Chapter Text
Harry shivered as he pulled on his grey jumper the wind outside the tent howling in the raging snowstorm.Hermione sat on the steps leading to the camp beds, her head leaning on her knees and her eyes, red-rimmed and dull staring off into one of her eternal flame jars.
Harry wandered over and sat in the chair opposite her. He didn’t know why he bothered to sit near her. They hadn’t talked in days, except for a few mumbled words of ‘I’ll do watch, ‘tea’s ready’ and ‘I’m going to bed’ Their conversations mostly happened through body language.
Ever since he had left it had been like this. The tent felt empty and cold, with no life, no love, no joy or hope. They didn’t talk about Ron. Couldn’t talk about him. Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to comfort her when he was feeling just as lost as her. He had no wise words no inspiring speech he could think of. Because the truth was when they needed him most Ron had left. He had abandoned them and left them to survive on their own.
Except they were barely surviving. He knew Hermione was eating next to nothing and was sleeping just as little as him. He had started having to transfigure twigs into belts to keep his jeans from slipping down. It was like being back in Dudley’s old clothes.
Harry turned his attention to Hermione and took in her sullen frame, the way her clothes hung loose on her. The gauntness in her cheeks and her sunken eyes. He hated that he was the cause of this. Of her pain. Hated that she was forced to choose him. He hated that Ron had made her choose. Selfishly though he wished deep down that someone would do that for him. Choose him. Want him. Need him that way. He knew that people saw him as the chosen one, and that they needed him to win the war. But to actually be chosen, to be wanted by someone and needed for more than fighting evil. For more than being a symbol of hope.
He had thought Ginny would have been that for him. When he had kissed her at the end of 6<sup>th </sup>year he had hoped that it would be enough and for a short time it was. She was a flame in his life, and like a moth, he was drawn to her. Her fire, her spirit, the way she took his mind off the impending war and made him feel like a teenager. Like everybody else. Normal. But that fantasy had quickly ended before it had really even begun. Before they’d had time to explore who and what they were. He’d had one whole month of bliss with her before he had ended it.
For her own protection and because it wasn’t fair to either of them. The chance of him coming out alive was slim and he didn’t want to hold either of them to any promises they couldn’t keep. So he had ended it with her after Dumbledore’s funeral. He knew it hurt her. But she accepted it. Mostly he thought because she expected things to pick up after the war. For them to have another chance. But as each day in the tent wore on his hope dwindled like a dying flame.
He looked once again towards Hermione as she sniffed quietly, a small tear leaking down her cheek. That was another relationship he had ruined. He didn’t know if Hermione and Ron had really defined what they were. But he saw the looks, the glances they snuck at one another when they thought he wasn’t looking. The way Hermione brushed Ron’s fingers when she handed his mug to him, the way Ron always stood that extra bit nearer to her. He wasn’t stupid. A pang of guilt and jealousy bloomed in him at the thought of them. Guilt at having ruined their…something and jealousy that he didn’t have that. Had never really had that and probably wouldn’t.
Sighing Harry moved to turn on the wireless. Hoping the sound would at least drown out his thoughts. Take away some of the ever-present silence that now hung in the air each day thick and suffocating. He came across a slow hum that filtered out through the tent. The sound of a low melodic male voice singing. Harry leaned back in his chair listening to the voice.
Hermione didn’t seem to notice the song or even Harry’s presence. She just continued to stare into nothing. Cautiously, and unsure if this was a wise move Harry got to his feet and approached her.
She slowly turned to look up at him, her eyes bloodshot from crying and puffy. Harry held out his hand to her, waiting. Her brows furrowed as if she didn’t understand what he was asking. She seemed to hear the song then, notice it for the first time and realise he was wanting her to dance. Hesitantly she placed her own hand in his and let him gently pull her to her feet. Tentatively Harry reached for the Horcrux that hung around her neck. Unclasping it before throwing it onto the chair he had vacated.
He watched her take a breath as if it had been weighing her down then he reached back for her hands and pulled her gently to the centre of the room. Harry had no idea why he was doing this. He just knew he wanted her to smile. Needed her to. He needed to know she could still be happy; despite all he had put her through.
Slowly he began to move his arms, pulling them back and forth in a funny sort of dance. He had never been a dancer, even after the Yule Ball lessons. But he tried for her. Tried to bring something other than silence and sadness into their tent.
Harry watched Hermione’s eyes become less teary and the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly with each push and pull of their arms and fumbled step he took. He pulled out his arm high and twisted it spinning her around clumsily and grinning as she let out a small, surprised burst of laughter. This was what they needed. A moment of levity. A moment of joy. He let out his own chuckle as Hermione in turn then spun him around, finally with a real smile on her face. They continued to twist and turn and sway around the tent. Both of them now grinning and laughing at their ridiculous dancing. For this brief moment, they could forget the war, forget Ron, forget and just be happy.
After spinning her around again the song began to slow and Harry brought her closer to his chest swaying them side to side to the rhythm. Hermione rested her chin on his shoulder and let out a sight. He buried his head in her brown curls breathing in the scent of her shampoo as they swayed back and forth.
As the music faded into the background their swaying stopped but Harry didn’t let go. The two of them continued to stay like that holding one another, neither ready to break the spell, the small bubble of happiness.
"Thank you” he heard her quietly whisper into his shoulder.
He pulled away slightly to look down at her, the heartache and sadness that was slowly creeping its way back into her brown eyes. His gut wrenched as he thought about all the pain he had caused her and continued to cause. All the heartache and everything she sacrificed for him. All she had lost for him and done for him. Not just in the last few months. But since the beginning of their friendship all those years ago.
Their friendship had never been complicated like hers and Rons had been. She had always chosen his side, always believed him and helped him no matter what. She put her life on the line countless of times and she had even sacrificed her own family for him. It was a friendship that stood the test of time through highs and lows. A friendship at times he realised he’d taken advantage of. He knew he and Ron both took her for granted, in the way she always had the answers to questions, always kept them out of trouble or at least tried to, would always finish their homework, clean up their messes, and plan for their mistakes. But also for her ever-constant loyalty and love, even when they didn’t show it back.
Harry’s eyes caught the way the flames reflected in her smile, soft and warm. He looked into her brown eyes and for a moment everything felt still. He realised then that she had always chosen him, from the beginning she had chosen to be his friend. Chosen to stand by him. Even chose him when forced by Ron. He also realised in that moment that she had never looked more beautiful. He didn’t know if it was that realisation, the loneliness that he had been feeling, the insomnia over the last few days, the ever-consuming fear of the war or a hundred other possibilities but ever so slowly he leaned down towards her lips.
He felt her stiffen slightly in his hold, heard her small intake of breath and he was so sure that she would pull away or push him away. He stopped an inch from her lips, a whisper away, giving her an out. But instead, it was she who pushed up ever so slightly and closed the distance.
At first, the kiss was soft, her lips warm against his cold ones, gently pressing against his own. He opened his mouth slightly and ran his tongue along her bottom lip seeking entrance. Slowly she opened her own mouth and let him in, their tongues dancing in harmony.
Harry tightened the hand that had been resting on her waist from the dance, pulling her closer to him and uncurled his other hand that was still clasped in hers and brought it up to the back of her neck, holding her to him and angling her head. The act seemed to awaken her and she let out a moan that sent a thrill through his spine and he quickly deepened the kiss.
Hermione brought her arms around him running her own hands through his hair and pulling him down to her. Gone was the softness and tenderness from before. The kiss had turned to one of desperation. A need for escape, for feeling other than sadness. They clung to one another as if they were downing. Their lips fought with urgency, each of them vying to win. Panting Harry pulled back ever so slightly only to return a moment later this time trailing his lips across her jaw and down her neck. He nuzzled and kissed his way along, breathing in the scent of her and drinking in the small gasps she let out. Never had he made someone sound like that.
Gently Harry nipped at her pulse point and the breathy sound she made had Harry’s heart thumping his pulse thundering through him, lower and lower.
As she ran her hands over his arms, squeezing his biceps and exploring his back muscles he toyed with the hem of her flannelette shirt his hand ever so slowly creeping up, splaying across the soft expanse of her skin. He marvelled at the feel of how soft and warm she was. Slowly he brought his hand up and up and up until his fingers skimmed the bottom of her bra. Harry felt her pause at his touch, at the placement of his hand just below her breast, he wasn't sure if he had gone to far, pushed her beyond whatever this was however a breathe later later and she was pulling him back down to her, his lips fused back on hers.
Turning them slowly, Harry walked until he felt the back of his legs hit the armchair and he fell down into it, dragging Hermione with him so she landed half on top of him. She let out a small squeak at the surprise change but he quickly recaptured her lips with his own.
Hermione pulled back mumbling something in audible.
“Hmm” he breathed, pulling back only enough to mumble before he kissed her again, nipping her lip.
“My…legs.. are..stuck!” she panted between breaths.
Harry paused and looked at how she was squashed awkwardly on top of him. Carefully he lifted her upwards and pulled her thighs out, positioning her so she was now sat straddling him. Hermione squeaked and he couldn’t help but smirk slightly. Not giving her time to think too much he quickly pulled her lips back on his, distracting her no doubt over-thinking mind. He knew it would come to an end eventually but he wasn't ready. Not yet.
However, it wasn’t long before Harry’s body began to betray him. The feel of Hermione against him coupled with the breathy moans she let out as he kissed her neck and ran his hands up her sides began to cause a growing problem for him. He knew it was only a matter of time before Hermione realised that he was getting hard. Harry knew, that although this felt wonderful and good and something other than pain and suffering, he couldn’t let them go there. He couldn’t do that to their friendship, or to Ron and whatever was between him and Hermione. This kiss, whatever it was or meant had to come to an end and preferably before she realised just what effect she was having on him.
It seemed that Hermione had somehow had a similar thought as slowly she pulled away. Her lips were swollen and puffy from his own, her cheeks now a deep scarlet and her hair mussed from where his hands had been running through them.</p>
“I think we need to stop,” she breathed, her eyes still have closed.
Harry nodded, “I know,”.
Carefully Hermione disentangled herself from him and climbed off. Pulling her shirt down she let out a heavy sigh. “Harry I’m-I'm so sorry I don’t know-"
“No, Hermione I’m sorry.. I, shit…I didn’t mean, I think.. fuck!” He stumbled over words running his hand through his hair, not sure what to say or do now.
He watched her take in an audible gulp composing herself. “It’s okay, we’re both just l lonely it didn’t mean anything, we’re just alone and scared and-"
“Y-yes you’re right,” He quickly said agreeing with her.
Hermione nodded not meeting his eyes before quickly summoning a blanket from her bed.
“I’ll do first watch,” and before he had time to say anything more she was turning around and all but running out the tent flap.
Sighing Harry slumped back down in his chair.
What. The. Fuck.
When he had decided to dance with her he had not imagined in a hundred lifetimes it would end up like this. He had never once thought of Hermione like that. She had always been just his best friend. Like a sister. Yes, she had always been beautiful he had thought but he had never really thought about her that way. And when Ron…oh fuck Ron. When he had clearly started showing an interest Harry had made sure he was more careful, knowing how jealous his friend could get.
But tonight, it was like something had come over him. Seeing her, holding her in his arms. He had wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He thought about what she said, loneliness. Yes, he was lonely, but Harry had spent the better part of his life lonely. It wasn’t a foreign concept to him. No, he knew it was more than that. But he didn’t know what else. He’d never seen anything else between them but then he had never really looked for anything else either.
He knew they’d need to talk about it. They couldn’t pretend it had never happened. At the least, he needed to make it clear that to him it wasn’t nothing. That it did mean something, even if it didn’t to her and even if he didn’t know quite what it meant yet. He promised himself that he would talk to her in the morning. They would discuss it, and sort out what happened. He would take the night to think on it, clear his head and figure out the right thing to say to her.
But in the morning Harry awoke to the sound of voices and the sight of Hermione leading a dishevelled redhead into the tent. His hand clutching the sword of Gryffindor and a nervous look on his face.
Fuck.