Chapter II. Comfort

Severus watched from his shadowed corner as the students made their way to their respective house tables. His gut wrenched when he saw Potter take a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, furthest from the heads'. He could not help but notice the boy's downward glance and shaking hands. Shaking hands that seemed to have found their way into those of the Granger girl, who sat beside him. The girl gave her friend a reassuring smile and they sat in silence as they listened to the hat's sorting and Minerva's opening remarks.

The chatter and laughter that usually permeated the hall during the castle's opening feast was not lost on Severus. However, his dark eyes remained fixed on Potter and his friend. The boy seemed more troubled than usual. He knew that Potter had lost his loyal sidekick in the final battle at Hogwarts, but the boy had gone through much worse, losing Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin. Why then? Severus soon discovered his answer.

At the exact opposite end of the Gryffindor table, he could just distinguish the youngest Weasley child, who could not seem to divert her cold glare away from Potter. Even among the professors, Ginny Weasley had never been known for her subtlety. He watched as her neighbor, the Patil twin, begin to console her. He could just make out her words of comfort.

"Ginny, are you okay?" The Weasley girl looked as if she had become fascinated with examining her hands in her lap. Parvati seemed to think twice before reluctantly saying, "Have you thought about talking to him, Gin? I mean, it was a war, you can't have expected Ron to-"

"No!" Ginny glared at the girl next to her. "My brothers died because of him. Ron stepped in front of a curse for him. Others may be able to forgive him for his heroism, but I still need time to grieve. So, just let me do that." Severus watched her immediately leave the table, passing by Potter and Granger in her walk to the Great Hall's exit. In her wake, he saw Potter look after her longingly but then he quickly shifted his glance to the untouched dinner plate before him. Granger placed her hand on the boy's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Potter gave a small smile and took a drink from his goblet. His friend left her hand reassuringly on his shoulder as she began to eat her dinner with the other hand.

Severus backed up further into his corner and seeped through the stone wall behind him. He suddenly started to breathe in rapid spurts. Is it possible for ghosts to have panic attacks? No, surely not. But as he thought it, he grabbed at his chest as if it actually could thirst for oxygen. His vision speckled with bright lights, and realization dawned on him.

That is what I have been craving. His mind flashed back to the Patil girl's arm on the young Weasley's back. Granger's hand upon Potter's shoulder. He needed warmth, comfort, touch. He needed to feel something. His form unconsciously descended through the floor to the cold dungeons beneath him. But that is impossible.


Several times throughout the following weeks, Harry had tried to confront Ginny-to no avail. She seemed as fierce and harsh as ever, and despite Hermione's protestations, he knew it was his fault. He could not help but recollect the blissful moments he and his ex had shared on the school grounds only a couple years prior.

He found solace in wandering the corridors at night, not bothering to bring his invisibility cloak or his map. Part of him did not feel quite right in using either object- the cloak reminded him of the many times he and Ron had hidden away beneath it; the map reminded him of the twin from whom he had received it.

He wound his way through the dimly lit corridors, and found his way, once again in front of the entrance to the Head Girl dormitory. He gave the password-Phoenix Tears-to the old wizard displayed in the painting before him. He found comfort in knowing that his best friend's dorm lay in close proximity to his own. However, the Gryffindor Tower did not seem much like home anymore. No one seemed to understand his need for true human connection and the constant cheerful-and almost phony-remarks of his peers only seemed to darken his mood.

Harry stepped through the passage into the small sitting area and automatically felt the firelight warm his skin. He noticed books scattered across the floor, couch and chairs, but his friend was nowhere in sight. Figuring she was reading in her room, he crossed the sitting room to the oak door that held her bedroom. He knocked softly, but there was no answer. He opened the door and saw Hermione curled up into a ball over her duvet. She still wore her trainers, jeans and jumper, and a small ancient runes codex lay next to her. He walked to her bedside, marked the her page in the codex and placed it on the end table. He continued to take off her shoes and gently removed the duvet from beneath her and pulled it up over her curled-up form. He habitually turned to the other side of the bed, took off his shoes and glasses, and climbed in next to her.

Burning out the candle on his own end table, he felt a draft enter the room as if the lack of light had absorbed all the warmth in the room entirely. His face turned to the window. The moon had not yet risen over the grounds, thus filling the room with a chilled darkness. He reached over and pulled the duvet up to the crook of Hermione's neck. In doing so, Hermione gasped awake.

"Ron?" Her hands reached toward him, searching in the darkness. Her hands clutched at either side of his face, but Harry pulled her hands into his own and said, "No, Hermione, it's me. Just me."

She snapped her hands away from him immediately and covered her face. Through her fingers that stifled heavy sobs, Harry heard a muffled apology. He pulled her close and stroke her damp, wavy hair. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured over and over again.

Harry felt her breathing begin to even against him. He knew it was almost time for her to pull away, just as she did every other time she woke up from her dreams about their friend. Before she could, though, he wrapped his arms around her tighter, not wanting to break their touch and to return to his own chilled side of the bed. Scrunching his eyes shut and regretting his words almost immediately, he whispered, "We could pretend." He felt her body steady beneath him; she was no longer shaking with tears. "I could be Ron for you; you could be Ginny for me. I know that sounds awful, but ca-can't we just pretend?"


Hermione couldn't breathe. It was as if someone had hit her in the stomach. She gradually released herself from the desperate grasp of her dear friend's embrace and looked up into his face. She could tell that his eyes were shut tightly, as if not wanting to look at her; to hear her reply. She put a hand to his cheek and said, "I'm sorry, Harry."

His eyes opened in a flash and she could just make out the tears that had already begun to spill. Her heart ached for him. Yes, she had lost her Ron and it was the hardest thing she had to live with. But Harry? Harry had it worse. His love was still alive, but Ginny chose not to be with him. That was something she could scarcely imagine.

"Please, Hermione?" Harry pleaded. Hermione had never heard him sound more tormented. "I need to feel something. Please." Hermione knew before he had even finished what she would do. It broke her heart, but she did it anyway.

She caressed his face between her hands and forcefully pushed her lips to his-anything to stop his crazed pleas. It was not like kissing Ron; it was desperate and fevered. Her fingers laced in his hair as she tugged him closer to her, succumbing to his warmth. She felt Harry nibble on her bottom lip, and she released an unconscious sigh. His hands reached for her waist, pulling her closer until her legs were intertwined with his. His lips traveled to her neck, tracing kisses along her collarbone. His hands rubbed up along her sides to her jumper, which he bunched up into his fists. He pulled away from their kiss to look her in the eye, a question formed upon his brow.

With a slight nod of the head, she helped him pull the jumper over her head and threw it into the darkness. His hands slid back down to her waist, his thumbs kneading and massaging the pelvic bones just above her jeans as he moved her to lie beneath him. He pushed up against her and she became aware of a sensation deep within her, which became more pronounced when Harry continued to rub against her in a slow, thrusting motion. The friction against her jeans and the nub of her core caused her eyes to water and her breath to catch.

Harry kissed her neck once more, but quickly moved his way down along her soft breasts. No longer asking for permission, he reached beneath her to unhook her bra. Hermione gave a small gasp and as Harry pulled the bra straps up from her arms, she quickly tried to cover herself. Harry halted and leaned in to her neck and murmured, "It's okay, it's okay," over and over again. She felt his eyelashes and lips softly tickle her tender skin and she began to calm. Hermione brought her hands back up to either side of Harry's face, and his eyes cast downward to look upon her, his eyes filled with hunger.

He brought his lips back down to her breast and began to tickle her hardened nipple with the point of his tongue. Hermione's arms immediately became covered in goose pimples and her legs wrapped around him more tightly. Placing a hand on the small of his back, she guided his thrusts against her and could slowly feel her knickers begin to moisten. Her throat released a slight moan, a reaction far beyond her control. She closed her eyes, not wanting anything to distract her from the heated arousal that was about to consume her.

And then-Harry stopped moving against her and his lips began to line their way down her stomach with small, wet kisses. Hermione felt his fingers tug at her jean's button, causing her fire to turn to ice. Snapping open her eyes and regaining her senses, she pushed Harry away in horror. She pulled the duvet up to her chin, trying to cover herself. She could feel the tears begin to fall, but even through her blurry gaze, she could make out the mirrored panic in Harry's expression.

"What did I just do?" he panted. With that, he haphazardly propped his glasses upon his nose, grabbed his things and departed the room, leaving Hermione in shivers.


Severus watched the two before him from the shadows, disgusted with himself for not turning away. He knew the perversion in watching two people discover each other, yet for the first time, he had empathized with Potter-of all people-and his need to feel close to something… someone. It embodied his own yearnings.

Simultaneously, he pitied the girl and the situation in which she had fallen. Only absolute loneliness would allow her to succumb to such comfort. He knew the feeling well. He had shared similar desperations after the loss of Lily, but he found himself unaffected by the sexual advances of other women. No one could compare to her.

He knew he should follow the boy and make sure he was alright-he did promise Dumbledore he would watch over him afterall. Yet, the girl's muffled cries into her pillow cemented his pull to stay. He watched her curl up into a ball, the duvet still only covering the front of her bare torso. As her shoulders gradually stopped shaking, he moved closer to the side of the bed from which she faced away. He could hear her teeth chattering and he wished she had thought to light a fire in her own room.

When he reached the bed, he concentrated all his might on not permeating through it. Astonishingly, he felt the soft ends of the duvet in which she nestled. He brought the palm of his hand to feel it properly, and unusually, the fabric did not dense beneath him. Focusing even further, he pushed as hard as he could and slowly, the fabric slightly ebbed into the mattress. He nearly gasped in wonderment, but then remembered himself.

Severus had never heard of tales in which ghosts could handle physical objects, yet here he stood, finally feeling. As he further pondered, he realized another astonishment. He stood, a feat that no ghost-at least of whom he had before made acquaintance-could ever achieve. Why have I not noticed this before? He knew why, of course; he was too busy taking in the memories of the castle around him to even fully regard himself. It occurred to him that maybe he was not as selfish as believed. But he would be selfish now.

There she was before him, displaying his opportunity for the human contact he so longingly desired. He crawled his way on to the bed, palm after palm, fixating his energy on only touching without applying his weight into mattress. The girl did not stir. She seemed on the brink of asleep, yet her teeth still chattered. His hand began to shake as he reached out to finger the waves in her hair. As soon as he made contact, he instantly became overwhelmed with a sudden, direct awareness. It was as if every sense in his body had been reawakened. He could feel the ruffled sheets beneath him; he could smell the fire smoking in the next room; and he could hear the girl's chattering teeth, but as if her mouth was just next to his ear.

The ghost moved closer to the young witch and his dark essence illuminated in the moonlight that displayed in the window's vignette. The round orb had just begun to rise above the grounds' tall pines and oaks, casting its light on Hermione's bed and the two figures within it. Severus progressively edged towards the girl's small form until his body spanned behind hers, not close enough to touch, but enough to feel her radiance. Does she feel it too? he wondered.

He lay there for a few moments, ruminating on the miracle upon which he was blessed. Severus consented that he did not deserve such favor, but as he closed his eyes and felt the comfort ignite throughout him, he did not care. He was at peace within this wonderfully quiet room of the young witch he thought he knew. Quiet. The man leaned over and appraised his former pupil once more. A wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

Her teeth had stopped chattering-she had found warmth too.