Sorrowful Kiss

Summary: She knows she belongs to him, even if he is in pain, so he doesn't acknowledge it, and he wonders if he's doing the right thing in acting the way he is, only to get his answer from her.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

The rain falls giving her a sense of feeling. Everything around her feels dark, and dead. Just cold, rigid, hard and harsh. She snuggles deeper into her sweater, trying to keep herself warm, yet she can not prevent the numb feeling that is growing. She scribbles softly across the parchment, not daring to look up, for she knows that if she does, she'll see something that she does not wish to.

They say life makes you change, makes you grow and thrive. They say that there are always ups and downs, and they make you believe something good will happen in the end. But what if it doesn't? What if you are forever bound to a life full of pain and hurt, a life without light? That's what she believes his life has become.

She tries not to acknowledge his overwhelming presence. She tries to continue her Potions essay due their first day back is coming up very rapidly. She tries to clear her mind, yet she knows inevitably it will not work. She peers up, through her hair, which covers her face, at him. He does not seem to notice, but she knows, he knows that she is watching him.

She looks at his face. New lines of worry, and dark circles are there, she notes. Her line of vision travels down to his mouth, which is formed in a tight line, then she gazes back up to his eyes. They have been haunting her since she had arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place earlier that summer. Gone is the sparkling emerald eyes, in which she has been familiar with her entire life, only to be replaced with dark, deep, evergreen. Eyes that seem dead, without that spark. She doesn't know what to do, for once, she knows that her books will not have the answer she seeks for.

She knows that he's no longer the innocent little boy he once was. She knows that he's had to grow up much quicker than the rest of them. She knows that he will never be the same. This boy, no this man that he has become, is one that Hermione is not particularly familiar with yet, but he holds her heart in the same way.

She turns her head at her other best friend. Ron is not the small child he once was either, yet he is not the same type of man that she knows Harry has become. Ron's grown much taller, and filled out much different than Harry. Hermione intakes a short breath. She's doing it again, comparing them. She knows that she shouldn't, but she can not help it.

Ron gazes at her just then, and she catches his eye. She can see the pain in them, she can see the love buried within, and she sometimes wonders how much easier it would have been if she had loved him too, if she had cared for him the same way he did her, but Hermione knows she does not, she knows that she never could love him like that.

Hermione gives him a pleading look, trying to tell him without words that she's sorry for all that she has caused, but Ron looks away, seemingly pretending that there is nothing wrong. He has gotten quite good at that, she muses. Lost in her own thoughts, she barely hears Ron say that he is going to go back to his room since it's getting dark out. She looks up to see his retreating form leave the kitchen.

Now it is just her and Harry. Neither speak, as the silence all of a sudden becomes much more awkward. She honestly does not know what to say to him, and she knows that even if she tried to breech the subject of his recently deceased Godfather, that she would just get bitter retorts as answers, just like everyone had gotten. Sighing, Hermione returned to her essay, once again lost in her world of ingredients and potions.

Harry looked up from his Divination book. He watches as Hermione works diligently on her assignment. He watches the way her eyes skitter across the page, then jump to the parchment. Harry knows that she has been worried about him since she had arrived back, but she just did not ask him about things yet, not to say she hadn't tried that is.

He sometimes found himself wondering about his best friend, wondering what it would be like to hold her for a longer period of time, or if when she kissed him on the cheek, he moved his face and she met his lips with hers. Harry wondered what that would be like, yet his depression was drowning him, forcing him to make those and any other type of content thoughts disappear, withering them down into nothing.

His godfather was dead. Dead. The word seemed so final to him, not foreign as it should have, not even any wonderment about it, just final. He knew he was having mixed feelings, yet he could not comprehend why. He knew he should be sad, he knew he had every right to act the way he was lately, very rude or angry, even sometimes maliciously.

Sighing, he returned back to his book, making it appear like he was working once again, but his thoughts were somewhere else, one someone else. Harry remembered the first day Hermione had arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place. She walked out of the fireplace, seeing as how she flooed in, and was covered in soot. Tonks followed right after. Harry was standing in the darkest cover of the room, and just watched as she had greeted the Weasley's and Remus.

He was most surprised when she had seen him standing. She gave him a small smile, and walked slowly over to him, her eyes studying him, as if she was trying to figure out if it was safe to approach him. Throwing caution to the wind, she stood there in front of him. Harry just raised an eyebrow at her.

He remembered the way she looked at him. At first he thought maybe she was pitying him,, like Ginny and most of the Weasley's had, but then he realized it was just pure concern shining in her cinnamon brown eyes. She stepped forward slightly, and wrapped her arms around him.

At first, he was confused. This had been the first intimate human contact he had received in awhile, seeing as how the Weasley's were a bit cautious and worried at how him might react to them. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his senses becoming intoxicated in her, but just as quickly as it came, it left, and Hermione let him go. She gave him another encouraging smile, as Ginny pulled her upstairs to tell her all about her new relationship with Dean.

Harry smiled ironically at the thought. Hermione was not the type of girl to want to hear those sort of details, yet she made an exception for Ron's sister. Looking back over his book, he saw the girl he was just musing about staring at him, the same concern he had seen when she first arrived, burning in her eyes, the only difference was that it was stronger now.

"What is it Hermione?" he asked dully, he voice not expressing his previous thoughts.

Hermione didn't say anything at first just stared at him, then she finally shook her head. "It's nothing Harry, nothing," she answered, returning to her essay. Harry didn't believe her.

"You have something to say to me, I know you have," he stated, "So why don't you just tell me what it is."

Hermione glanced back up at him, not meeting his eyes. "I think," she started, "I believe it would be good for you to talk to someone about Sir- what happened last year."

"You mean Sirius?" he asked. It wasn't a question, much more of a statement. "What do you expect me to say?" he questioned her.

"How you feel Harry," she answered, "your feelings."

Harry chuckled a bitter laugh. "Feelings?" Harry asked, "it would do no bloody good for anyone if I expressed my feelings Hermione. Just give Voldemort more of a reason to hurt someone."

"So you are just going to sit there?" Hermione asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Harry did not respond. Hermione silently put her essay and book down, and walked closer to him. Once she stood in front of him, she poked his chest to get his attention, and Harry looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

"You listen here Harry Potter," she began, "Expressing how you feel is not going to get anyone killed, just stop you from making yourself go bloody insane. I am tired of everyone sitting there, watching you mope around as if there is nothing good in this world. I know your godfather died, I know how important he was to you, but he didn't die for you only to have you sit there and act as if nothing matters."

"You have no idea how I feel Hermione," Harry stated in a dangerously low tone. He stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. They flashed an angry green color, and inside Hermione felt herself smile, at least he was expressing some kind of emotion.

It was then that Hermione realized how tall Harry had gotten. He didn't tower over her as Ron did, but he was a three or four inches taller. His intense gaze made her focus back at the matter at hand.

"You right," she retorted, "I don't know how you feel, but that is because you won't bloody well tell me or anyone else what is going on inside that mind of yours."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, the replied, "Do you really want to know what I feel Hermione? Do you really want to know what's going on in my head? Because I don't think you could understand it, much less handle it."

Hermione just now realized how close the two actually were. "There are a lot of things you think I can not handle Harry," she stated, "but you can not always protect me, and I don't want you too."

"If I am able to," he said, "then I will."

"From what Harry?" she questioned, her eyes now blazing.

Harry didn't say anything else to her, and Hermione knew they weren't just talking about Sirius, nor his emotions. She watched as his right hand enclosed around her left, pulling her closer to him. He breathed in the scent of her hair, as he untangled his hand from hers, only to have it wrap around her waist.

With his free hand, he lifted her chin up towards his face, making her look directly into his eyes. "Are you afraid?" he asked her quietly.

"No," she responded, "I never have been."

He hesitated a second, before bringing his lips down to claim hers in a kiss.

It was not a kiss filled with unbridled passion, nor one of sweet love. It was one of grief and of pain, one that would mark the beginning and the end of two different things.

Pulling away slightly, Harry gazed at the expression on Hermione's face. Her eyes were still closed, and her mouth was turned upward a bit. He realized in that moment that for once, his sorrowful thoughts would be put to rest, if only for a little while.

Author's Note - Hope you all liked it. Please review and let me know what you all thought! =)