Comfort Me

Shivering in the corridors, he walked from the main entrance up the stair cases, his wet clothes leaving trails along the cold floors. Passing sleeping portraits and whispering pictures did nothing for his already frazzled state of mind. He grew angry at them as he passed: those that were sleeping had no right to dream when his friend was so ill, and those gossiping were not important enough to speak of her.

His body was exhausted as he finally reached the Infirmary; months of anxiety along with having to fly for six hours straight in this hellish rain will do that to a person, he mused tiredly. As he pushed open the Infirmary doors, his legs shook slightly from the strain.

"Madame Pomfrey?" he called in a weary voice. The mediwitch bustled from her office in time to see him collapse against the wall.

"Mister Potter! What are you doing at the castle? I thought you were to be at home for the holidays?"

As she chastised him, she helped him into a chair, taking his wet cloak and pressing a warm blanket around him.

"Don't know what you were thinking....silly boy...half the night on a broom..." clucked the nurse, handing him a Pepper-Up potion.

"Please, Madame Pomfrey," he said, stepping up and pushing the blanket aside, "Where is she?"

The mediwitch sighed, and turned her head. He looked around at the familiar beds and grew apprehensive when he didn't see her in one of them. His breathing grew shallow and hitched, praying desperately for her to be alive. Forcing his voice to remain calm, he asked again:

"Where is she?"

As the nurse turned, she indicated for him to follow. Quietly, she walked toward a painting of single rose, whispering:

"For those in need."

The painting began to grow in size and length, until it had reached a height he could easily pass under. A dark corridor lay behind the portrait, dark, but lit with torches. He followed Madame Pomfrey along the passage until they came to a dark wooden door. She nodded to him, and he pushed it open.

At first all he saw was that it was a private room, and, he noted, well warded against harm; the room was lined with bookshelves and dark furniture. There was a fire going, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature, and a queen-sized bed upon which lay a figure beneath the covers.

There, lit softly by fire light, lay his Hermione. Her bandages were registered somewhere in his brain, but all he could see was her beautiful face outlined by the light thrown around the room. Stifling a sob, he strode towards the bed, kneeling at her side and stroking back a stray curl of hair, unaware of the dark figure seated in the shadows of the fire. Her face was pale and haggard, pinched in a painfully familiar way to him, the way a starved person would appear.

Looking at her again, he saw all the dressings, and sank his head onto the bed, allowing silent tears to wet her bandaged hands.

"Hermione," he cried softly, "Hermione, please wake up, it's me! Please wake up!"

At the sound of his voice, she stirred, clenching her right hand around his loosely. Softly, in a harsh voice, she murmured:

"Harry?"

Tears falling down his face, he grasped her hand to his cheek and said:

"Yes, Mione; it's Harry, I'm here. I will never leave you, I promise."

"Harry," she mumbled softly, turning her head to him and opening her eyes slowly. He was alarmed to see the fear on her face, even as she clenched his hand tighter.

"Is this a dream?"

"No, no-this can't be a dream, Hermione. I won't let it!"

She chuckled softly at him then, amused by his impossible statement. Loosening her death-grip on his hand, she brought his hand to her cheek, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed quietly. Overwhelmed, Harry stood and sat on the bed, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly.

"I won't ever leave you, Hermione. It will be alright, it will be alright, I promise," he said into her hair, rocking her back and forth.

He felt wetness on his shirt, and hugged his friend even tighter.

"What are you doing here, Mister Malfoy? Shouldn't you be in your bed at the moment, resting?"

"Yes," answered the blond boy who had shown up outside the hospital wing suddenly, "But I wanted to check in on Granger."

He looked around.

"Where is she?" he asked suspiciously.

There was genuine concern in his eyes, she decided.

"Just a moment, Mister Malfoy, I was about to bring Miss Granger a sleeping potion. Allow me a few min-"

"What!" cried Draco suddenly, jumping toward her and startling her into dropping the tray, which, thankfully, hadn't had the potion on it just yet.

"Mister Malfoy! I must insist you conduct yourself pro-"

The boy clutched at her shoulders, his years of Quidditch making his grip quite painful at the moment.

"No," he said heavily, "You can't give her Dreamless Sleep."

"And why, pray tell Mister Malfoy, may I not give my patient a good night's rest?"

"Because it was used by my father to torture her in her dreams; he would force her to drink it and make her suffer in her sleep, so that even when unconscious she wouldn't escape him."

Horrified, Poppy's mouth opened wide, then snapped shut.

"Then what can I give her?"

"I don't know, but if you don't believe me, take it to her and see for yourself."

He truly thought she wouldn't believe him. And while she knew he was calculating, as all Slytherins were, she sensed he was telling the truth.

"No, Mister Malfoy," she answered him, her head shaking, "If you say it will do more harm than good, than I will believe you. However, you will accompany me to her room and we shall see what may be done. Come."

Together they stepped through the portrait.

When the door to their room opened, Harry opened a bleary eye, and was shocked to see Draco Malfoy looking back.

"What's he doing here?" snarled Harry, sitting upright and upsetting Hermione. With a shake, her head swayed and her eyes opened.

"Draco," she whispered, eyes closing again in fatigue.

"Hermione," Harry faltered, hearing the relief in her voice, confused.

"He saved me Harry. He took me away from the pain. Saved me."

Her voice was tired and as she nestled her head further into his shirt, Harry unconsciously tightened his arms around. For a moment, there was silence as he struggled with the conflicting emotions raging within him. It was when his gaze drifted from the visitors to the room, and he noticed the seated figure in the fire's shadow. /Professor Snape/ he realized.

Turning back to his hated enemy, he nodded, and said tightly:

"You have my thanks, Malfoy. I am in your debt."

His rival merely sneered, and tilted his nose.

"Mister Potter, I really must protest. It is highly inappropriate for you to be in Miss Granger's bed, and I ask you to remove yourself from her person."

"No," mumbled the girl in the bed. Four pairs of eyes were drawn to her as she suddenly sat upright, clutching Harry as if a lifeline, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Keep dreams away, nightmares. Please, I feel safe with Harry. Please let him stay."

Tears were coursing down her cheeks as she trembled visibly, her fear apparent. Thinking only of her patient's well-being, Madame Pomfrey relented, walking quickly to the bedside and reassuring Hermione:

"Very well, dear, he may stay. Hush now, you'll be all right. Now, young Mister Malfoy has told me you've had a-ah-bad experience with Dreamless Sleep."

At the name of the potion, the girl's body shook, and Harry had to forcibly hold her to quiet her shivering.

"I believe you need as much rest as possible Miss Granger."

She looked at Hermione's hand bandage, tsked in disapproval, conjured a new wrap, and proceeded in redressing the girl's wound.

"But as Dreamless Sleep isn't an option, I don't know how to ensure you receive that good night's rest."

Hermione took long, deep breaths before answering.

"I have Harry; he'll hold me like before. Comfort me; please let Harry stay."

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, begging her to yield. If she hadn't already, that beseeching gaze would have thawed her heart.

"I have already given my consent, Miss Granger, as long as nothing untoward occurs. I trust that Professor Snape will ensure that nothing does."

Nodding her head in her colleague's direction, she took Draco by the arm, and led him out of the room. Hermione let out a half-sob of relief, and hugged her best friend tighter.

"I need to breathe, Mione," Harry said, half-seriously, lying her back on the bed. Slipping from her grasp, he stood from her bed and brought the sheets closer to her chin.

"Harry," she said , her voice quivering.

"It's all right. I just think I should sleep above the sheets, as it were, you know?"

He smiled teasingly at her, before tucking her head once more under his chin, listening to her breathing slow and even out.

/Thank the gods Albus had the wisdom in appointing Minerva as second watch/

Slamming the door behind him, the length of his robes flapping about him, he stormed angrily into his rooms and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

He knew he wasn't brave enough to face the truth sober. Snatching up a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey, he threw himself into his armchair and downed the lot in a single swig. Ah yes, here it comes now, he mused to himself as the rush arrived in a flash of heat and comforting stupor. Fuzzily, he raised his hand and conjured up another bottle and took a more languid drink, feeling it burn its way down his throat.

It had been difficult to watch his hated enemy's son hold the girl in her sleep, when he had wanted so badly to do it himself. /Why?/ He didn't know why; he despised the little know-it-all brat, didn't he? Why would he want to hold her, give her comfort with his body if he disliked her so much?

Why would he feel his chest tighten painfully as he watched another take the place he so desperately wanted? And want it, he did. /Why?/ he wondered, his brain pleasantly fuzzy and detached. Turning his head toward the grate, he brandished his wand somewhat more forcefully than needed, and succeeded in causing a little fireball to explode in the fireplace, blowing his chair back a few feet.

"Why?" he asked desperately to his room, burying his spinning head in his hands:

"Why?"