The First Kiss
The lab was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of papers or the soft click of quills against parchment. The only light came from the flickering candles on their desks and the faint glow from enchanted lamps hanging from the ceiling. Hermione sat at her usual place, elbows deep in calculations and magical formulas, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had been working for hours, her mind sharp but weary, trying to piece together the last details of the intricate spell they had been developing for weeks.
Beside her, Seamus was doing the same—except that, unlike her, he didn’t seem to be weighed down by the fatigue. He was leaning back in his chair, one foot propped on the desk, his head tilted back in what could only be described as a near-imperceptible trance. He wasn’t doing much, but somehow, his presence still filled the space in a way that made it impossible for her to ignore him.
It wasn’t that Hermione hadn’t noticed Seamus before—because she certainly had, in every sense. She was acutely aware of his sharp wit, the effortless way he drew people into his orbit with just a smile or a well-timed joke. His laughter was infectious, filling every room he entered with a sense of ease and warmth. But tonight, something was different. Something in the air between them had shifted, subtle yet undeniable. His proximity to her felt more pronounced, as though an invisible thread had tugged tighter, binding them together in ways she hadn’t anticipated. It was almost like the air itself crackled with a new energy whenever she looked at him—when she caught herself sneaking glances at him, only to quickly look away, heart unexpectedly racing in her chest.
She tried to focus on her work, the arcane runes on the page, the formulas that had occupied her thoughts for so long. She scribbled down calculations, her quill moving with practiced precision, but despite her best efforts, Seamus was impossible to ignore. Her gaze kept drifting to him, his figure lazily sprawled across the chair beside her, his relaxed posture belying the sharp intelligence she knew lay beneath his casual exterior. He wasn’t doing much—just leaning back in his chair with one foot propped on the desk, his hands resting casually behind his head. His eyes were half-closed in thought, or perhaps just in a rare moment of stillness, but when she looked at him, they flickered open, catching hers with a soft, knowing look.
Seamus, noticing the shift in her attention, gave her a lazy grin. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, the same playful energy that she had come to expect from him. But tonight, it felt different—charged, more intense, like he was seeing something in her that she hadn’t realized she was showing.
“You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as if he could sense the change in the air between them, “if you keep staring at me like that, people are going to start talking.”
Hermione snapped her head back down to her work, her face flushed instantly. Damn it, she thought, but she couldn’t quite scold him as she usually would. Her words faltered, her usual biting retort vanishing somewhere behind her nerves. Instead, she muttered something about focusing on the task at hand, her voice lacking its usual bite, as though she was more self-conscious than she cared to admit.
Seamus just laughed softly, clearly relishing the effect he was having on her. But, rather than retreating into his usual joking manner, he stayed silent. A long stretch of time passed with only the sound of quills scratching paper and the faint tick of the enchanted clock in the corner. Hermione could feel his presence beside her, still, but somehow more present than ever. She could feel his gaze on her, constant and unwavering. Every time she looked up, his eyes were already on her, soft but steady, like he was waiting for something, like he had all the time in the world and wasn’t going to rush things, even though every moment between them now felt unbearably long.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to stay focused, to stick to the task at hand. But the weight of his stare, gentle but persistent, was too much. Her thoughts scattered as her heart rate quickened. Her pulse picked up in tempo, as if her body was responding to something she couldn’t quite understand. She could feel the tension mounting between them, stretching the silence until it almost felt too thick to breathe through. Something unspoken hung in the air, a pressure building that she couldn’t shake. It was as though the very space around them had become charged, each moment heavier than the last.
The quiet tick of the clock seemed to grow louder, a reminder of how much time had passed without either of them acknowledging the shift between them. Hermione felt the rise of frustration, of confusion. This wasn’t like before, when Seamus had been nothing more than a colleague—someone with a cheeky grin and a tendency to make her roll her eyes, yes, but someone who didn’t unsettle her like this. No, tonight felt like something had changed, a new dynamic blossoming between them, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. She hadn’t been this flustered in a long time, not even during their earliest days of working together. She had always prided herself on being in control, logical, steady. But now, it felt like that steadiness was slipping through her fingers.
Seamus, sensing her restlessness, suddenly pushed himself off the desk. He moved toward her with deliberate steps, slow but sure, as if he had made up his mind. The way he moved felt different too—more purposeful, like the playful banter that had always defined their interactions was taking a backseat to something else.
“You’ve been working non-stop for hours, Hermione,” Seamus said, his voice softer than usual, carrying an unexpected seriousness that made her pause. His words were simple, yet there was an underlying depth to them, a subtle insistence. “Maybe you need a break.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest—after all, they had deadlines to meet, things to solve, spells to perfect—but the protest died on her lips. She was too tired, too worn out, and in that moment, she realized she was far too aware of Seamus to think straight. Her mind was full of calculations and magical theory, but her heart, inexplicably, was tangled up in something she wasn’t sure she could untangle.
Before she could formulate a response, Seamus, almost absentmindedly, reached out and brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her face. His fingers lingered for a brief moment at her temple, the gentle touch sending an immediate shockwave through her. The coolness of the air seemed to thicken, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. The warmth of his fingers on her skin felt like a spark, a jolt of something electric that she hadn’t expected.
She met his eyes, and in them, she saw something that made her heart beat louder. There was no teasing, no mockery in his gaze—just softness, rawness, an intensity that made her feel as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.
“Seamus…” she started, her voice trembling slightly. She wanted to say something—anything—to pull herself back, to break the moment before it went any further. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up in the turmoil of emotions she couldn’t articulate. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to think, to analyze, but something deeper, something more primal, urged her to lean in, to give in to whatever was happening between them. The walls she had carefully built, the ones that had kept her heart safe from feeling too much, were crumbling around her, leaving her exposed, vulnerable.
And then, without warning, it happened.
Seamus’s face softened further, his eyes never leaving hers, their faces moving closer. The air between them seemed to thicken, time stretching impossibly long as she watched his lips draw nearer to hers. Hermione’s heart was hammering in her chest, a rapid thud that drowned out everything else. The room was spinning around her, but all she could focus on was him, standing right there, so close, so real.
I should stop this. I should say something. I should—
But before she could complete the thought, Seamus closed the distance, leaning in, and their lips met.
The kiss was tentative at first, like two people unsure of the steps to take but certain they were walking in the same direction. It was gentle, exploring, as if both were waiting for the other to give some kind of signal, some sign that this was okay, that this wasn’t a mistake. Hermione’s lips parted slightly as Seamus’s warmth enveloped her, and with that simple touch, something inside her—something she had been suppressing—shifted.
Her hand, almost instinctively, moved up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. It was grounding, familiar. The contact sent a ripple of warmth through her, spreading through her chest like wildfire. Her other hand, as if guided by a force beyond her control, found its way to the side of his face, her fingers brushing against the soft stubble along his jawline. It felt impossibly right, like a perfect match to something she hadn’t even realized was missing.
As the kiss deepened, the world outside the lab seemed to blur and fade away, as if the space they occupied shrank to nothing but the two of them. It wasn’t just the chemistry, the undeniable magnetism that had been growing between them for weeks. It was more. It was something unspoken, something that had been building quietly in the background of their partnership—through their long nights in the lab, their shared triumphs and frustrations, the moments of laughter, the quiet understanding they’d built between them. It was a connection, a bond that had formed and grown without either of them fully acknowledging it until now.
Hermione’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but her body moved almost on its own. The tension in her shoulders dissolved, replaced by an unfamiliar but welcome sense of surrender. The weight of all the things she had been holding back, all the walls she had erected to protect herself, crumbled with every passing second.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, disoriented, the world seemed to come rushing back. The flickering candlelight, the hum of the magical lamps above, the faint sound of their own ragged breathing—it was all there, all the same, yet everything felt different now. Everything felt heavier, more charged, like the air itself was thick with possibilities.
Hermione couldn’t speak immediately. She was still reeling from the rush of emotions, from the way her heart was pounding in her chest, the way her breath seemed to be caught somewhere in her throat. Her mind was trying to process everything that had just happened, but it felt like the pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting. She stared at Seamus, wide-eyed, as if waiting for him to say something, anything, to explain this sudden shift between them.
Seamus, for his part, was the first to break the silence. His voice was a little breathless, but the trademark grin she knew so well was tugging at the corners of his lips, soft and playful but with a hint of something deeper. Something more vulnerable.
“Well,” he said, his voice low and quiet, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t just me, right?”