for editing

time for a kith 🥺

2/3 kiss scenes here are for the main story. if you lookin for a SPICY kiss, scroll to #3

i also have a few intermittent lines i like

A slight bashfulness overtaking him, Harry pulled back, a little breathless, to look Ariel in the eyes. She was just as breathless as he was. As he ran his eyes over her rosy, flushed cheeks and raised eyebrows, the insecure question tumbled from his lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked up at him, a new look in her eyes. It wasn't the foggy haze he had seen when he pulled away from their kiss; it wasn't the surprised look when he had sprung the kiss on her. Instead, this was steely. This was electrical, determined.

"Shut up," Ariel said breathlessly, and before her hands could even make contact with his face, she was kissing him again.

It harder this time, as if trying to prove herself, a contest to see who could get the closest to the other without melting into them. Harry didn't need Ariel to answer his question; she was doing that pretty sufficiently with her actions rather than words.

—————————

The grin forming on his face seemed foolish and out of place. It was nothing compared to hers, and the pride it brought him that he was the reason that she was smiling in the first place.

"Go on."

He took a deep breath. "Maybe the Sorting Hat knew me, about how I managed to beat Voldemort as a baby, and put me in Gryffindor because of that."

"That would make sense."

Harry did not know why he was telling her this, he was shocking himself with this new insecurity, but pressed on regardless, "But still, I feel totally out of place sometimes. It's just like — there's something telling me that everyone else around me is a whole lot braver than I am."

"You know," Oona leaned into the table, focusing all her attention on him, "when the founders made the houses, Gryffindor was the one who enchanted the Sorting Hat. It has a direct link to him. When the hat gave you the sword in your second year, maybe it was a way of him accepting you as a Gryffindor."

"But it was just because —"

"You're the most cliché Gryffindor I've ever met. You have nothing to worry about."

Harry, with a broadening smile, strode over to where she was standing. Within seconds, her hands were laced into his, and he noticed how small they were now that her palms were pressed into his. He could wrap his fingers around her entire hand. There were no awkward pauses, no second thoughts, no worries of what he was doing wrong — only him and her and their hands fitting together like puzzle pieces.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and she smiled at him with a hundred words behind her diamond eyes.

Just as quickly as her hands laced with his, he kissed her. Oona responded with such enthusiasm that he was taken aback at first, but regained his composure and reminded himself of what was happening; he was really kissing her, she was really kissing him, and the world around them was meaningless.

Nothing could have possibly meant more than them, nothing could have more beauty than this moment: those small hands pressed into his, the way her round eyes fluttered to a close. Oona fit into him like a glove, her kiss like a butterfly's beating wings, soft until it became addictive. It was the murmuring, cool breeze of a summer evening; it was falling asleep to the faint noises of the Burrow; it was a red, blazing fire, yet a gentle, trickling rain all at once.