i have no idea where this came from i was just thinking about different ships and this stared to pull at my mind. and i just had to write it. please tell me how you find it.
Ana.
DISCLAIMER: honestly, if i was JKR would i be here writing fics about my own books? so that means no Harry Potter is not mine. why do i have to confess this very time. it breaks my heart to write this. that he is not mine. i have to find another way of writing the disclaimer. well, on with story.
Harry looked down at Hermione's sleeping form. It was still raining. The drops were pelting heavily around their tent and on top of it loudly. But she slept on obliviously. No doubt she was tired, over-stressed and grieving. For a moment there he thought he was hallucinating. That she was gone too. Gone with Ron. That he was sitting here alone in the forest, imagining things. He closed his eyes.
Why? Why did Ron do this?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He regretted it, his lack of control. They were all stressed. He should have acted wiser if Ron had not. He should have tried to understand the situation. He should have done something to stop it. But what could he have done? The answer evaded him.
He sighed and opened his eyes. Hermione was still there. Folded neatly on the chair she had fallen asleep into. The blanket was slipping down her shoulder and her hair was every where. Harry got up and readjusted the blanket over her, softly placing a hand over her head, he kissed her forehead. She twitched and then stilled again. He sat back down on his chair opposite hers.
His eyes remained on her face. She looked leaner than before. Not that she had ever been plump but the lack of food had left her more slim than he deemed normal. Her skin looked sallow in the dim light. There were still tear streaks on her cheeks. Harry chewed his lips. He had always thought or rather knew deep down that Hermione had always been more than just his friend. Sure he tended to laugh at her most of the time but he always believed that if made to choose between Ron and Hermione he would choose her. Not that he would let anybody know that. Never. He loved Ron too. He was Harry's best friend but there was something with Hermione that just clicked.
She loved Ron. He knew that. But still she remained behind instead of leaving with Ron. She decided to stay with him. In Ron's words, she chose harry. Why? Harry thought. She, like harry, was an only child. The first person to whom he could talk to just about everything. She was the muggle born witch who astounded every one with her knowledge and ability. He was the-boy-who-lived. She earned her fame within and outside Hogwarts. He had inherited his. They connected on a level nobody did. She knew what he felt when he himself did not. She said what he could not put into words. He turned to her always for help. For guidance. For empathy.
During the years how any risks she took for him? How many times she denied her own principles to help him. She faced death for him.
Took curses for him.
Taught him.
Leaned from him.
Helped him find his way.
Smiled when he showed up covered in goo.
Mended his glasses all the time.
Pulled him out of the scrapes he got himself landed into.
Redeemed him.
Gave him the chance to speak for himself.
Saved his life.
Worked hard reaching him summoning spells.
Without asking made murtlap essence for him.
Took his hand and led him through the darkness.
Scolded him.
Frowned t his frown.
Harry smiled to himself. What would he do without her? His gaze fell again on her beloved and familiar face. Her bright brown eyes were closed and dull these days. She did not speak much now. Her mouth was turned down into a permanent frown. Feelings rushed through Harry one after the other. Relief at having her here. Gratitude at having her here. Delight at having her here. Melancholy at having her here. Love at having her here. Love? He asked himself. Was it love then that he felt for Hermione? Yes, it was love. Been from that day since their first year troll adventure. She was right, he did have a hero complex. Or rather the need to save people, to help those in distress. It was his nature he could not turn down a plea for help. He knew the feeling when one needed to be helped and it was nowhere to be found. He hated the feeling of being privileged in the wizarding world and if some good could come off it then why not?
Hermione had never been possessive but she had been and still was fiercely protective. Between the two of them she had been the one who actually thought and he was the one who acted. It was like she was the brains and he was the muscles. Their intellects different merely by mere fractions. They both lived in both the worlds. They had same friends. It was like hey were so same and so different. Their bravery so different from each other. He was the self sacrificing person, ready to die for a stranger. She was the fearsome witch who would kill to save him. They were so disparate and yet they balanced each other so perfectly it was a wonder they did not notice.
What kind of love they shared then? They were called best friends, siblings, even lovers at some point of their lives. But they knew their relationship was nameless or at least above it. She would always be the person he turned to, he would always be the person she would look towards for understanding. They would always be more than friends and less then siblings.
He slid his chair near hers as a sudden impulse seized him. One kiss, he thought. Just on to seal this moment of epiphany. Steal just one kiss. He lowered over her. Her warm, steady breath inviting him. He pressed his lips gently against hers, lingered there for a moment and then drew back. Only to look into her astonished eyes.
"Harry" she whispered.
He smiled. "Just one Hermione. Just one."
Her sleepy, groggy brain processed this information and then, as if throwing caution to the winds, she brushed her fingers through his jet black hair and leaned in. he cupped her cheek in his hand and once again took her lips between his. He felt her other hand on the junction of his neck and shoulder, warm and soft. He gasped and her tongue slid between his lips. His own hand snaked around the small of her back. He knew she was acting on impulse rather than rationality. But hen what was rational these days. He fought for dominion with her tongue but soon gave in. Who in their right mind would fight with the brightest witch of their age? Their kiss remained soft and sweet, no suddenly flared passion had them clutching at each other. It was like their relationship. Understanding, enduring, prevailing.
Finally needing to breathe he pulled back and looked into her flushed face. His hands remained at her waist and her face. Her burning hands stroked his wild hair and his neck. She opened her eyes and for the first time In moths they were peaceful and they sparkled. She smiled at him crookedly.
"Just one?"
His green eyes beamed. "Just one."
And she knew it was not the kiss that they were talking about. It was like other times, in one instant their understanding and thought again connected.
"Always one." He repeated.
This time she beamed. But then she lost the sparkle in her eyes.
"Hermione?"
"You realize, Harry, we—"
"Don't. I know it. We can't. I know. Like I said, just one. Enough for a lifetime. And who knows how long that is." He said with a rueful smile.
She sighed and kissed his cheek lightly.
…
When he returned with Ron. He saw more than just fury in her eyes.
Shattering of a hope.
Like Harry, somewhere deeps own, she was hoping that Ron would not come. For their sakes and for his own sake. But she did love him and Harry did belong to Ginny. They would be nothing more than what they are and nothing less than they were. She looked into Harry's eyes. He understood the question there and smiled sadly in return.
Harry knew that she would always love Ron, that Ron would always keep coming back to her. Harry knew that Ginny was devoted to him and that he was tied to her. But somewhere, somehow he and Hermione would always be together knowing more than anybody else did about them. Never together but never really apart. After all, there are all these kinds of love. The love for his parents, the love for his dead godfather, the love for the Weasleys. But his love for Hermione ran bone deep.
Pure. Steady. Strong.
It was possible to love so many people so fiercely. It was possible to live with one and without one at the same time. It was possible that he would not even live to see all this. Anything was possible after all.
Anything.
Please please please review. . .