Simply Irresistible

Author's Note: So my good friend mudbloodpotter05 practically challenged me to write a Harry/Hermione pairing. He said he'll tolerate a well done one. I said I'd write one that he couldn't resist liking. So here it is folks: enjoy the fruits of a friendly dare. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is my hero. I own nothing and take credit for nothing. Long live Jo.

Chapter 1: The End

The winter wind blew in knives across the half frozen lake. Harry, standing boldly atop the Astronomy Tower, turned his face to meet it. He didn't even flinch as it stung his cheeks, nor did he withdraw his hands from clawing at the icy stones. Crystals of tears froze on his nose, but still he did not yield.

'Let me freeze to death,' he thought bitterly, 'at least I'd join everyone I love.'

It had been a year now since his mentor and friend died atop that very tower; two years since his godfather had been sent headlong into the veil of eternity. Two months ago, his best friend was reduced to a pile of ash by Lord Voldemort. Still he had carried on. And they had won, but at a final and dear cost to his heart.

How many times had he tried to prevent this from happening? Why did everything he touch seem to get worse rather than better? How did he not see it all coming? And why did everyone trust him when he couldn't even successfully save one person twice in a lifetime?

A sob caught in his throat, and he had to turn from the wind to cough it away. His energy left with the air in his lungs, and he sank below the parapet. Shielded now from the wind, his coughing became deeper and more distressing. Before losing consciousness, he whispered into the night, hoping she would hear.

"Ginny!"

Six hours later, he woke in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He didn't open his eyes, but the sounds of Madame Pomfrey's feet and moaning students couldn't be mistaken. He tried to roll over, and an overpowering urge to cough jolted his body. He gave in. On cue, Madame Pomfrey was at his side.

"There you are, Harry, give it a good effort. You're nearly better. There's only so much even an experienced witch like myself can do about a common cold."

Harry shot her a look, but she didn't see it under his matted hair. She stroked his back and mumbled some words and Harry instantly felt a warm relief go through his lungs.

"Ah, much better, yes? Now, drink up." She handed him a green tinted half glass. He downed all the water in it, surprised at how thirsty he was. It instantly refilled. He looked at the matron quizzically.

"It'll keep filling until you've had exactly one liter. If it's still full before lights out tonight, I'm afraid I'll be very disappointed."

As she turned to go, Harry found a rough, scratchy voice, "Madame Pomfrey?"

"Yes?"

"Is everyone else alright?"

"Doing well, my lad. In fact, you and Hermione are the only casualties of the conflict still in my care. Those at St. Mungo's are now stable, and some are recovering. Don't trouble yourself about it today." She tucked his blankets up next to his neck, "You wouldn't have had to be here at all if you hadn't gone and given yourself a chill. Just another day, and then you'll be free to go."

Harry sighed as the matron's soft, shuffling gate took her away and towards the doors of her office. A knock at the infirmary's main door startled her, and she wisely looked through the crack before unlocking the door. The current visitor didn't have the pleasure of her trust.

"If I've told you once," she shouted through the door, "I've told you a thousand times! My patients do not give interviews! They are here to recover. If you want, you can send an inquiry for an appointment with Mr. Potter to Mrs. Luna Longbottom. Now I'd thank you to leave my hospital wing at once. Good day!"

The memories came back in a flood at the mention of Luna. Sobbing between coughs, he cried himself to sleep.

Ginny looked at him, her green eyes snaring him with the gaze that made his blood run hot. Reaching up, she smoothed away his hair from his forehead. Lightly, her thumb ran along the shape his scar. "Does it ever hurt you anymore, love?" she asked compassionately.

He pulled her closer, and her warmth made him a bit dizzy. "No, not anymore. I've learned to keep him out."

"I'm so glad," she breathed. Sighing, she nuzzled her head into his neck before laying it on his shoulder. He leaned to kiss her head, and the smell of her hair overwhelmed him.

"I love you," he couldn't help telling her.

She moved to look at him and he was sad she did. But the thought of meeting her eyes again was not unpleasant either, and so he took lifted her chin with anticipation.

But the grass green eyes were empty, black holes now. Her skin went cold and clammy in his hand. She opened her mouth in a twisted smirk, and Tom Riddle's voice filled his ears with fearful rage. "You are a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose everything."

Harry woke screaming. He rolled over in the hospital bed and vomited. Dusky sunlight shadowed his pale features as he slammed his head back up against the pillows. The vomit disappeared from the floor with a quiet woosh. He looked around and was glad to see no students in the room. He let the tears fall quietly.

"Harry?" A quiet voice to his left startled him. He looked over and found another familiar pair of eyes studying him intently. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know, Hermione. Are you alright?"

"Of course not."

"Neither am I."

They sat in silence for a moment. The sun was sinking quickly behind the mountains, turning the well-windowed hospital wing all manner of golds, reds, and purples. The torches lit up before either of them spoke again. Hermione made the effort first.

"My hand feels much better, and my knee is going the right way as well."

"That's great."

"You haven't coughed in a while. Madame Pomfrey said you'd be better by tomorrow morning. That's good news, I suppose."

"Yeah. I guess then the reporters can have me. I can just see the headlines now: Potter Pops Prince's Plans, Pummels Pretty Girl in Process."

"Oh, Harry," was all Hermione could manage in response. A few more moments of awkward silence followed, and then "I've been composing a statement for the Order. It requires Remus's approval and yours, of course, but I think it's rather good. Vague, inspirational, and it should keep the media hounds off our backs for at least a week."

"Hermione!" Harry snapped, "Did it occur to you that I don't really care right now what the Daily Prophet has to say, or what anyone has to say! As far as I'm concerned, I'm done with this business! Tomorrow, I'm packing my things and heading out into the forest. No more statements, no more battles, and no more friends."

He turned over to look at her more squarely. He noticed tears in her eyes, but he had to continue. He was more determined now than ever before to leave everyone behind for their own good.

"I can't keep this up. I can't keep being the leader of people that I can't even protect. My own family keeps dying around me, how am I supposed to keep those further away from me safe too? Don't think I haven't read or heard anything in the last few weeks! Everyone wants me to be the Minister of Magic now. Hell, some of them even want to break away from Britain proper and make me King! I refuse. I refuse to be responsible for anyone but myself any longer. I'm going to fade away into obscurity, and that's that."

"Harry…" Hermione's tone was cautious, but firm. He stared at her, daring her to go on. He knew without using magic what she would say next. She set her jaw and continued, "It's not your fault."

"Then whose fault is it, Hermione? Voldemort, I guess? But since when did his vendetta against me become his fault? We both knew that one of us would have to die!" Harry's voice rose to a fever pitch, "It's my fault because I let Ginny, and Ron, and Dumbledore, and Sirius, and my parents, and everyone get between me and him!"

Hermione's gaze remained steady and warm as Harry shut his eyes, squeezing the last of the tears away. She'd never seen him cry so much. Ever since Ron… she couldn't even think of it. She felt a tear finally fall down her own cheek, and she wiped it quickly away. Her time for mourning had come and gone. She'd battled since then. In her heart she was still a soldier, and the loose ends of her mission still needed tying up. The grieving process could wait.

She looked at her General and, with an air of motherly command, said "Drink your water."