One More Night With You
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Plot belongs to me. Summary: One night, Hermione sneaks into Harry's bed to comfort him, and then falls asleep by his side. But then, the morning after...
Chapter One: "What Happened To You Harry?"
It was a dusky kind of a night. The storm was high, and rain was still pouring into settlement of Hogwarts Grounds. Even with Hagrid, who usually stayed up late at his hut, there was no light or trace in sight. Hermione Granger didn't think what she was doing when she wandered through the various dorms and stairways. All she wanted to do was to be with Harry, and tell him everything was going to be alright. But everything wasn't going to be alright. Just yesterday night had they experienced together the most horrid sight of their lives. Their best friend, for a full seven years, mangled, detached, and bloodied into strips, right in front of their very eyes.
Ronald Weasley. That was his name. He was chaser for the Gryffindor Qudditch Team, youngest brother of a group of Weasleys, and best friend to the famous Boy-Who-Lived and top of her classes Hermione Granger. He was freckled and gangly like most of his brothers, and tall, with a deep voice. For as long as she could remember, Ron's odd laugh still rang in his ears. Oh, what she wouldn't give to see his face again, happy and freckled, or to pat him on the head and joke with him. She would let him say anything, copy her homework, anything just to have him back.
But it was gone. All of him. Ripped up. Just because of Voldemort. The full details were of course not given out to fellow schoolmates, as Dumbledore feared it would be much to frightful to think of what a full powered Voldemort had managed to do. Hermione shook herself. She didn't want to go over yesterday night's events. Nobody did. They were anticipating with questions, with 'why's' and hows, but Hermione didn't want to face the fact that her best friend was dead. She hadn't cried, nor had she seen Harry cry. She hadn't laughed at all. No smiles. No classes attended. She was weak. She was dead. Not alive. Hermione didn't want to handle the truth, the truth, of how Ron had died. The truth, of everything that had been risked. The truth, of all the things that had been lost.
An unaware substance was leading her to the seventh boy's dorms, but she didn't care. Hermione let her footsteps carry her slowly, and she swung open the door noisily. She didn't care. None of it mattered. Life didn't matter. All she wanted to was to sleep, sleep, with someone beside her, holding her, protecting her. And she wanted to savor every bit of ordinary of the 'life' she had left.
It had been so easy, to part the drapes swiftly, and get into bed, bidden by the silk covers that covered the couple. She noticed that his breath of sleeping was taken in ragged intakes. She swung her arm around his bare waist, and noticed that he had only pants on. But this was a vague thought, because she closed her eyes, letting her fingertips wander the inches of flesh, the flesh she wanted to drown in.
Her fingertip halted as it crossed a scar. Another scar, this time across his chest, near between his nipples, a fresh, jagged scar, it was so hard to feel, something that was waiting to rip open and bleed. Something was dripping, something crimson, rolling across his waistline.
Her face leaned over and her cheek went over Harry's, her body embraced against his. It was heated, warm. Yet, when she felt him with her fingers, he felt so very cold, like ice.
"Oh, God, what happened to you, Harry?" she whispered, the first words she had spoken since the death. She let her tears stain on the nape of his neck, and they kept rolling down her cheeks, drying every so often.
Hermione gave one more shuddering sigh before she relaxed against him, her skin against his.
It was hours before she reached the peaceful suicide of sleeping slumber.
Of course, she knew she didn't have to sleep. Because she wasn't alive. No, she was dead. She had died from the moment Ron raced in front of her, and pushed her away, and the wand had emitted in so many different flares of sparks, and they had shot right into Ron, making him drop to the floor, his head lolling unwaveringly to the side.
Argh. This sucks. Introductery chapter, experiement. Tell me what you think. I'm open to suggestions.
Love, -Court
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Plot belongs to me. Summary: One night, Hermione sneaks into Harry's bed to comfort him, and then falls asleep by his side. But then, the morning after...
Chapter One: "What Happened To You Harry?"
It was a dusky kind of a night. The storm was high, and rain was still pouring into settlement of Hogwarts Grounds. Even with Hagrid, who usually stayed up late at his hut, there was no light or trace in sight. Hermione Granger didn't think what she was doing when she wandered through the various dorms and stairways. All she wanted to do was to be with Harry, and tell him everything was going to be alright. But everything wasn't going to be alright. Just yesterday night had they experienced together the most horrid sight of their lives. Their best friend, for a full seven years, mangled, detached, and bloodied into strips, right in front of their very eyes.
Ronald Weasley. That was his name. He was chaser for the Gryffindor Qudditch Team, youngest brother of a group of Weasleys, and best friend to the famous Boy-Who-Lived and top of her classes Hermione Granger. He was freckled and gangly like most of his brothers, and tall, with a deep voice. For as long as she could remember, Ron's odd laugh still rang in his ears. Oh, what she wouldn't give to see his face again, happy and freckled, or to pat him on the head and joke with him. She would let him say anything, copy her homework, anything just to have him back.
But it was gone. All of him. Ripped up. Just because of Voldemort. The full details were of course not given out to fellow schoolmates, as Dumbledore feared it would be much to frightful to think of what a full powered Voldemort had managed to do. Hermione shook herself. She didn't want to go over yesterday night's events. Nobody did. They were anticipating with questions, with 'why's' and hows, but Hermione didn't want to face the fact that her best friend was dead. She hadn't cried, nor had she seen Harry cry. She hadn't laughed at all. No smiles. No classes attended. She was weak. She was dead. Not alive. Hermione didn't want to handle the truth, the truth, of how Ron had died. The truth, of everything that had been risked. The truth, of all the things that had been lost.
An unaware substance was leading her to the seventh boy's dorms, but she didn't care. Hermione let her footsteps carry her slowly, and she swung open the door noisily. She didn't care. None of it mattered. Life didn't matter. All she wanted to was to sleep, sleep, with someone beside her, holding her, protecting her. And she wanted to savor every bit of ordinary of the 'life' she had left.
It had been so easy, to part the drapes swiftly, and get into bed, bidden by the silk covers that covered the couple. She noticed that his breath of sleeping was taken in ragged intakes. She swung her arm around his bare waist, and noticed that he had only pants on. But this was a vague thought, because she closed her eyes, letting her fingertips wander the inches of flesh, the flesh she wanted to drown in.
Her fingertip halted as it crossed a scar. Another scar, this time across his chest, near between his nipples, a fresh, jagged scar, it was so hard to feel, something that was waiting to rip open and bleed. Something was dripping, something crimson, rolling across his waistline.
Her face leaned over and her cheek went over Harry's, her body embraced against his. It was heated, warm. Yet, when she felt him with her fingers, he felt so very cold, like ice.
"Oh, God, what happened to you, Harry?" she whispered, the first words she had spoken since the death. She let her tears stain on the nape of his neck, and they kept rolling down her cheeks, drying every so often.
Hermione gave one more shuddering sigh before she relaxed against him, her skin against his.
It was hours before she reached the peaceful suicide of sleeping slumber.
Of course, she knew she didn't have to sleep. Because she wasn't alive. No, she was dead. She had died from the moment Ron raced in front of her, and pushed her away, and the wand had emitted in so many different flares of sparks, and they had shot right into Ron, making him drop to the floor, his head lolling unwaveringly to the side.
Argh. This sucks. Introductery chapter, experiement. Tell me what you think. I'm open to suggestions.
Love, -Court
