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Harry lay in bed looking at the ceiling, consciously trying to breathe very slowly and deeply. He needed to calm down. Except all his breathing exercises weren’t helping. His hands were holding onto fistfuls of his bed covers. It had been a whole month. With each of those thirty days that passed, he grew more anxious, more restless, and more upset. He was snapping at people for things that would have been easily brushed off before. He was always angry. He was always wishing… He was going mental. That had to be it. Dolores Umbridge had succeeded where Voldemort failed. She had Harry hanging to his sanity by a tiny thread that would very soon snap if he didn’t get what he needed.
At least, Voldemort was ‘decent’ enough to let him get an education in relative peace. It was peaceful compared to this hellscape that was living in the same place as the Undersecretary and suffering her ideas, initiatives, and the bloody decrees that kept multiplying every day. When stupid Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six was hung up on the wall, Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed. He genuinely thought no one would listen. He thought surely that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was absurd.
He also thought it was a very ignorant and outdated idea. Seamus and Dean had a good laugh about it in… gay. Boys and girls will not be permitted within 6 inches of each other… But no word on girls and girls or boys and boys. Also, why boys and girls? They were teenagers, not children. Umbridge’s psyche was too dark, too nauseating for him even to try to comprehend what went through the abyss that was her mind. People in steady relationships seemed to be miffed at this new regulation, but with Umbridge’s inquisitorial minions’ squads being able to write them up for detention for the minimal violation, they were trying to put up with it as best as they could.
Harry twisted and turned for another hour. His hands were sweating. His stomach was churning. He felt sick. He had already gone to see Madam Pomfrey, and she said he was perfectly healthy. She gave him a nausea draught, all the while telling him that all diagnostic charms said he was fine. He was very stressed, and his blood pressure was high for his age, but hey, he was The Boy Who Lived. Harry groaned in frustration and turned to his bedside table. There he saw a picture of him and Hermione. It was one of his favorite pictures. In it, she was hugging his arm, and after she whispered in his ear (a sarcastic remark about an off-frame Ron being ridiculously proud of beating an older Ravenclaw in chess), both would laugh in a carefree manner. He caressed the photo with yearning. If things didn’t go back to how they were before, he would lose his mind.
He needed-
“Harry!” Ron insisted, for the third time.
Fuck!
“What?!” Harry snapped.
Outside, Ron threw his arms up and left. He was getting sick and tired of Harry’s foul moods. Lately, he had been so easily upset, so annoying, so much like his sister during those days.
“We are going to dinner… A-Are you coming with us?” Neville asked in a gentle tone. He had also noticed Harry growing moodier and easier to upset. He just thought that after everything Harry had been through in the Triwizard, and what Neville suspected Umbridge was doing to him… he had every right to act up. Neville had the virtue… and flaw… to be extremely observant. He knew things other people would never suspect.
Harry sighed, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Neville parted the curtains around his bed a bit, “Hermione is waiting in the Common Room.”
Whatever the reaction Neville expected from this sentence, it wasn’t this. Harry leaped off the bed in one smooth motion and ran ahead. Neville scratched his head in confusion. By the time he reached the Common Room, neither Harry nor Hermione were there. Odd, he thought. But maybe they were starving. It wasn’t the first time no one waited for him.
Ronald had essentially dragged Hermione to the Great Hall, pulling her by the bookbag because of the whole 6 bloody inches. They were stopped twice, and the distance between them was measured. She protested the whole time that there was no need to rush, that they should wait for Harry, and that she wanted to leave her books in the Common Room, but when Ron was starving, he was deaf… and a brute. As soon as they sat down, he was shoving food into his mouth like he hadn’t had seconds of fish and chips at lunch, or two servings of pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream with his afternoon tea.
Before she got her food, Hermione took two slices of treacle tart and saved them for Harry. It usually vanished very quickly. She covered them with a napkin. While she waited for Harry, she served herself some soup. He came in with a furious scowl on his face. Instead of sitting 6 inches away from her and on her side like he usually did, he sat across from her, next to Ron.
“I thought you were waiting for me,” Harry said, frowning at her.
“I was, but Ron was starving, and he literally dragged me here,” Hermione answered, surprised at the tone he used. He never talked to her like that. She pointed to her book bag. Harry knew she hated coming to dinner with it. He nodded and served himself some roasted turkey and mashed potatoes. Not that he ate much anymore.
Hermione had noticed that in the past few weeks, Harry had eaten without any real desire. He would push things around his plate and barely get a few forkfuls. Hermione reached out with her foot and tapped it against his ankle to get his attention. Harry felt electricity travel through his body from the point she touched. He dropped his fork, and it landed with a clang. He looked up from his plate at her with annoyance, “What?!”
She blinked in surprise, “Are you okay?”
He looked at her like she was stupid. She hated it when anyone did that. He had moved closer to Ron and away from her foot. If she did that again, he would have to leave. He wanted to crawl under the table and wrap his arms around- No. He needed to master self-control. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He poured himself some pumpkin juice to distract his mind. The pitcher almost slipped. He had taken to wearing gloves so that she wouldn’t notice the result of his detentions.
Hermione had asked him about the gloves, but he insisted he was always cold. He wasn’t technically lying. Yes, he wanted to cover his injuries, and only wearing one glove, as fashionable as Michael Jackson was, would look ridiculous at Hogwarts. He was always cold lately, but it had nothing to do with the weather. His reason didn’t convince her because he had rarely worn gloves in the height of winter the past five years, and his hands had always been warm, but he was eating less, and skinnier people did get cold quicker. He was also so short with her lately. He had never been so… impatient… so mean. He didn’t reply and focused on his meal instead.
At least he ate half of it today, Hermione thought as he pushed the plate away. She barely had a third of the soup she served herself. Harry looked at the dessert platter and groaned in frustration. Of course, to make his day even worse, all the treacle tart was gone. He looked up to the enchanted ceiling as if begging for life to end his misery. He looked at the other desserts with disappointment.
Hermione pushed her bowl away and pushed the covered plate to be between her and Harry, right in the middle of the table. He raised a brow questioningly.
“Want some?” she pulled the napkin away, grabbed the whipped cream bowl, and added one dollop in just the right size over each slice.
Harry’s mouth watered, but he shook his head. “It’s yours.”
Hermione took a spoon and offered it to him, “No, Harry, it’s not. I saved them for you. You know I’m a lemon pie kind of girl.”
Harry nodded with a smile and reached out to take the spoon. His gloved hand brushed Hermione’s, and the same electricity went up his arm. He almost dropped the spoon. What is this magic? How is this possible? I am wearing gloves, damn it. Hermione frowned a bit, but when she saw he had paled, and that he was clearly struggling with something, she smiled tentatively. He looked down and focused on the slices.
Harry wanted to moan in delight. Not just because the tart was delicious, but because the electricity from her touch made him feel alive for the first time in weeks. She had saved the slices for him. It was such a good feeling to know she still cared despite the past month. No one ever cared for him like she did. Not now, not ever. Case in point, Ginny plopped down next to Harry, after making sure the markings on the seat kept her six inches away. Harry made himself smaller and turned away a bit. Hermione frowned.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what crawled up his ass, would you?” Ginny motioned at Harry with her head.
Hermione blinked at her. “Um… Hi Ginny… What do you mean?”
“He broke up with me two weeks ago and refuses to tell me why,” Ginny said, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, and hitting Harry’s face with it. He grimaced and turned his back to Ginny completely but kept eating his dessert.
“Ginny… I… I wasn’t aware you had broken up…” Hermione whispered. She had assumed so but didn’t know for sure.
“You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know? What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione’s frown deepened. She could see Harry blushing.
“If anyone knows,” Ginny looked at her up and down slowly, angrily, “It’s got to be you.”
“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no clue what you are talking about,” Hermione shrugged.
To Hermione’s delight, Harry ate both servings with a small grateful smile. Typically, it wouldn’t have been much, but now, that was almost gushing. She felt happy to have made him eat. Before Ginny asked her anything else, she excused herself and grabbed her book bag, grimacing as her back complained. Her feather-light charm had worn off. Her wand was upstairs in the Umbridge-sanctioned wand cases. They weren’t allowed to carry wands outside of class anymore. She took a deep breath and began walking away. She felt someone following her up the stairs but soon realized it was Harry. She knew the way he walked. She didn’t want him to get upset again, so she didn’t say anything.
Hermione walked at her usual pace. The Inquisitorial Squad passed her and ignored her, as they usually did. She was too much of a stickler for the rules -according to most people who didn’t know she was a closeted Marauder- so they usually left her alone. The Squad members were a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, so they didn’t mess with Harry either. As soon as the squad walked away, he caught up to her and relieved her of the bag. When they were by the entrance of the Common Room, he whispered in her ear, “Please stay here. I’ll drop your book bag. I need to talk to you in private. It’s important.”
“Oookay,” she nodded. Could it be that he finally told her what on earth was going on? She could hope. She waited, and the painting opened again, but no one came out.
“I’ll stay under the cloak… I don’t want another d-detention,” Harry whispered.
“Shouldn’t both of us be under it then?” she whispered back.
“No… You are a Prefect. They leave you alone,” he couldn’t handle sharing a cloak with her right now.
She bit back her sarcastic response, “Where are we going?”
“Room of Requirement,” he whispered.
Hermione hid behind a sculpture while Harry imagined the room. People didn’t walk here often at this time, but as curfew was closer, the squads would start the last patrol soon. A door appeared, and Harry held it open for her. She walked into a copy of their Common Room. He closed the door behind him, and it vanished.
She went to the couch and sat down, holding a velvety cushion if only to have something to do with her hands. She was nervous. Harry never initiated talks like this. Harry’s upper lip spasmed when he saw her hands lightly trace shapeless patterns on the cushion. Even inanimate objects were luckier than him. Fucking cushion! His anger at the cushion was such that it burst at the seams, and the feathers inside bathed Hermione. She jumped in fright, coughed, and her arms landed on her belly. She looked up at him with shock and mirth.
“What did that poor cushion ever do to you?” she asked as she shook feathers off her hair and clothes.
“Nothing,” he looked down.
“Mhmm…” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Harry was breathing shakily. He pulled a worn book from the inside pocket of the cloak and placed it on the coffee table. He pushed it to be in front of her. It was the Half-Blood Prince annotated Potions book. She frowned but said nothing.
“If I stop using it, will you… will you treat me like you used to?” Harry’s voice was soft and pleading.
Hermione stared at the book, then at Harry. She was confused. He looked like a sad, lost child. He was the one treating her weirdly, especially the past few weeks. She had been annoyed at his use of the book, and she did consider it cheating at first, but he was right. Potions, as a subject, was essentially cooking. She knew that chemists were jokingly referred to as the cooks of the science world and Potioneers were the magical equivalent of chemists. If Harry had a better recipe that he followed diligently, on pure faith that whoever wrote it was right, it wasn’t technically cheating. It was just a better recipe.
If she was honest with herself, she was miffed that he was doing better than her. Hermione realized that he was still waiting for an answer. He looked so… defeated, so sad. Was it affecting it that much? That she was so competitive in class? Maybe she had been too mean…
“Harry, I know I have been… petty about the book. But I realize you are right. Your recipe is simply better.”
Harry looked up at her in shock. He never expected that. For her to say he was right was so astonishing. It had never happened before.
“W-What?”
“I’m sorry… You are right. I’ve been overreacting. I… It’s just…” she bit her bottom lip. “Academics have always been my thing, you know? You have Quidditch. I have my studies. I am… territorial about it. I know I shouldn’t be. Logically, I should be happy you are doing great. Especially because of how much Snape tried to bash any interest you could have had in the subject, but also because you look really happy in that class now... I would still like to check it for spells and curses… Then, I would like to borrow it to see what changes consistently throughout the book and test the handwritten notes. That way, I can understand it and incorporate it into what I do. But, Harry… if the book is this important to you, you can keep it and continue to use them.”
Harry shook his head repeatedly as she spoke, “You. Are. Not. Listening. To. Me,” he groaned with a deep frown.
“I’m sorry… Fine, I won’t check it at all then, but maybe a professor should-”
“Hermione!” He complained loudly.
“What?!” she sat back against the sofa to put more space between us.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the book...”
“No?”
He shook his head, “I just want you back,” his voice was barely louder than a whisper.
Hermione’s eyes widened. She stared. She opened and closed her mouth several times. She frowned in confusion. She blinked repeatedly and even pinched herself to make sure she was awake. Harry was still staring at the floor and fidgeting.
“You want me back? I… Harry, I don’t understand… I’ve never left,” she replied, crossing her arms defensively. How is it that Ronald gets a pass when he ups and leaves you the whole Triwizard and I, who have never wavered, get this treatment for whatever perceived bullshit you-. ARGH! No. Hermione, cool off. Harry never opens up like this. Listen to understand. This is important. He said so. She uncrossed her arms and tapped the coffee table in front of her so he would sit. “What is this really about, Harry?” she blushed.
His hands were shaking. He would alternate between stretching his fingers and balling them up in tight fists, “It’s been a m-m-month… I have kept c-count…”
Hermione tilted her head with a slight frown, “A month? A month of what, Harry?”
“Y-You haven’t t-touched me in a m-month,” he whispered. She could barely hear him.
Hermione’s usual brain marathon came to a screeching halt. WHAT?! Her not touching him was what was bothering him? That made no sense. Why would it? He had never been enthusiastic about physical expressions of affection. She stared at him. He was blushing and looking down. His gloved hands were holding onto fistfuls of his pant legs now as if this was the one thing keeping him from exploding. He seemed to be in physical pain.
Oh. Oh. Damn you, Umbridge, she thought.
Harry was pouting. He had never pouted like this. His bottom lip was shaking.
“I… Harry, the decree has been up for a month. Six inches. No exceptions. If they see us in the halls, in class, or in the Great Hall, they will give us detention. Tonight, Ron was pulling me from my book bag to get to the Hall. They stopped us twice to measure and make sure we were keeping that minimum space between us.”
Harry angrily ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor; his voice was barely a whisper, “So?! You don’t touch me in the Common Room either!”
Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at his tone and mannerisms. Is he having a tantrum because of this? Surely not. Ginny… He broke up with her two weeks ago… Oh. “Harry… I… I had no idea… I didn’t even know you wanted me to- um… to touch you…”
“We’re alone now,” he looked up at her, and to her surprise, his eyes were swimming with tears. He was fidgeting with his gloves.
Hermione blushed and nodded her head. “I know… I just… Harry… I… I’m confused. It has always seemed to me like you just… tolerate my hugs. I thought you didn’t even like them. I… I was sure you were actually glad for that particular decree because you aren’t a touchy-feely person, and many times, I feel you may be uncomfortable when-”
Harry’s hands were shaking, “That was years a-ago, Hermione! I need… I… I... The p-past few months… Everything just keeps getting w-worse… I… I am lo-losing my mind here. I never… I never had anyone t-touch me like you do. It h-helps… a lot… It makes me feel less… a-angry. It makes me feel l-less alone. It feels like someone… c-cares about me. Not about Harry Potter, the p-p-pawn. Just about Harry…the screw-up.”
Hermione had to make a significant effort not to burst into tears right then and there. He looked like a toddler, scared that he would be told off for eating a cookie before dinner. He stopped pacing and looked at her, barely stopping his own dam from bursting. Hermione bit her bottom lip. Everything else could wait. This was an emotional breakthrough if she ever saw one.
“Harry… Do you want me to hug you?”
“Please…” he fell to his knees in front of her. Tears cascaded from his eyes, and he kept looking down.
She scooted forward with her legs to each of his sides and pulled him in for a hug without another word. He melted into her touch immediately with a sigh of relief. She tried not to think about the fact that he was between her half-naked parted legs while she was wearing a skirt that was riding up and that his face was burrowed in the crook of her neck. She also tried to ignore how he inhaled deeply as if he was trying to swallow her smell. She tried to ignore how his arms had never hugged her like this, clutching… with such desperation. It was as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he wanted to melt her into him so they would never be apart again.
Five minutes must have gone by. She kept rubbing circles on his back. Suddenly she felt something wet against her neck. He was crying. “Harry… you can’t be comfortable like this…”
“I a-am,” he smiled against her neck. “So comfy...”
Hermione smiled against his shoulder, “Come up here; your knees will bruise,” Hermione stood up, and as he didn’t let go, she pulled him up with her.
Harry made a sound of complaint as she stepped away but said nothing. Hermione wiped his tears with her thumbs, and he leaned into her touch.
“Harry, talk to me… What is happening? Why are you crying?” she looked up at him.
“I’m s-sorry…” he blushed and looked down.
“No. Don’t. Don’t apologize for crying. Never. Not to me,” Hermione held his gloved hands.
They were the right words. He crumbled. His shoulders began to shake with his sobs. He held onto her tightly, and for around fifteen minutes, all that could be heard was Harry bawling and Hermione trying to calm him down. Hermione reached out for a tissue box that the room procured. The speed of his sobs decreased. He was finally calming down. She handed him the tissues, and he stepped back to wipe his tears and blow his nose. He marveled at how, no matter what she saw, he wasn’t embarrassed. If anyone else -other than maybe Sirius and Remus- saw him like this, he would dig a hole to put himself there to die.
She sat him down on the right end of the couch and sat down on the left end. He looked like someone had killed his puppy when she didn’t sit next to him. She held back a chuckle, “Come here,” she pulled him by the hand to have him lay his head on her lap. He did but didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he placed her hand on his chest and placed his hand on top of hers, closing his eyes contentedly, “Harry… Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you break up with Ginny?”
Harry’s eyes found hers. He was annoyed again. “She wants to date someone else.”
“It really didn’t look like that before…” Hermione replied.
Harry sighed, “Well, she doesn’t want me.”
“Harry, I don’t get it. She-”
“She wants Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived… The celebrity,” Harry rolled his eyes.
After a few contemplative seconds, she said, “I see… And how do you know that?”
“She keeps asking me why I don’t go to the parties of my circle…” he scoffed.
“Your what?” Hermione said in an incredulous yet amused tone.
He intertwined her fingers with his gloved hand, “My circle. She says the Potters are some sort of wizarding royalty…”
Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from laughing, “Ah… And she wants a crown, does she?”
Harry nodded and chuckled against her thigh. Goosebumps exploded on her skin. Her skirt had ridden up at some point. He stared at her long leg. “Are you cold?”
“A bit,” she lied. Harry sat up, and a thick comforter appeared on the coffee table, by the book. He shook it and placed it over her lap. He lifted her legs by the toned calves and pulled her shoes off gently. Stretching one hand toward the coffee table, he summoned it wandlessly so she could place her legs there. Her eyes widened. He sat next to her and smiled when she held the cover and ‘opened’ it for him to get underneath it. “Since when can you summon objects without a wand?”
“What do you mean? You can’t?”
“No… I’ve only ever seen Headmaster Dumbledore do something like that...”
“Oh… I don’t know. A couple of months…”
“Since we haven’t been allowed our wands, right?” Hermione asked, tapping her chin in contemplation.
He shrugged and squeezed their intertwined fingers.
“Harry… Why are you really wearing the gloves? You are never cold,” Hermione said, squeezing his uninjured hand.
Harry sighed, “I… Okay… I’ll show you. But you have to promise me not to freak out.”
She immediately frowned deeply, “I can’t… I can promise I will try not to…”
Harry sighed deeper and turned to her, sitting cross-legged. “That’s something, I guess… You still don’t have your wand, right?”
She nodded. He offered both covered hands. Hermione peeled off one glove. Nothing. She took his other hand. He looked down and away from her. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes. He didn't want to see disgust either. Hermione took it off slowly. He grimaced in pain. On the back of his hand, under the bandage she peeled off, there was a freshly carved message: “I must not tell lies.” She gasped, “Oh my God…” The way the skin around the carved letters was swollen and angry red told her that it would scar badly. She pulled his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Harry… How?”
He was trying hard not to start bawling, and her gentle kisses almost made him burst into tears again. He took in slow, deep, shaky breaths. “In detention… I do lines… She has… a s-s-special quill.”
“A blood quill?! She’s making you do lines with a blood quill?! I WILL KILL HER!” Hermione stood up and ran to where the door was, except there still was no door. “Harry, let me out!”
“No.”
“HARRY!”
“Hermione, you promised… You didn’t even try. Plus, I have your shoes… They will write you up for incomplete uniform, and I don’t want you to be given detention as well.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing patience into her body. She was about to turn to convince him to create the door, but his arms snaked around her waist from behind and held her in place. His nose burrowed into her curls and the back of her neck. “Please… Don’t go. I n-need you… Hermione, I am losing it here. I can’t… I… Please stay with me.”
Hermione sagged in his arms, “I will always stay.” She really couldn’t fight him. She turned and hugged him tightly.
“Students: curfew has started,” Harry and Hermione jumped apart at Umbridge’s magnified voice. “Any student found outside their common rooms will be in detention for a week.”
“Well, I hope your mind can get creative enough…” Hermione trailed off.
“Why?” he blinked.
“It looks like we are sleeping here,” she shrugged.
“What?” he blushed. “But we have the cloak…”
“I am not about to risk you getting any deeper cuts on your hand for this,” Hermione’s hands were on her hips. He knew better than to try to convince her otherwise. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused. The room rearranged itself into a large bedroom with two comfortable beds There was a door that Hermione guessed would lead to a bathroom. On top of the beds, there were pajamas and a toothbrush.
“Interesting choice,” Hermione smiled at the pajamas. It was his quidditch jersey and a pair of sweatpants.
“Sorry, I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of girls’ pajamas…” I do remember you borrowed my old jumper, and I never saw it again, he added in his mind with a small smile.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He motioned for her to go ahead with the bathroom. While he waited, he realized how much better he felt. He didn’t feel like crawling out of his own skin anymore. His chest was no longer tight. His hands were no longer grasping at anything that wasn’t there. His heart felt lighter. His stomach was settled. He felt at peace and happy. Her smell was still in his nose. He would have had a good freak-out had he been forced to endure another day without her.
Hermione came out five minutes later. Her hair was in a loose braid. She was holding her folded uniform. “Nice bathroom,” she squeezed his upper arm and went toward the beds. Harry closed the bathroom door behind him. His face was red. Why was it that her touch did such things to him? Things that no one else’s touch did. Ginny had sat on his lap and snogged him like there was no tomorrow, and he didn’t feel a tenth of what Hermione’s hand innocently squeezing his arm made him feel. He rushed into the bathroom, closed the door, and threw abundant cold water at his face.
Ginny hadn’t believed his reasoning for breaking up. He was transparent. He told her what he told Hermione. She had scoffed and told him that Harry and The Boy Who Lived were the same person. He shook his head and simply said, “This is over. I’m sorry, Ginny.” He wondered if she could even name five things that she liked about him… He was sure he could barely name a couple he liked about her.
But Hermione… He could name one hundred things, easily. He stared into his own eyes in the mirror. They widened. Do I have feelings for Hermione? Oh my God. I do! That’s why I’ve been craving her touch! That’s why it’s affected me so much that she wasn’t around and when she was angry with me. Ron’s going to kill me. Wait, no. Why the hell should I care about Ron?! He’s dating Lavender. Hermione and Ron would murder each other before they even get serious and-
“Harry, are you okay in there?” Hermione’s voice made him jump.
“Yeah, I’ll be right out,” he brushed his teeth, changed quickly, and haphazardly folded his uniform.
Hermione was under the covers of his bed. The one where his pajamas had been. His shock must have been evident.
“I hope you don’t mind. I know you don’t get cold, but I am always cold, and there’s no fireplace here,” she smiled shyly at him.
“Whatever you want,” he replied before he could stop himself. Maybe his bed had thicker bedding. It was furthest from the windows. He moved over to her bed, pulled the covers off, and sat down.
“What are you doing?” Hermione turned to him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you over there? You should be over here… Didn’t you hear me?” Hermione frowned slightly.
“I just thought you wanted that bed…”
Hermione chuckled. “Nope. I meant for you to keep me warm. Didn’t you say you missed my touch?”
He nodded a bit dumbly.
“Then come and get it.”
Harry blushed bright red, and his eyes widened.
“Oh my God, that sounded so bad out loud! Sorry,” Hermione giggled.
“You won’t hear me complaining,” he muttered under his breath.
“Harry!” Hermione faked outrage.
“I couldn’t help it,” he laughed. “You never say things like that.”
Hermione smirked, “No, I don’t… I think them…”
Harry’s jaw fell. “You what?!”
His shock was so comical that she started laughing out loud, covering her red face with the covers.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Granger! Tell me everything!”
“Just because you and Ron think I’m one of the boys… that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be a girl or to be treated like one… Viktor understood that. To both of you… I am invisible for the most part. When did you even realize I was a girl? I know Ron didn’t until the Triwizard.”
“Viktor?” Harry felt a pang of jealousy as he went under the covers next to her. “That’s not true. I have always known you are a beautiful girl. Ron’s just an idiot.”
“Don’t talk about your friend like that…” Hermione was very aware they were shoulder to shoulder.
“Shouldn’t it be our friend?” Harry joined her, looking up to the ceiling.
“He has never been my friend. I am the nuisance he puts up with because you and I are a package deal, Harry. I guarantee that if he could be your friend and not have to deal with me, he would strongly prefer it.”
Harry’s hands grabbed fistfuls of bedding again. She smells so good. I wish I could bottle it and spray it on my sheets every night. He really wanted to hold her again. Having her so close to him… in a bed… was making his desire to touch her heighten a lot. He stayed quiet, except for his breathing.
“Harry, are you okay?”
“Huh?”
“You are breathing hard again, like you are about to have a panic attack.”
“I… I don’t know…”
“Do you want to hug me again?”
“Can I? Please?”
Hermione turned away from him. He pouted and sighed. She was probably annoyed. “What are you waiting for?” she said over her shoulder.
“Pardon?”
Hermione reached behind her and grabbed his right hand gently, pulling him closer. “I sleep on my side, Harry. But you can hold me. It’s okay.”
“Oh,” he let her guide his right arm around her waist. He placed his other arm under her neck and pillow. She kissed the inside of his elbow, and he felt the same electric jolt run through his arm and into his chest.
“Are you comfortable?” She asked softly.
“Um, yeah…”
“Why are your legs so far away from mine?”
Harry looked down at his lower half and felt betrayed. He suddenly remembered Sirius and the very uncomfortable ‘girls talk’ he had with him. Sirius had taught him a spell. He focused on his own body in his mind and thought Emollire [Soften] with intention. He felt his affliction leave and moved closer. “Hermione… sometimes I have bad nightmares. I understand if you want to move to the other bed.”
“Harry… Shhh… It’s going to be okay. Just go to sleep.”
Harry nodded against her fragrant braid and thanked the universe that tomorrow was a Saturday. He had no more thoughts as the feeling of her in his arms made him melt into dreamland with a smile.
He woke up on his back. He blinked and cursed his blurry eyesight. He sniffed the air. Hermione. He smiled. He instantly felt calm and comfortable. Hermione’s body was half draped over him. Her leg was wrapped around his, and her hand was flat against the center of his chest. He hadn’t slept this well in… who was he kidding? He had never slept this well. He had no nightmares. He didn’t wake up once. He was so cozy and so happy. He blinked. He wished for a clock, and one appeared by the window. It was early. Barely seven in the morning.
“Hmmm? Harry?”
“Shhh… Go back to sleep, Mione… It’s early.”
She yawned against his shoulder, “Why are you awake?”
Harry realized his godfather’s spell had worn off as her leg hiked up higher on his thigh, “Loo.”
“Oh… Okay,” she turned on her back so he could leave the bed.
He took his glasses from the side table and realized the other bed had vanished. He turned and saw how she grabbed his pillow and hugged it with a smile. When he came out of the bathroom, he found her in the same position. Except, he realized, turning bright red, that the sweatpants she went to sleep in were gone. He looked around, moving on his tiptoes. It wasn’t there. Did I vanish that? Oh no. She will be furious. He walked to the bed and made sure to cover her from the neck down.
Harry called for Dobby in a whisper. He thought the little elf wouldn’t appear, but he did. He motioned for Dobby to be quiet and pointed at Hermione.
“Quiet lips, Dobby knows, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby whispered close to his ear.
Harry smiled, “Dobby, if it isn’t too much trouble… Do you think you could bring us some breakfast here?” he offered the elf a galleon, but Dobby pushed his hand away.
Instead, he nodded enthusiastically, “Dobby is glad to serves Harry Potter and his Miney.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything complicated,” Harry said to thin air because Dobby vanished. A few minutes later, a table with two chairs appeared, and Harry realized that his definition of simple differed from the little elf’s. The smell of the delicious spread had Hermione sitting up. She lifted the covers and looked at her naked legs. She shrugged and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. Harry tried not to stare, but he was a straight guy, damn it. And all the running in their adventure and climbing up hundreds of stairs had her legs looking so fit. The jersey rode up her smooth thighs, almost revealing her underwear.
“Did you wish breakfast into existence?” she looked at the table with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you could do that here.”
“No, I called for Dobby.”
“Oh…”
“I tried to pay, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Of course, he didn’t,” Hermione sat on the chair he pulled out for her. “Thank you, so gentlemanly.”
Harry blushed. Any praise from Hermione made him feel so good inside, “Hermione…”
“Yeah?” she asked after she took a bite from her weekend breakfast of choice, pancakes with butter and syrup on top.
“Do… Do you think we can do this again?” he moved his scrambled eggs around.
“What? Sleep in here again?”
“Yeah,” Harry’s response was a whisper.
“I… I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.”
“Oh,” Harry looked down and sighed. Of course, she wouldn’t want to. You are acting like a needy perv. At least apologize, “Sorry for asking.”
“No! Harry, that’s not what I mean… I really don’t remember ever sleeping so well here…”
“Me neither,” he tried not to smile but failed.
She smiled and reached out to hold his uninjured hand, “I just don’t think we can get away with this again. If they didn’t figure out that we didn’t sleep in our dorms already, they might figure it out if we do it once more… Harry, I don’t want you to get any more detentions, especially not because of me.”
“It would be worth it,” he shrugged.
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she choked on her food. She coughed, “Harry!”
“Hermione, I’m serious. I felt more and more miserable each day of the past month. I was only able to be myself again last night.”
“I understand, Harry, but… We can’t keep doing this.”
He sighed and pushed away his plate.
Hermione’s brain moved at a dizzying speed. “Unless-”
His head snapped up. Hope. “Unless?”
His eyes were so full of hope that she decided she would risk it. “Unless you are willing to give me your cloak…” Hermione took a sip of orange juice.
Harry nodded, “What’s mine is yours, you know that…”
Hermione shook her head, “Yeah, sure, but the reason I’m asking is that I would have to have it every night.”
“I am not following...” he scratched his head.
“Well… They are watching everywhere except inside the common rooms, like you said.”
“So?”
“So, if I had your cloak and you learned good silencing spells and a few repelling spells, I could come over to your room, seeing as you can’t come up the girls’ staircase.”
Harry smiled a bit, “Not that I would ever refuse you, but we could do this in the common room…”
“Harry… You know I love you, right?”
He nodded but blushed.
“You are very sweet but very oblivious, and you don’t understand girls at all.”
Ouch. “Okay… But what does that have to do with anything?” he blinked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “You broke up with Ginny two weeks ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“If we start holding hands, hugging… cuddling…”
Harry’s smile widened. All that sounded perfect.
“Harry!” she snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Sorry,” he blushed.
“They are going to think you were cheating on Ginny… With me.”
He frowned and grimaced in disbelief.
“Again, I know I am not your type, and I don’t register in your brain as a girl, but to other people, I do.”
“Hey! That’s not true. I do see you as a girl…”
Hermione scoffed.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying really hard not to stare at your legs.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, “M-My legs?”
He nodded enthusiastically and blushed bright red.
“Wait a minute… I went to sleep with sweatpants…”
“Yeah. I thought you took them off.”
“Summon them.”
“I can’t...”
“What?”
“I already looked for them everywhere.”
Hermione giggled, “That’s why you ran away from me before. Did you think I would attack you or something?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful,” he looked down.
Hermione reached over and held his uninjured hand, “Oh, Harry…. You don’t have a disrespectful bone in your body.”
Harry looked up with wide eyes and blinked, his blush worsening. “Um, that was actually why I went to the bathroom.”
“OH MY GOD! HARRY!” Hermione’s whole face went red.
Harry couldn’t help but burst laughing, “You screaming that doesn’t help!”
Hermione doubled over in laughter, “Sorry! Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry James!”
“I am trying, Mione, but you and your impossibly long, impossibly perfect legs are not helping!” He covered his face with his napkin and missed her horrible blushing and her fanning her face. “There, much better. If I don’t see them, it helps… Although I had never seen so much of you, and I feel the memory is burned into my brain forever.”
“You are such a boy!” She pulled off his napkin. “I have worn mandatory skirts around you for years, and I have never, not once, seen you looking at my legs.”
“Just because you didn’t see me, it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen… I am a seeker. I am fast,” he quipped.
“HARRY!” Her blush worsened. This boy was entirely too smooth with her for such a shy person.
“If it helps, I am not the only one. I have personally seen Neville literally run into walls for staring.”
“Sweet, shy Neville is checking me out?! Oh my God! I so did not need to know that!”
“Even Malfoy checked you out at the Yule Ball!”
She grimaced, “Before he recognized me, you mean?”
Harry shrugged. “Well, I don’t know that… I do know that he has to live with the fact that he wanted to be the lucky guy with the most beautiful girl in the dance, just to realize that: a) it was you, and b) you are hot.”
“I’m hot?” Hermione blinked at him with pink cheeks.
Harry blushed deeper, “Of course. Most guys in our year are just intimidated, but older guys look at you a lot and glare at me and Ron a lot as well.”
Hermione was flabbergasted, “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“You must have bumped your head, Potter. There’s no way.”
“Mione-”
“Go get in the shower and make it cold, alright?”
“Fine, but I mean every word... God, you are just standing there with a messy bun and in nothing but a tee, and I swear this is even better than the Yule Ball.”
“How could it possibly be better than that? I spent hours on my appearance that night. I look like a mess right now.”
“Because… I don’t have to share you… Plus, no one else gets to see you like I just did,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly.
Hermione felt her stomach flutter; she walked around the table and hugged him hard.
Instead of tensing, as he used to do when he was younger, he returned her hug with equal fierceness. Now, he also sort of nuzzled against her neck and inhaled deeply. She was melting. He smelled so good. His arms were so strong and yet gentle. His growth spurt made her feel small and protected. He kissed the top of her head. “You are so beautiful. Please believe me. I am not trying to get you to do anything… I have always found you beautiful.”
“Harry-”
“No, wait… That’s not true. First year, I found you cute and bossy,” he chuckled. She rolled her eyes. He continued, “Second year, I found you cuter, smarter, and bossier,” both chuckled. “Third year, I found you pretty, amazingly brave, and loyal. Fourth year, you were my rock. I don’t think I ever told you, and I know you know this, but I would have died without you. I still want to kick myself for being such an idiot. I should have asked you to the ball… Last year…”
“We don’t have to talk about it, Harry. I know last year was-”
“An awful wakeup call for an idiot, immature kid who thought he knew better than anyone… better than you. Hermione, you could have died… I thought you did for a few seconds. I have never been more scared.”
“But I didn’t. I am here. Always.”
“I know. So am I, by the way. I know I am rubbish at talking and stuff, and you probably don’t want advice from such a mess, but I can listen. I can hold your hand. I can punch people.”
Hermione chuckled, “My hero! Go shower, and I will teach you the charms we will need for this to work.”
“I have never been this excited to learn anything in my life!” Harry twirled her in his arms, then kissed the tip of her nose and ran to the bathroom.
Hermione had to take several deep breaths. For a second, she thought he would kiss her on the lips. For a second, she thought, Finally! But no. No such luck. She did a quick mental inventory of her symptoms only to discover that she would need a cold shower too.