Since early childhood, Hermione Granger had dreamt of being hugged. Not hugged as in a hug from a parent, or a hug from a sibling. She'd dreamt of being hugged in the way that would make her feel as if she was the only one who was worth being hugged. She wanted to be hugged to say that she was the only one who could give comfort. Like she was the only one, period. At first she didn't get it. She couldn't understand why she wanted, so desperately, the feeling of a warm hand around her waist at night, why she wanted the feel of warm breath on her neck, why she wanted to be pressed close to someone, a simple gesture conveying an unspeakable amount of love. And then she gave up trying to figure out why.
The first person she hugged was Harry. He was warm and soft and huggable, but there was no desperation, no passion, no feeling of one-ness. She could accept that; she loved Harry like a brother. He was her best friend, better than Ron.
The next person she hugged was Viktor. He was colder than Harry, solidly built, hard. It felt safe, but there was no passion there either. He was just a fling. She'd dreamt of Ron that night.
When she finally hugged Ron, she hadn't been disappointed. She found that he was really warm, and he hugged her tight. She ignored the stickiness and thought that that tightness meant he needed her. When they began dating, not soon after, he would hold her hand and touch her hair and her lips. She kinda liked it. At least, she didn't mind it.
One night she'd fallen asleep on the couch in the common room, head in a book, on Ron's lap. She woke to find his hand uncomfortably close to her chest, and she sat up quickly, bid him good-night and fled. That night, she'd almost cried. And in the morning, she consoled herself by telling herself that it had been an accident or something.
Once again, he'd wandered too close to her chest for her to feel comfortable. And again he'd gone down lower. That had been the limit. She'd pulled him to a side, and shoved him away as he tried to kiss her. "I've had it Ron," she told him. "Is that the only reason you're with me? To touch me?" she'd demanded.
"Hey, I'm a pubescent teenage boy. And it's not like it hurts, right?" he replied with a dopey smile, reaching for her waist again. She pulled away.
"Not. It doesn't hurt. But I hate it! Just get lost Ron! I'm not in this for sex." She'd walked away, leaving him stunned. She thought it would have been harder, taking into account that she'd liked him since her fourth year. It had been so easy. She realised it was because he didn't mean anything.
In her seventh year, she had been chosen to be head girl. Harry was still her best friend, but it had never been the same between her and Ron. Ginny and the rest of the family took his side, and that was that.
She wasn't surprised when Draco Malfoy was chosen as head boy. He had all the qualities McGonagall looked for. He was really smart, well known and he knew how to deal with people. He was also not very prejudiced anymore. He could be quite nice. They had studied together a lot, recently. It was a bonus that he was very good looking.
Late into the year, one night, she'd been sitting in the head room and he'd stormed in, loudly. He went straight into his room, which was unusual. He normally said hi. She followed him. "Draco? Hey, are you okay?"
He'd not replied. She ignored his childish 'stay out' signs and went in. "Hey, Draco, what happened?"
He was sitting on the floor, in a corner, face in hands. He looked up, and she'd been stunned to see tears running down his face. He scrubbed his eyes clear and pushed himself up. "Who allowed you to come in?" he demanded. "How is it any of your damn business? Get the hell out Granger!" he said, yelling. She'd been stunned.
He looked at her face again, and as if he couldn't help it, pulled her in and started talking. About irrelevant things, ranging from Snape to coffee to his mother. Then he stopped. And tears leaked from his eyes again. "My Mother. She was killed by Death Eaters."
Hermione gasped. "Oh, Draco," she'd mumbled, and extended her hand to his shoulder. And to her shock she'd been pulled into a hug. His arms wrapped around back, and without thinking, she hugged back. He burrowed his face into her shoulder, and he cried. He smelled like cinnamon and fresh cut grass. He was pleasantly warm, and soft, yet comforting. He pulled her tight and they fit so perfectly together. She fit into all the right places. He was her dream hug.
She had stood there, minutes flying like seconds. After a while, he calmed down, and pulled away. She reluctantly let go. He let her lead him to the common room, where they sat on the couch, linking arms in silence.
"It's just that, I loved her so much."
"I know." and she hadn't said any of that crap about letting go, and forgetting, and moving on, because you don't forget.
A week later, he'd kissed her in the privacy of their head room. He was soft and confident yet hesitant, as if he didn't know weather she would like it or not. She put her arms around his waist and they'd just kissed. She'd been too muddled and blown over to think, but later on, she was relieved to notice he hadn't touched her in any awkward way. It was a new feeling, to be kissed simply for the comfort it gave, and to show something that couldn't really be said in words.
She hadn't felt awkward kissing him again, because he was just so open and so un-threatening and he didn't press her. She appreciated that. He was her dream hug. She sometimes got the feeling that he didn't exactly know how to touch her, and she had a theory that this was because he hadn't really been physically comforted as a child. She couldn't imagine his father hugging him goodnight. Maybe that's why he liked it so much.
When they'd fallen asleep discussing the ball in their common room, she woke to find his hand pulled possessively around her waist but nowhere that she wouldn't have let him go. He respected her so much.
She loved him for it. She loved him so much, that she knew she couldn't live with it. That was the way she got used to waking up every morning of her life, after that.
I know the ending is off, but there's a gap of around two months between start and end, so… REVIEW!!
Love,
Lady Merlin