Trainers
Will’s lips were soft. Pressing hers against his was surprising. She hadn’t expected to do that. But then he kissed her back.
It was a slow, tentative kiss at first. The last one she had was with Ron, after the Battle, and it wasn’t anything like this. That was a little sloppy, there were teeth, they were mourning. This one was gentle. It felt warm. Papery. She could feel the warmth of his body. He readjusted, so that he was standing up straight. She thought he might want to stop, but then his hand - large, also warm - cupped her face, bringing her back into him. She went.
She pressed against him, perhaps harder than she should have given how gentle the kiss was. But she wanted to feel him, wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to be held by someone. The paperclips were clenched in her fist, and his other arm went to wrap her into him further. She could feel his heartbeat. She could hear the rest of the workshop go on around them, magic unconcerned with whatever the two of them were doing. She reached up, slowly, moving her free hand against the fabric of his shirt. She exhaled against his mouth, he opened up, his tongue slowly probing against her lips.
She met him. And then the two of them seemed to stop pretending like it was an accident. She shakily placed the paperclips on the workbench, then ran that hand up to his shoulders, her eyes still closed, before reaching both tentatively up his neck towards his hair, reaching up on her tiptoes to get more of him. His arms wrapped round her completely, she was fully pressed against him. Was he hard? She thought so. Her heart, already pounding, sped up. What was she doing?
They broke away, panting slightly. Before she could think to be awkward he lent down, pressing his forehead against hers. Her arms were still looped around his shoulders, his around her waist, one arm against her spine, hand holding her head in place.
“Um,” she said, shakily. He gave a half sort-of laugh. They swallowed, she was close enough to hear that. He unwrapped his arms.
It had been such a long time that she had been close to someone. Her eyes prickled with tears, she turned away to hide them. Was she really that sad?
“Thank you,” he said, facing away from her too.
“Thank you?”
“I know that -” he took a deep breath. “I know you know who I am. And obviously I know who you are. And you’ve - I mean. I just. I have been - I’ve enjoyed you coming into the shop. So, thank you.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to breathe through the desire to go back into his arms. She didn’t think he’d resist. She did think she’d crumble. “I’ve really liked it too.”
She took the paperclips home with her. Before she left, he asked if she was coming in the next day. She’d be leaving for Hogwarts on the Monday, should really be packing.
“I’d like to.”
“I’d like you to, too.”
She thought about the kiss all night, of course. She did go back home, opened her trunk. The smell of it was so familiar she was taken aback. There hadn’t been time to properly unpack after sixth year, and so stray bits of parchment, random notes, an old quill, a Gryffindor scarf she had forgotten about, all lay on the bottom.
It took her a long time to remove the objects. It didn’t feel right to do it with magic. She thought of Harry digging Dobby’s grave by hand, had a cry about that. Had a cry over her old notes she hadn’t needed to take with her - they had various spells written down, references to follow up, all in a half-sort-of code, when she still wasn’t sure what they had been looking for. She even sent a copy of one to Harry with a note on her new paper - cleaning out getting ready for Hogwarts. So strange to find these at the bottom of my trunk! Hope you’re okay.
He replied, reading in between the lines in an uncharacteristic display of emotional intelligence.
Do you want me to come over and help?
All good here. Thanks, though. I’ll try and pop in before the train.
Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you!
She wondered what he’d think about her kissing Draco. She wasn’t even sure. She wished he hadn’t done what he had, so she could enjoy it without feeling guilty. Less because she hadn’t forgiven him, more because she wanted to avoid judgement, avoid eyes. She wanted to go back to school not being famous and just exist as Hermione Granger the human witch, not as Hermione Granger, whoever everyone else thought she was.
She folded her robes with magic, in the end. Then threw in the remainders of her jeans. All the warm jumpers she owned, the Weasley one included. She didn’t think Molly would want her to stop wearing it. Her old trainers that she had worn on the run she had thrown out, she made a mental note to buy another pair.
When she went into muggle London the next morning to purchase some, she couldn’t resist buying another box of hair dye.
He was relieved to see her, then surprised at her shopping bags.
“Needed some things,” she exhaled. He gestured that she could place them on top of the counter, and she did.
“What sort of things?”
Hermione ended up showing him everything, with added commentary.
“These trainers - I threw away my old ones from - well, from last year. So I decided on a different colour I guess, they’re really white now so I’m hoping that they’ll get dirty soon because it’s too bright, and then I thought I’d get some extra white shirts - you never know of course and I’m taking NEWT-level potions so there are bound to be spillages -”
“Is Slughorn still doing that?”
“I think so! Although desperately hoping to avoid a Slug-Club invite this year,” she grimaced, he laughed softly.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to do that.”
She sighed heavily. “I suppose not. Anyway. I hope you don’t think I’m being presumptuous but, erm…”
She pulled out the hair dye.
“It’s - erm. Your roots are coming through a little so I thought I could help.”
His fingers were clenching the edge of the desk.
“I’m so sorry if I overstepped -” she started, and he startled her by interrupting fiercely.
“That’s more kind than I deserve,” he said, his voice harsh. “Why - what - Granger,” he said, frustrated. She was so surprised he had called her by her surname, just like old times, that she recoiled.
“Why are you being so kind to me,” he said, his voice under control again.
“I don’t know,” she said, without thinking. “I’m sorry. I don’t - I just. I want to. I don’t know.”
They didn’t say anything. She wanted to put the dye back in her bag, she felt stupid for doing it. He reached out, taking hold of the box.
“It looks really bad, doesn’t it.”
“Um -”
They managed to look at one another. And then burst out laughing.
“Yeah. It looks really bad.”