Chapter 4

The night of Ron's stag party last August, Dean and Seamus had shown up quite late to Grimmauld Place, almost dragging Harry between them to return him home. Hermione had been in her pajamas for hours, up late reading. She had also been a bit curious to find out what the party was like from Harry, though that now seemed impossible. She led them up to Harry's room and dismissed them once he had collapsed on his bed, telling them she could take it from there.

Hermione had never seen him anywhere near this drunk. Seamus explained that Harry went off on some diatribe late in the evening about "true love" and how he was happy for Ron if he finally found it. After that, apparently Harry became rather morose and just kept daring them all to do more shots until he fell off his barstool. Luckily, at least some of them appeared to realize it was time to get him home.

"What a stupid git," she muttered, as she sorted out what to do with him. Harry murmured incoherently as she first took his shoes and socks off, then managed—with a great deal of twisting and turning—to remove his trousers and shirt. She considered leaving him in his clothes, but they frankly smelled a bit like vomit. After sponging down his brow where he apparently hit his head during his fall, she cleaned the rest of him up a bit as well. As she did all of this, she thought back to that horrible day during the war, when they had visited Godric's Hollow, and how she had to care for him that night too. A little bit of excess drinking was easy to deal with compared to the effects of dark magic.

Realizing what an ordeal it would be to get him into pajamas, she decided just to put him to bed as he was. When she rolled him over to the edge of the bed in order to pull back the blankets, he finally became a bit lucid as he gazed up at her. "Hermione?" he said, blinking at her.

"Yes, it's me, Harry," she replied, as she grabbed hold of the blankets and maneuvered them around him.

Harry's head rolled off the side of the bed, bobbing a bit as he stared down at the floor. "You know, you have really cute toes," he said, his speech quite slurred.

She had to chuckle a bit. "Whatever you say, Harry."

"No, they're really cute… from the little ones… to the big ones… really, I mean… all of them."

"Okay, can just just get yourself under the sheet?" she asked, hoping he could do some of the work in moving his body into place now.

He slowly rolled himself back over toward the center of the bed, mumbling, "She doesn't believe me." He opened his eyes to stare again at her. "You don't believe me?"

"That I have cute toes? You're drunk, Harry." She took his glasses off and pulled the covers up to tuck him in. "Just go to sleep."

"No, I mean… all of the rest of you is cute too…" he murmured, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Goodnight, Harry." She turned away, but he grabbed her hand, quite forcefully.

"Stay."

"You need to get some rest," she said. "Go to sleep—"

"Sleep here," he said, his eyes growing slightly watery. "Don't leave me."

Something about his expression and tone worried Hermione. "Harry, I'm not leaving you. My bed's just down the hall—"

"There used to be three of us, just the three," he said somberly, still firmly holding on to her as he stared at their joined hands. "It was so simple—always best friends. But now… it's just you and me..."

Was that what this was all about? The drinking, and now this? Marriage did tend to change friendships, Hermione had to admit. Things would undoubtedly be different. Ron was an important part of Harry's life, and she knew first-hand how it felt when that bit of her life fell apart. She and Ron got along reasonably well now, but it was never quite like it used to be. And she remembered that Harry had been there for her at that time, too, holding her while she cried the day they finally ended it.

She sighed, not sure she even had the strength to peel his hand off of her. "Okay, I'll stay," she said, crawling in next to him, hoping Anna never found out about it. But this was about friendship, she told herself. Harry was afraid of losing a friend, and she needed to be there for him.

What happened next was quite unexpected though, as Harry wrapped her up in his arms from behind, holding her tightly while he cuddled close. "Hermione," he sighed, his hot breath drifting over her ear, wafting a lingering scent of alcohol with it. Within seconds, he seemed to go limp and succumb to sleep.

As she gradually let herself relax, she gave in to the warmth of Harry's body wrapped around hers. She always had felt safe in his arms. And she had to admit, now that she had cleaned him up a bit, this was… rather wonderful. It was too bad he needed to get this inebriated just to reach out to her. The way he just said her name—as if it made him thrilled and almost relieved to hold her like this—could being close to her really give him as much happiness as it gave her? Despite his occasional joking banter, he rarely seemed to show it. In vino veritas, she thought, though she had to stifle her laughter as she realized that phrase also would imply that Harry thought she had cute toes.

Whatever the truth was, she didn't care at the moment. She closed her eyes and felt her breathing begin to slow in rhythm with his. She'd take the excuse to feel close to him while she had it…

The next thing she knew, she awoke to an incredible feeling of contentment, tranquility, and happiness. As the early morning light came to her eyes, she realized she was still wrapped up in Harry's arms. Did they really sleep together the whole night like this? Her sleep had been dreamless and more peaceful than she could ever remember. Suppressing a yawn, she pulled a blanket up around her neck, snuggling closer to him and recording this feeling in her memory, never wanting to forget it. She didn't know how long she continued to revel in it, drifting in and out of sleep a couple more times, before finally feeling the need to reorient her body.

As she turned, now facing him, it caused Harry to stir and pull his arms back. He stretched out while Hermione observed this handsome man next to her, the muscles of his bare arms and chest flexing.

Harry didn't open his eyes, though. Instead, after his stretch, he let out a groan as he brought his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the morning light. "I'm getting too old to drink that much," he murmured, while reaching out to run his other hand from her shoulder down her arm, his fingers caressing gently as he went.

"You're only twenty-two, though I don't think that amount of alcohol is advisable at any age."

At the sound of her voice, Harry's eyes opened wide and his hand pulled back abruptly. Hermione was obviously not the person he imagined to be next to him in his bed.

"Hi," she said with a smirk.

"Uh… hey," he said after a moment, blinking a few times as if to verify that his vision was working correctly. But his look of confusion softened, and a smile crept over his lips. Rather than some sort of silly banter or joke as she expected, he turned toward her, bringing his hand up to push a few strands of hair out of her eyes before tenderly stroking her cheek. Suddenly everything felt a lot more intimate to her. And the look he gave her was one of pure adoration, one that made her heart feel like it was about to leap out of her chest.

It was at that instant, in Harry's bed, their heads sharing a pillow and their faces nearly touching, that Hermione had the sudden realization that she didn't just love her best friend like no one else in the world. She was in love with him, and she wanted nothing more than to see that same face waking up next to her every morning. It wasn't like the schoolgirl crush she once felt for him, or the desperate sense of longing to stay together with him always that she felt during the war. This was full-blown adult infatuation with Harry, of all people. Had part of her always been in love with him?

Why was he still touching her face, gazing at her with those beautiful green eyes? He couldn't be thinking clearly—perhaps he still even had some alcohol in his system—and she couldn't stay there for another moment, not with him nearly naked beside her. A wave of panic rapidly followed as she became afraid of what she might do, of how she might embarrass them both. With a hastily uttered, "Well then, ready for breakfast?" she turned away and fled the bed. Actually, she completely fled the room, taking off downstairs to the kitchen at nearly a run where she ignored Kreacher's flustered objections and hurriedly began cooking some simple scrambled eggs. She was trying to get her mind on anything other than Harry's smile and tousled dark hair next to her in bed.

Harry walked in a few minutes later, grabbing the back of his neck and then running his hand through his hair, just as she pulled the toast out and was about to empty the eggs onto two plates. Thankfully, he had put on some clothes. "That was unexpected," he said, now leaning on the table and standing unusually close beside her. Admittedly, it probably wasn't unusual at all—Harry would just wander in some mornings and put a hand on her shoulder or even wrap an arm loosely around her in greeting… but right now, this morning, he was suddenly making her anxious.

"Well, you held on to me last night, and wouldn't let go… and you said you didn't want me to leave… so, I didn't." She talked as she repeatedly and meticulously scraped the remaining bits of eggs from the pan with a spatula. All the while, she was avoiding her best friend, who was still there, so close, staring at her.

He grabbed her wrist to halt her nervous busywork. "Hey, are we okay?"

She took a breath and then briefly did meet his eyes. "Of course we are." She pushed a plate toward him. "It's hot. We should eat."

They settled next to each other in silence, not looking at each other. Hermione mostly poked her eggs with her fork, still a bit on edge.

"We didn't," he said haltingly, "that is… you and I..."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes. He clearly didn't remember anything. But even if she wanted to, and even if he had wanted to (and she knew he didn't feel that way), she wouldn't have let anything happen with him in such a state. Certainly not while he was dating someone else. "Honestly, don't be absurd, Harry."

"Right," he muttered, now poking at his eggs too. After a few moments, he added, "I'm sorry if I did… well, I don't remember—"

Hermione managed to get control of her emotions. She set down her fork and put her hand on his. "Harry, you have nothing to be sorry about. Last night, the guys brought you home. You just were acting unusually lonely when I put you to bed, and that's that. I'm always here for you. You're my best friend. And it was," she hesitated, trying to choose the right words, "actually a bit nice." She squeezed his hand, then let go to grab a piece of toast, eating in nervous agitation to avoid inadvertently giving anything more away. Nice, she thought to herself. Interesting choice of synonym for "never feeling safer or more loved in my entire life while wrapped up in your arms all night."

"Nice," he echoed quietly. "Right." He set down his fork and stood. "Well, thank you… for everything. And the eggs are really good, but after last night… I think I just need to go lie down for a while again."

"At least take a piece of toa—" she called after him, but he had already exited the room. Hermione let out a long sigh. She knew the eggs were merely passable, but he also didn't leave because of a hangover—he left because he felt like he had crossed a line that they never crossed. But they hadn't. It was something they both needed… except now it made Hermione realize how wonderful things could have been.

Maybe, years ago, when they were just kids, she could have captured his heart. Now, the most famous wizard in Britain could have his choice of any beautiful witch he wanted. She was actually grateful he hadn't come home last night drunk with some other sexy and perfect woman on his arm, as she knew there surely had been those who tried. It gave her a little solace that in his loneliness, he had reached for her. If only she had been brave enough to tell him long ago, when she might have had a chance...