Alright, so, I really should be writing the next chapter of one of my stories, but I had some inspiration from a dream I had. I thought it would be really cool to also attempt to write in 2nd person…I know it is going to be a little short, but it was a short dream so…
So, here we go…
You glance around slowly at the clock and yawned. 2:49 AM. You rub your eyes and glance around, slowly taking in your surroundings. The Gryffindor Common Room. Maroon everywhere. The fire is slowly burning to coals. The furniture is exactly where it is supposed to be.
Except for one, not-so-little difference.
The sleeping boy on the couch. No, correction, the sleeping MAN on the couch. It is not correct to call him a boy, for he has to kill one of the most nefarious villains ever to have lived. He has the entire wait of both worlds, Wizard and Muggle, on his shoulders. He was forced to grow up fast, too fast in your opinion.
Yet, when he is sleeping, he is an entirely different person. The worry, stress, and anxiety are erased from his face. The years of panic are gone. His glasses are askew and his mouth hangs slightly open. He is too tall for the couch, so his legs are sprawled over the side and his one arm is hanging off the opposite side of the couch.
You smile slightly. It is… indescribable, the sight before you. You are finally relieved that he allows himself to be pulled out of the world for a couple of hours, pulled out from the prophecy that he cannot remove himself from, pulled away from the pain and torture he has endured, pulled away from reality.
You glance back at the book in front of you. Transfiguration. The essay that you are working on is not due until next week, but you know that something can always occur that can cause an issue with your scheduling. Life must not interfere with your grades, as mother would say.
You briefly skim over the reading in front of you, completely ignoring what you are supposed to be comprehending. You realize that you are reading the same sentence over for the sixth time, so you slam the book shut and yawn widely but silently, trying not to disturb the sleeping boy on the couch not a few feet away from you.
"'Mione."
You whip your head around to see the aforementioned sleeping male in the middle of a dream. From that thrashing of his body, you are startled to realize that the dream is a nightmare. Concerned, you rush over to him and place your hand on his back, trying to soothe him.
"Harry. Shh. I'm right here."
His eyes are clenched shut. A thin line of seat is appearing across his brow. He moans softly, muttering your name over and over again.
"No, not Hermione. Please, anyone but Hermione. Take me instead, but don't hurt my 'Mione."
You gasp quietly at his last exclamation. His 'Mione? Hadn't you two been saying for the past two years that you were platonic friends? Ever since the horrid article Rita Skeeter wrote about the two of you, you had been convincing, or at least trying to convince, everyone that you were just friends and that was all.
However, inside you know that the feelings you have for this boy, this man, were more then platonic. Ever since second year, you had some feelings for him, feelings beyond the normal boundaries of friendship. Unfortunately, during fourth year he was "in love" with Cho Chang, one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts. Last year, he had started to show feelings for Ginny Weasley, your best friend's sister. You know he could never love you, or have any feeling for you whatsoever. You are not beautiful, like Cho, or sporty, like Ginny. You are a bookworm. A pathetic, nagging little book worm who does nothing but read and advise people on what to do.
Slowly, you kneel down to face the boy in front of you and watch his face. He stops thrashing in time and smiles contently after a while.
Hesitantly, you move the hair out of his face. A peaceful look crosses his face and he smiles slightly, as if he could feel your touch. As if he knew that you were there. You memorize his face like this, knowing that you may never get another opportunity like this.
His eyes are closed, but you know that when he opens them, you can hardly breathe. His eyes are a piercing green, filled with so much emotion at one time. Normally, you can tell when he is lying about how he is feeling by watching his eyes. He has the most beautiful eyes in the whole cosmos in your opinion.
Your eyes move down to his nose, stopping to notice a smattering of freckles. They are completely adorable, according to your standards. They perfect his face, making him more handsome.
You take a deep breath and glance down at his mouth. His lips are open slightly and look rather soft and extremely kissable.
You chastise yourself. You should not be going down that road, especially this late at night. It could lead to crossing lines, boundary lines, that the two of you had set up for years. Lines that you both took extreme care not to cross. The boundary lines that separated friendship from… something more.
But why not? Why not cross those lines? Why do you try so hard not to allow yourself to be in a relationship with someone who you believe you will spend the rest of your life with?
You blink rapidly. You are getting a little too ahead of yourself. Spend the rest of your life with? You were 16. And besides, you don't think he even feels the same way. You move to stand up to go to bed, when he calls you again, yet this time, it is different.
"Hermione?"
It's posed as a question. You snap out of your trance to a sleepy pair of green eyes staring at you.
"Harry, I'm sorry, I did not mean to…"
You trail off as he reaches a hand towards your face. Softly, he moves a brown curl to behind your ear. He smiles that smile that is reserved for only you.
"I thought you had died. You disappeared…" he whispers, confused. He still seems to be in the dream. He does not know that this is real life.
You smile slightly. You should play along while you still can. You hesitantly move a hand out to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Harry. I'm right here."
This seems to be the right phrase to say. His face lights up as he eagerly leans toward you. Before you could raise an ounce of protest, his lips press against yours.
It was…odd. Not like the fireworks you had heard about. But… it was like coming home. His kiss made you feel safe. It was… indescribable.
Then, something happened. It was either the way his lips moved or the moment, but you hungrily press against him. A wildfire spreads through your limbs, engulfing you both. He wraps an arm around the back of your neck and another on your back, pulling you up to the couch. He sits up and you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning up slightly to try to reach him more. It as a battle between the two of you, a battle of arms, lips and teeth. Then, you moan slightly as he moves his mouth from your mouth down to your neck and then to your collar bone.
You grip him tighter. Everywhere that he touches burns. The fire consumes you. All you know is Harry. His scent, his taste, his touch. Everything about him.
Slowly, you stop burning. All the burning retreats from your body and settles inside your chest. It becomes a slow burning; too deep for you to touch, but you can feel its warmth. Slowly, Harry moves back to your mouth. You can feel him slowing down as well. Unwillingly, he pulls apart from the kiss.
You absent-mindedly notice that the both of you are breathing heavily. You glanced up at Harry, your eyes trailing upward.
His lips look bruised. He is smiling slightly, quite content and a little smug. His nose is the same as it always was. His eyes, though, were a different story. They were smoldering. You can tell he definitely was not sleeping anymore.
You blush and turn to leave. He grabs your hand and you fall into his lap. He wraps his arms around your waist and places his head on your left shoulder.
The two of you stay like this for a couple of minutes until you turn to face him.
"Harry. I am… so sorry. I took advantage of you when you were sleeping and-" you start.
"I love you."
He states it so plainly that you are afraid that you heard him correctly.
"Could you repeat that, Harry? I do not believe that I heard you correctly," you ask, a little breathless.
"I, Harry James Potter, love you, Hermione Jane Granger," Harry states, looking into your eyes.
With that statement, the lava-feeling in your chest is thrust into water, making it real and impossible to break. You know that you will never be the same again.
"I love you too, Harry," you whisper, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.
He looks like a kid in a candy store as he whips you around in his lap so you are facing him. Your legs are on either side of him and you blush slightly. He grins naughtily as he pulls you towards him and captures your lips for another steamy kiss.
A couple feet away, a closed Transfiguration book lays abandoned for the rest of the night.