A Different Kind of Fireworks

Disclaimer: Nothing in this story is mine… even though I wish Oliver would be. Sigh.

Hermione had always been proud of the fact that she was a strong, intelligent and independent woman. She was proud that, even though most people didn't quite grasp the idea, she wasn't in love with either of her two best male friends and therefore had kept their five-year-long friendship going on purely platonic terms. What Hermione was most proud of, however, was the fact that she could keep secrets- juicy secrets at that.

For the best part of five years, Hermione had been subject to the fruitless gossiping that her roommates, Lavender and Parvati, considered a favourite pastime and she had kept all of her secrets from even the schools biggest gossipers. And her biggest secret was that she, Hermione Jean Granger, was petrified of a sound. Yes, you heard right: a sound. For god's sake, she had helped Harry fight Voldemort and his followers countless times and a mere sound brought her to tears. That sound was the crashing bang of a firework.

Hermione loved the look of fireworks, the scarlet flashes, the indigo streaks and canary yellow puffs of smoke. She adored the intricate sparks that came from fireworks but the mere thought of the echoing bang that fireworks emitted… well, that was a different story.

So that was how Hermione found herself huddled, alone, next to a radiator in the library, her legs pulled up to her chest with a thick, dusty book balanced precariously atop her knees. A pair of crimson red earplugs was jammed securely into her ears. She was quite content.

Hermione thought back to an hour ago when her friends were urging her to join them at the Hogwarts firework display.

"Please come 'Mione!" Ginny pleaded, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist.

"Yeah it won't be the same without you Herms! Besides I need you moral support!" said Ron whilst shooting a disgusted look at his sister and best friend as Harry gazed longingly into Ginny's eyes.

Hermione chuckled despite herself, "Sorry, Ron. Maybe next time, yeah? Besides, I have to finish reading Tricky Transfiguration by Matilda Forstred. Sorry!"

Pleased with her excuse her friends left equipped with fluffy scarves and gloves to fight the bitter November air. Hermione herself had traipsed to the library and resumed the position she was still sat in now.

Hermione giggled as she remembered her friend's pleas and closed Tricky Transfiguration having finished it. She was just about to reach for Cheeky Charms by the same author, when one of her earplugs fell out. Her hand reached to retrieve it when she heard a strangely familiar chuckle. She looked around and her eyes were met by none other than the seventh-year Gryffindor quid ditch captain Oliver Wood.

"Hermione, what on earth are you doing here in the library with earplugs in? Don't you want to watch the wonderful fireworks? Listen to the bang and crackle?" he asked in his broad Scottish brogue.

Hermione struggled to come up with a decent excuse so mumbled childishly, "I could ask you the same question!"

"No," Oliver chucked, "you can't, and I'm not wearing earplugs."

"Oh, whatever!" Hermione retorted, blushing.

"But, if you have to know, I was looking for you," said Oliver calmly. "And before you ask why, it doesn't matter."

"Wha-"

"Hermione, I said it doesn't matter. So why are you really here?"

"I can't tell you."

Damn, Hermione thought, why did I have to say that? Why didn't I just lie?

"Why can't you tell me?" Oliver asked.

"I just can't."

"Please?"

"No"

"Pleeeeeeeee-aaaaaaaaaase?"

Silence. Then…

"Because I'm scared, ok? I'm scared of the freaking fireworks! They make me scared, all right. So scared I could cry! Happy? Are you happy now?" Hermione suddenly blurted out.

For a moment or two, there was silence in the almost deserted library. Then, two large, calloused hands reached up and pushed away a few flyaway tendrils of Hermione's honey coloured hair before cupping her face gently.

"That," he whispered, "was one of the most adorable outbursts I have ever heard in my life."

And before Hermione could respond his lips crashed down onto hers in a wonderfully sweet kiss.

"I think," Oliver breathed as they broke apart, "that we just made fireworks of our own. So, you must be scared, 'Mione, we better not do that again."

"Oh yes, we bloody should!" exclaimed Hermione. "They were a different kind of fireworks, a perfect kind of fireworks."

And with that, her lips soon found his again.

Clichéd I know but, hey, I like it.

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