping Harry couldn't hear me.
Then I spent most of the day talking as little as possible, afraid my voice would crack, betraying me even in the most ordinary of conversations.
And so days and nights blended together into a bleak canvas.
I was crying, so it must have been night. I remember my tears being volcanic as they rolled across my nose and frigid the moment they hit my pillow.
Tender pressure on my forehead, the most elegant apology.
Title: Close Call
Summary: After the battle, Hermione looks for her boyfriend.
Pairing: left vague (could be H/Hr or R/Hr)
Word Count: 200
Somehow, in the middle of the battle, they got separated. He went one way, aiming spells at a death eater, while she went another, aiding Dean with a group of dementors.
In the end, as the silence seemed to ring out, after the victory sank in, she realized she didn’t know where he was. She looked around, but amongst the groups of injured friends, she didn’t see his face.
She pushed through the crowd, seeking him. Through the corridor, down the stairs, in the Great Hall- he was nowhere to be found.
She started to panic. There were so many dead- she had seen the bodies. What if his were amongst them? They had been friends for so long, and their relationship had only just begun, what if he was gone from her life forever?
And then she saw him, across the room. She ran to him, and hugged him as if her life depended upon it.
“I thought you were dead. So many are dead, and what would happen if you-”
He silenced her with his lips, pressed against hers. They kissed, hungry for the comfort and reassurance, each needing to feel the evidence that the other was alive.
Summary: She hated being wrong.
Pairing: (If relevant) SS/HG
Word Count: 404
She hated being wrong.
They would be in the middle of an argument and it would escalate until they were using big words and reciting passages from obscure texts. Usually, these arguments would end in one of three ways. He would claim victory and refuse to hear another word, they would stomp in silence to the library and spend hours trying to prove the other wrong, or he would cheat and start kissing her and all would be forgotten (but not really).
He was simply brilliant, there was no way around it and they both knew it. However, there was a fourth scenario which was so rare that she kept a detailed journal of each occurrence, listing the date and time, length of the argument, subject matter, and a general rundown of how things went wrong. She would analyze each entry for weeks to come until, finding no alternative, she would finally admit to him that he was right.
His entire demeanor would swell. His dark, devastating eyes took on a slight glint. He stood a little taller. His students were treated to a marginally less demanding assignment if her admission happened to fall on a weekday. There was a slight bounce in his step and once, just once, a fourth-year Hufflepuff heard him whistling through the dark halls as he made rounds one evening.
She would be waiting in their home on the grounds when he returned, dinner prepared (she still refused house-elves), a bottle of wine on the table. Her hair would be up in a tangle, her cheeks flushed, and raw magic crackling in the air. She would have spent her entire day between teaching classes trying still to prove him wrong and anxious for him to return so she could argue her side once more.
As soon as he would walk in the door, confidence oozing from his being like jellied armadillo bile being poured from its storage vial into a bubbling cauldron, all thought, all the meticulously prepared remarks, flew from her mind. There would be a certain brightness in his eyes that danced in the soft candlelight and her breath would hitch and she would no longer care about the beans getting cold.
She no longer cared about dinner, only feasting on the voracious man who was already nibbling the corner of her mouth.
She hated admitting she was wrong, but she loved it when he was right.
Title: What Need Have I For Words
Summary: The benefits of non verbal communication.
Word Count: 254
I have long since learned the power that words can hold. A well placed word can caress your senses just as easily as it can wound your soul. When it comes to Ron, so much of what I feel for him was borne from words. Ever since we were eleven, we’ve traded verbal barbs with an incredible intensity; the two of us quickly mastering the art of getting under each other’s skin. Even now, Ron continues to challenge me, just as surely as I challenge him, and our words are often laced with passionate fire.
Despite how proficient Ron and I have become with words, I’ve come to see that the things that remain unsaid can hold an equal weight. Unspoken forms of communication can sometimes be more effective than stumbling over words. A longing glance, a fleeting touch, and especially a kiss have the power to convey so much, without the use of a single word.
There are no words in existence that can even come close to describing the sensation of Ron’s lips closing hungrily over mine; possessing me, cherishing me, protecting me, as if I was the most precious thing on this earth. I can feel Ron’s love in his strong embrace and see the desire reflected in his eyes. Ron’s tender touch unravels me and with each new kiss we explore each other’s hearts.
A kiss is a trick designed by nature, to stop words when speech becomes unnecessary. In blissful moments like these, what need have I for words?
Title: A kiss is a lovely trick...
Summary: Ron & Hermione engage in a typical argument.
Word Count: 181
They stared at each other from across the room, glaring frigidly. Another fight between the happy couple.
"I can't believe you sometimes, Ron," Hermione said, a frown creasing her forehead. "This is ridiculous."
"I'm not ridiculous!" Ron said indignantly. His face contorted in anger. He took a few steps closer to his wife until he was standing a mere foot from her body.
"That's not even what I said," Hermione pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"I don't really care. You have no right to be so... so..."
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked with a small grin struggling to break free.
"No, I just--"
"Oh, Ron, shut up," Hermione said, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him to her. She roughly put her lips on his and he eagerly responded, kissing her back as he wrapped his arms around her back. A few minutes later, they broke the kiss and stepped apart, breathing heavily.
"Guess I should have learned by now--when I can't think of what to say, kissing you is a good route to take."
Title: Someone To Blame
Summary: Hermione wants to talk. Harry needs to get her to stop talking.
Word Count: 499 *sheepish*
In retrospect, Harry felt the blame to be entirely upon the house itself. Of course, there were other reasons – how frustrated he was with her, how much she would not stop talking, how much he just wanted her to stop – but those were hardly anything in comparison to their surroundings.
Dark. Muggy. Making him feel all sorts of heady.
The corner they were in was a particularly dusty one, and she was repeatedly thrumming her head against the wall behind her.
Dum. Dum-dum. Dum.
"Why are we here?" he asked again, knowing just as well as anyone that he'd probably regret asking just as soon as the words slipped past his lips.
She sighed. "Because I wanted to talk to you."
"Right. And you're doing such a good job of it."
She seemingly snapped – he could tell, behind her lids, past her eyes, there was something that seemed as if it was triggered, and then she reached forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, her face stern, almost angry – with herself? – and something changed.
"Harry—don't. You know… you don't understand. I think… I think it's this place."
Harry couldn't help but agree, his eyes suddenly not focused entirely on her eyes anymore.
"I think… well, it's after the war, the danger is over—"
"—mostly over—" he interrupted.
"Yes, mostly over… I mean, do we really have to live here? I think… it's doing something to me… my thoughts… the atmosphere…"
"Well, it's here or… if you'd rather stay at the Weasley's…"
He took her lack of an answer as a no, and ran a hand through his hair, ever-messy. Her hands were still firm, clenched around the material of his shirt, and his eyes moved down, back up, his breathing heavy, harder now…
Or maybe it was just the fact that she wasn't saying anything that made it all the more obvious.
"What would you say," he started slowly, "if I were to tell you I wanted to kiss you?" His voice was quiet, guarded, anticipating her answer in hushed tones.
"I would say that you should weigh the pros and cons of such an important decision. I mean, it doesn't just affect you, it affects everyone – me, Ron, Ginny – you'd have to take their feelings into account, particularly if the kiss was more than friendly, which, of course, it could be, but then I doubt you'd be asking—"
He almost couldn't stop himself. It was that simple. He blamed the house, the atmosphere, as she had so nicely put it, and the fact that she wouldn't stop talking and he needed a way to shut her up.
When he finally pulled back, her expression heady, he smiled – almost. "I'll have to remember that the next time I want you to stop talking."
"In that case, maybe I didn't want to talk to you at all," she whispered back, a small smile lingering on her face.
Title: Logic, or Lack Thereof
Summary: Hermione hates to be interrupted.
Word Count: 205
I have a lot to say. I don’t like being kept from voicing whatever happens to be on my mind – which is why it infuriates me to no end when someone interrupts me.
“I really think we can make this work. Now, I know it may be awkward at first, and it may take a few tries until we’re really good at this, but –“
His lips crashed down upon mine, hot and hard, and his tongue darted out, challenging me. I opened for him, forgetting words, sinking into his body, letting his hands hold me in place and his tongue caress mine until I remembered myself – and that I was distinctly not done speaking.
I pulled away, gasping for air, and glared at him. “But we shouldn’t be hasty about it,” I huffed. “Honestly, Harry, must you always act first and think later?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Hermione, a kiss isn’t something you should have to think about. Just feel for once.”
I frowned. “Oh, I felt it, all right.”
Harry grinned and tugged me gently closer. “Just accept that I’m right for once and let me kiss you.”
I sighed and gave in; I could argue with his logic…or lack thereof.
Title: Little Secret
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Hermione has a secret
Word Count: 285
Ron’s lips were like heaven on hers. Warm, tender, and yet demanding all at the same time. She loved how gentle he was with her, always so attentive and loving, it just made her heart melt and she could feel herself falling in love all over again.
If Hermione wasn’t careful she would be lost to him again, just like last night, and the night before, and the night before that; then she would never get to tell him her secret, and that just would not do.
“Ron…” she managed to say quickly before his lips were on hers again. “Ron-” kiss, “-I-” kiss, “-have-” nibble, “-to-” he sucked her bottom lip, making her tremble.
“You don’t ‘have to,’ anything.” he murmured into her hair and gently pushed her back onto the sofa. “This night is all about you sweetheart and me showing you how much I love you, and kissing is the perfect way to tell you when words just can’t convey enough.”
Hermione giggled and weaved her arms around his throat. “You know I think I’ve been a good influence on you. Who would have thought it, Ron - wordsmith and romantic.” she suddenly remembered her secret. “But I still have something to tell you…” but his lips were on hers again, his hands caressing her arm and side, but never venturing too high or low, obviously wanting her to see that the simple pleasure of being with her and kissing was enough.
And she was lost.
Somewhere deep inside her a tiny form slept and a microscopic heart beat rapidly as it grew.
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