Ch. 2 Hands
She'd only been sleeping in his bed for three months when it happened. Hermione was petrified, her world turned into a black abyss. For so long he'd depended on her that he hadn't even realized he was doing it. There was an imaginary line down the middle of his bed, and neither had dared to cross it. Now, though if she were in his arms, he would never let her go.
But the future was a huge 'if' as far as Hermione went, right now he was concerned with the present and that was to find out what was petrifying his friends and stop it immediately. He knew Hermione would've figured it out, if only she'd been given the time. Now all he had was Ron to depend on, and that wasn't promising at all.
But Harry had no idea where to start! The library? He had nowhere to start among the thousands of tomes that lined the ancient walls. Dumbledore? If he hadn't figured it out before there was little chance the elderly wizard would now. So Harry went and kept a vigil by her bed at night, until one night she gave him the answer.
It was odd, staring at her so intensely for so long. Something about her made him not want to bring a book to keep himself occupied during his long hours in the Hospital Wing after nightfall. All he wanted to do was gaze at her; make sure she was still there.
When he and Ron unfurled that scrap of parchment to reveal her net, yet loopy handwriting, all he'd wanted was for her to wake up so he could tell how much he valued her.
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The relief that he felt when he saw her walk in at the final feast, made him think he'd faint. She was alive, and that was more than he'd dared to hope. And so that night, she climbed up the boy's spiral staircase and creeped into his bed, he crossed the imaginary line and simply held her hand across it.
A/N: Not much can happen when their twelve, but thirteen…yea chapters will get longer! Tell me what you think!