Hi. You'll get more of a backstory on this later on, after the story is over, so you can go on and skip it if you want. But I never really know if I mean to have Harry and Hermione be platonic or romantic when I write these things, as even with It's Too Cold Outside I'm still entirely unsure. I suppose it doesn't really matter.

This story will contain some very unhappy stuff. If some of this unhappy stuff upsets you, you won't be offending me in skipping it or anything else.

It wasn't like there was anything loud going on. No fireworks, thunder, rain, nothing was disrupting the peace. But Hermione still fidgeted, pacing around her bedroom, rubbing her arms and running her fingers through her hair. She couldn't sit down, couldn't seem to get away from something lurking around her.

According to her clock, it was one in the morning. She sat on the edge of her bed and rocked back and forth, biting her nail and glancing around her room, trying to find something that would put her at such unease that she couldn't stand still.

The door opened without so much as a knock, and a very ruffled looking Chosen One stood at her doorway with a small smile and a yawn before he moved into her room and shut her door with his foot.

"What's up?" he questioned, his hair sticking up at very strange angles.

"I don't – know," she huffed as Harry moved towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her into him as he moved to lean back against her pillows, picking his knees up to shuffle his feet under the blanket.

"Well, tell me what's wrong, then," he said, noticing that Hermione had continued rocking a little.

"I just – can't sit still, I feel like I'm on edge," she admitted, "Harry, I feel like crying, I don't know what to do."

"Well," he said as he calmly ran his fingers through her hair, "Maybe you should cry."

"What would that do?" she scoffed, snorting and rolling her eyes.

"You might feel better," he shrugged.

"I just – I feel like," her breathing sped up and she began to blink rapidly, "Like an idiot for this, I feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"You're not doing anything wrong, Hermione," Harry insisted.

"No, but I – I can't even put it into words," she hiccupped and tears trailed down her face, placing her hand over her mouth as more and more came.

"I think I may have a diagnosis," Harry murmured with a frown, "I think you've got anxiety and depression."

"B-ut why?" she asked as she cried in earnest.

"Maybe because you've got a very demanding job and have been stressed out for ages," he said as he rubbed her back, "Maybe because you're not happy being stressed out for ages."

"I just want every-thing to – stop," she insisted, rubbing tears away only for more to come.

"I know," he gave a small smile, "But it very rarely does." He moved to face her, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her eyes. "Hermione, I'm here. I've got you. I'm so very proud of you, you're so very brave, but I want you to be happy for your sake."

Hermione paused and sniffed as realization seemed to dawn on her as she was pulled into Harry's chest, "I-I've been so busy pretending to be happy for other people, I've forgotten to be happy for me."

Harry was silent, rocking them both now, running his fingers through her hair. "I think you need counseling."

She began to push away, "Harry, I don't – "

Harry gripped her arms and leaned down to grin, "I think you need counseling because you're wearing fluffy penguin pajama pants and haven't once looked embarrassed over them."

Hermione blinked and gaped as a small blush appeared before she glared, "I love these, they're warm and cute, shut up."

"Hey, I'm jealous," he shrugged, "If I had some, I wouldn't be embarrassed either."

"You're an arse," she huffed, pulling away and rolling her eyes.

"Hermione, I want penguin pajama pants for Christmas," he grinned, taking his long legs and encircling them around her, leaning back on his palms as Hermione pursed her lips.

"No, sorry, you're getting some with bunnies," she smiled.

"Ahh, that'll go great with the Hungarian Horntail tattoo I've supposedly got," he snickered.

"Or would you prefer some with daisies?" she grinned.

"Ooh, daisies, definitely," he beamed. "Can it be bunnies and daisies?"

She chuckled, reaching her hand out to attempt to fix his hair, having him lean closer a little to help out the process, "Thanks, Harry."

He shrugged, "You just needed a distraction to calm down. That manual for the broom kit you got me really helped after losing Sirius. I know everything about how to clean a broom now."

"And yet…" she sighed, smiling when Harry shot her a playful frown. "Thank you, Harry."

"Hermione, you know I need you, right? That you're important to me?" he frowned now.

She smiled and nodded, and he grinned before flopping back against her pillows, tugging her blanket up to his chin.

"Good," he decided with a smile, "There's not many witches I'd get up at two in the morning for."

"It's one," she said as she slipped under the covers as well.

"Your clock's wrong," he insisted as he took off his glasses and set them on her nightstand, flicking off the light as Hermione leaned into his side. "It's two."

"It's one," she argued.

"It's two," he snickered, entangling their legs together as Hermione looked at him in curiosity. "They are warm, holy shit." Hermione snorted as he laughed, "Did you put a warming charm on them?"

"No, or else I might catch on fire," she hummed.

"Hermione Granger, the Girl on Fire," he hummed back, "Catchier than 'the Boy Who Lived,' I'll give you that." He blinked when Hermione began to giggle uncontrollably. "What, what's so funny?"

"N-nothing," she laughed, "I'll tell you in the morning."

He snorted and shut his eyes, burying his face into her hair, "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry," she said with a yawn.

Hi. So I've been having breakdowns since the end of July, I think. A lot of very stressful things happening, and I don't have some very…err, supportive people in my life. They're supportive, just not when it comes to this. I get depressed a lot and easily, and often fidget and rock around and this is what I usually get yelled at for. I haven't really got anyone to talk to, and if I do then something usually happens (She won't text me back, he barely talks, she's got work, etc, etc…) and I haven't got anyone to talk to again. Things haven't been…easy. I'm trying and it seems everyone wants to drag me down, and I feel that I'm disappointing a lot of people. It's not my fault I've got a fucking dementor following me around. I'd get rid of it if I could, but sometimes it's very hard to cast a Patronus when you've gotten every ounce of happiness sucked out of you.

So…hi. I'm the girl who writes fanfiction to escape reality. Nice to meet you.