Of breaking point
The days after Harry’s confession were like nothing he had ever experienced. The air between him and Hermione seemed to crackle with an energy that hadn’t been there before. They still spent most of their time together—studying, walking to classes, or just sitting in the common room—but everything felt different now. Every shared glance lingered a little longer, every brush of hands sent a spark coursing through him.
For Hermione, it was equally maddening. Harry had always been close, always been someone she trusted more than anyone else. But now, there was something else—something that made her pulse quicken whenever he smiled at her, or when his leg accidentally pressed against hers under the table in the Great Hall. She found herself looking for excuses to touch him, a hand on his arm when she laughed, or leaning closer than necessary when they shared a book.
It was after one of their study sessions in the library that the tension finally reached its peak. The library was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of pages and the distant scratching of quills. Harry and Hermione had chosen a secluded corner, surrounded by towering shelves of books.
“I think we’ve done enough for tonight,” Harry said, closing his textbook and stretching.
Hermione smirked. “Tired already? I thought the Chosen One could handle a bit of Transfiguration homework.”
“Even Chosen Ones need breaks,” Harry replied, grinning.
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to Harry as he ruffled his already messy hair. He looked so effortlessly handsome, his tie loosened and his shirt slightly untucked. She felt her cheeks heat as she realized she was staring.
Harry caught her gaze and held it. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of everything unsaid hung between them, heavy and charged.
“Hermione,” Harry said softly, his voice lower than usual.
“Yes?” she replied, her heart pounding.
He hesitated, then smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
Hermione frowned, leaning forward. “It’s not nothing. What is it?”
Harry looked at her, his green eyes intense. “You’re going to have to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Like you’re daring me to kiss you.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing. “And what if I am?”
Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he stood and moved around the table, his steps deliberate. Hermione’s heart raced as he came closer, his presence overwhelming in the quiet of the library.
She stood, intending to say something, but before she could, Harry was in front of her, his gaze burning into hers. Slowly, he backed her against the nearest shelf, his hands bracing on either side of her.
“Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling, though she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or excitement.
“Do you know how hard it’s been to not do this?” he murmured, his face inches from hers.
Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Then don’t stop yourself.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Harry leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tentative kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, but when Hermione responded, wrapping her arms around his neck, it deepened.
Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them igniting something raw and primal. Harry’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and Hermione’s fingers tangled in his hair, making him groan softly against her lips.
As the kiss grew more urgent, Harry’s hand slid up her side, tracing the curve of her waist. He paused, his fingers brushing the edge of her blouse as he hesitated. He wanted more—needed more—but a small part of him held back.
“Hermione,” he breathed, pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.”
She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “You’re not.”
Encouraged by her words, Harry kissed her again, his hands sliding up her back and holding her tightly. But as his hand started to drift lower, a voice in his head—Lupin’s voice—cut through the haze. Be honest, be brave, but don’t rush.
With a monumental effort, Harry pulled back, his breath ragged. “We should slow down,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Hermione blinked up at him, her lips swollen from their kiss. “Why?”
“Because if we don’t, I might lose control,” he admitted, his cheeks tinged pink.
Hermione smiled then—a warm, understanding smile that made his heart ache. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I trust you, Harry. But you’re right. We have time.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lips curving into a small smile. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“So are you,” she replied, her voice soft.
They stayed like that for a moment, their foreheads touching, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the library. The tension between them hadn’t vanished—it still hummed in the air, a promise of what was to come—but for now, it was enough.