If the chef feels particularly benevolent, could we have a slice of apple pie for Hermione Granger to the tunes of “I’m a Fool to Want You” by Frank Sinatra ? Take as much time as you need AND CONGRATS. CONGRATULATIONS‼️‼️‼️ ON HITTING FIIIIIVE HUNDRED FOLLOWERS❗️‼️❗️🎊🎊🎊🎊❗️❗️🎉🎉HERE’S TO MANY MANY MORE🍾🍾‼️
aka… your love for your best friend being what destroys you
warnings ~ DOOMED LESBIANS!!! reader is genuinely head over heels for hermione, YEARNINGGG, hermione being unaware, angst, my own interpretation of what hannah abbott looks like, made up boy for the sake of plot, reader is in a diff house than hermione, probs a little canon-divergent (i havent seen the movies in so long)
── .✦ a/n ~ doomed wlw romances have my heart and soul
The feeling first surfaced in your first year at Hogwarts.
You were eleven years old, sitting in potions, trying hard to focus of Professor Snape’s confusing, monotonous words. But your attention kept getting pulled elsewhere.
With her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and freckled skin. She could easily be mistaken as a Weasley, except she’s a millions time more beautiful than all of them combined.
At least, in your opinion.
You try so hard to focus, not wanting Snape to berate you, but you can’t help it. She sits so perfectly in your view, you can’t help staring. You don’t pause to wonder why you’re admiring her, rather than the one and only Boy Who Lived, or some other boy. She’s just who you’re drawn to.
As the weeks pass, and you find yourself spending most of Potions staring at Hannah, something forms in your stomach. It isn’t bad, just different. It makes you feel like you’re floating. You imagined braiding her hair, telling each other stories by a campfire, even holding her hand, and your stomach would fill with butterflies.
You didn’t realize it until your two years later, in year three, what it was.
Your friends had begun to talk about the boys they fancied by now, how cute their hair was or how he’d look at them. But when it came time for you to tell, you’d just shrug.
“I haven’t really noticed anyone,” you’d lie.
“Oh, come on! There has to be at least some boy who’s caught your eye!” They would press.
“Uhm. I guess that Woodrow boy’s cute. The one with the glasses.”
You don’t know why he’s the first boy you thought of. He’s rather plain, you only know him because he got yelled at by Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration the other day.
“Him? Honestly, I thought he’d been Hermione Granger’s twin brother. They’re almost identical!” Your friends all laughed at that comment before talking like normal.
You were still stuck on what was just said.
They’re almost identical.
Hermione Granger happened to be your best friend, the girl you turned to for everything. You’d met in your second year and bonded over a love of books and knowledge. From that day forward, you’d been nearly inseparable.
She meant the world to you and still does. Had it meant something else when you happened to pretend to like the boy who could be her twin?
You tried your best not to dwell on it, but it sticks to your psyche like a wad of gum under a desk. She’s all you think about The rest of the sleepover.
“Does she really look that much like that boy?”
“What does that say about me?”
That thought made you stop. It made you think.
From that day forward, you knew.
You’re in love with your best friend.
A year passes. Autumn changes to winter, then to spring, then summer, and then back to autumn. In that 12 month span, you’d learned more about yourself than what you learned in school. Mainly, that you deeply, terribly loved your best friend.
On your first day back at Hogwarts since summer, the only thing you wanted was to reunite with her; to smell her hair, touch her skin.
You wanted her so much your heart began to ache.
This reunion would come the moment you stepped foot into the Great Hall, for you were almost immediately tackled in a hug. Her arms wrap around your body with the kind reverence saved for a lover. You hug her right back, breathing deep.
That ache is replaced with a fervent, blazing warmth.
“I missed you.” You murmur into her hair. She replies with a squeeze.
You soon draw back, hands sliding down her waist, eyes meeting her bright brown ones. Christ almighty, she’s beautiful.
“I’d say we need to catch up, but we honestly don’t.” She says with a laugh.
You smile at her. The two of you spent the entire summer chatting over the phone and through letters, you don’t need to tell her about your vacations, or the books you read only because she recommended them to you.
When you part, heading for different tables, the flame in your chest dulls back into an ache.
You don’t see her again until after dinner — after the announcement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the outrage over the age limit — when you’re exiting the Great Hall and feel a hand slip into yours. You don’t have to look to know it’s her hand.
You walk her to the moving stairs, where you part ways with a hug that lasts too long to be friendly. You watch her as she goes, heart once again aching at her departure.
The days move by like a blur. Harry Potter’s premature involvement in the Tournament provides constant buzz and chatter, your classes are getting harder, and you find yourself thinking more and more about Hermione, if that’s even possible.
She often comes to you with worries for Harry.
“He’s going to get himself killed! The other day, he told me that the first challenge involves dragons! Real, living, fire-breathing dragons!” She rants.
You nod along, knowing she won’t be silent long enough for your advice. Not that she needs it. She’s plenty smart, she just needs a shoulder to cry on — or better yet, complain to.
As the year progresses, and autumn once again changes to winter, you find a certain Yule Ball to be the focus of your weekly study sessions.
“So, who are you planning on going with? To the ball?” She asks you one afternoon. The question catches you off guard.
Boys were never a big topic in your relationship. Sure, she complained often about Ron and Harry, but aside from that, neither of you spoke about it. At least up until now.
“Oh. Uhm, I wasn’t really planning on going with anyone. I don’t know if I’ll go at all.”
“What? No, you have to go! Look, even if I’ve got a date—”
“You’re going with someone?” You suddenly blurt. She stops.
“Well, yes. I was asked, I might as well go. But as I was saying, even though I’ve got a date, I’d be sure to spend as much time with you as him.”
You nod at her words, but all you can remember is the fact she’s got a date. She never said if it was a boy or a girl, but you’re certain it’s a boy. Who wouldn’t want to go out with her? She’s beautiful, smart, top of her class. She’s perfect.
You know damn well you’d give anything to go with her. Not as friends, as lovers. People who kiss, who hold hands, who dance together when the slow songs play.
The days go by, and soon, the Yule Ball is only hours away.
In just a few short hours, you’ll see the love of your life dressed up in her finest clothes, on the arm of a boy who’s name you don’t know. She’ll laugh and smile, feeling so utterly special to have been asked out and treated like a princess.
Your stomach ties into knots at the thought.
You know you shouldn’t be thinking like this.
She never said you’d go as friends. You have no right to be jealous, to be so strung up on her. You should be thinking about the fact you don’t even have your dress clothes on, while most girls are putting on the final touches to their makeup.
You decide to use that as a distraction. With your mind still elsewhere, you get ready, putting your outfit on, doing your hair, and putting on your makeup.
The time soon comes for everyone to file out of the common rooms and down to the transformed Great Hall.
As you wait for the doors to open, you find yourself lingering by the stairs, a bored expression on your face. You could be in bed right now. You could be sound asleep, dreaming of her being by your side, instead of with a boy.
Suddenly, a hush falls over the room. You lift your head, only to be met with the sight of the most beautiful thing you could ever witness.
There she is, at the top of the stairs, dressed in a stunning periwinkle gown. The fabric is tight and loose in all the right places and looks to be made of satin; it drapes over her shoulders perfectly, with a layered skirt that reaches down to her heel-clad feet. Her hair is tamed into a beautiful bun, and her arms are covered in gloves that reach up to her elbows.
You physically can’t look away from her. She’s the most dazzling thing you’ve seen all night, and will ever see.
You can’t even take your eyes off her when her date approaches: none other than Tri-Wizard competitor Viktor Krum.
When he leans down to kiss her gloved hand, a blush covers her cheeks.
And in that moment, you know that you’re an absolute fool to want an angel like her.
She will never be yours to kiss, to love. She will never be your one love and you will never be hers. You will always hold the title of best friend. Not “lover,” not “wife.” She will never be yours.
Your night is spent with an ever growing hole in your heart. You watch her dance with Viktor, grinning ear-to-ear. You watch her cry over Ron and his cruel words. You follow her back to her dorm, whispering comforting words as you pet her hair and hold her. You do all of this, knowing she’ll never see you as you see her.
“He’s a fool.” You tell her. “He’s nothing but a fool.”
And you know it isn’t truly Ron who you’re speaking of.
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