Disclaimer: If I was J K Rowling, I would be busy writing the sixth book. And H/Hr goodness
Pairing: H/Hr, slight R/L
Spoilers: OoTP
Summary: Harry is separated from Ron and Hermione emotionally after the events of OoTP. Hermione tries to pick up the pieces. One shot!
Notes: This is my first H/Hr story, even though I love the pairing. Comments are welcome. I will not be continuing this.
She watches him. Whether he notices, she doesn't care. Every minute, of every day, she watches him. Watches him as he silently pores over his work, as he watches the light dwindle out of the sky.
A caring friend is what they say. She just worries for him, and she is, she knows it, but her feelings for him aren't what everyone else thinks.
A dimple forms above his head as his brows furrow, he sits, his hand clutching a quill, scratching into the parchment. Around her, students talk, but every noise is deadened out in her ears, the only things she can hear is his frustrated sigh, the scratch of quill against parchment, the sound of her heart beating so precariously fast that she's scared of it.
Her eyes glaze over almost as he runs a hand through his black hair, his eyes dead, his emerald jewels no longing bright and shining.
She rises on the couch as someone sits next to her, heat emanating from their body. She is empty, cold and dead. Does he not realise this? Does he not know that if he continues to be cold and empty, she will too?
"Try to talk to him." Ginny Weasley's innocent blue eyes stare into hers, concern written in them. "He'll talk to you, you're his friend."
Hermione swallows, closing her eyes briefly. A friend, that's all she is. That is all she can be expected to be.
She stands, and suddenly becomes dizzy at the fast movement, or at the idea of talking to him. Which, she does not know. She grips Ginny's shoulders for support. Her feet move mutely beneath her, every step she takes taking her closer to him.
Her footsteps are light as feather on skin, but he notices her, and looks up, his emptiness evident in his face.
She sits next to him, her hands placed awkwardly on her lap, her eyes burning a hole into the parchment in front of him.
He writes more words, words that blur together on the page as she goes dizzy with the heat that emanates from him. What he burns with, she wonders. Burns with hatred? With anger? Or with passion?
Her heart clenches, every breath taking more work to produce. Every inch of her is protesting against their closeness, and about their distance.
"I'm fine."
His gravely voice penetrates her ears, and she looks at him, half a smile on her face. She's a robot; the smile is just there for show. He stares at her, the same features that she had memorized before, but a different person wearing them.
"I know you are." She responds, her stubbornness getting in the way.
"Then why are you here?"
"I worry." She says truthfully, her eyes showing every emotion she feels, the burning desire in her heart, to hold him, to touch him. Her mind wanders off at the possibilities of his hands clutching her, his mouth caressing hers…
"As do everyone else." Harry says casually, his eyes turning back to his text book, reading. His eyes do not move.
"We have reason to."
He murmurs something she can't hear, his eyes moving again, turning the page of the book. She wants to scream at his casualness, at his flippancy. She feels like she is talking to a brick wall, and she wants nothing better to do than hurl herself at it. Tears sting her eyes as he turns yet another page, reading what is in the book but not inside of her. Frustration grows as her tears appear, and she looks away, not wanting him to see her cry.
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She sits in class, Ron on one side, Harry on the other. Her hands are folded in her lap, her eyes burning a hole into the page in front of her. Every few moments she sneaks a glance at him as he doodles on parchment, as he stares out the window next to him. She knows what he is thinking, and she wishes she could reverse time too, bring Sirius back so Harry will be Harry again, not someone she doesn't know.
The teacher orders them to work in pairs, and Hermione turns to Harry, her eyes shining with hope, hope that is quashed by the deadened look in his face. He sighs dejectedly, and continues with the assignment. His heart is not in it, and she can see, but nothing that she can say will heal his heart, his pain.
"Shall I try the spell first, or do you want to?" She asks.
Harry shrugs casually, his eyes fixed on the wall opposite him, unseeing. "I don't care, Hermione. I don't care."
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It's late now, later than it should be. Hermione wonders where her time went, but she realises with a smile. On Harry. Her thoughts have been on Harry today as it is every day. Every waking moment is spend on him; all her night's dreams are filled of him, of her desire to be with him and her moans when they are.
She walks to the place where she knows he will be, every step bringing her closer to Harry Potter, but not to the person. Not to the person that he used to be. She wishes with all her might that he return to his old self, as it breaks her heart to see him like this.
She walks in, the cold night air hitting her with full force. She shivers and gasps at the cold, and he turns from the balcony, his eyes glistening with tears as he looks at her.
She walks to him silently and leans her arms on the balcony edge, staring out into the sky dotted with diamond stars, and the dark, forbidden forest. She looks directly down, and wonders what it would be like to fall that far, fall and think that you will never hit the ground, but you do and the pain cuts through you like a thousand knives. But then it's gone.
Her eyes glisten with tears yet again, as they do most nights, and she looks up into the sky, blinking away furiously at the emotion that threatens her to jump.
"It won't work." He says, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.
She looks up at him, sees him staring into the unknown, a wistful expression on his face. "What won't?"
"Coming up here to comfort me."
"Who says I am?" She says quietly, her body turning to him.
His fists clench, and he leans his head on them. "I don't need comfort."
"Then what do you need?" Hermione asks desperately, her hand reaching for his shoulder.
He is silent as his eyes follow her movements, his body is tense. Electricity sparks between her fingers and his skin as she moves her hand towards him, but she pauses. Her eyes dart back to meet his, met again by the same dead ones that she has been looking into for the past two months. Except, its different now, and as her hands inches closer to his body, something other than his tears shine in the starlight.
She is unaware that she is holding her breath, her mind tells her to touch him, but a small voice says not to, as she would not be able to stop if she did. The voice gets louder and louder as the moments rush past her, so loud that she cannot help but listen to it.
She draws back her hand.
His face turns away from her, looking again into the night. She sighs and turns away from him, but his presence next to her is still felt.
"Don't stay here to long." She says, walking back to the door. "You'll get cold."
"I already am." He whispers, but she doesn't hear him as the door closes behind her.
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It's a day later and he does not come for dinner. Hermione sits at the table, ignoring the chatter around her, making blunt replies to Ron's attempts for conversation. They both stare at the door when it opens, expecting to see him, but he never comes.
She stabs blindly at her food, and Ron looks at her as she sighs, frustrated.
"Shall I go…?" He asks dumbly.
She looks at him, but shakes her head. "I'll go." She says, standing up from the table, squeezing his shoulder lightly. She walks away from her house table, not caring that she is so detached from them that it is evident in the way she walks and talks. Her mind wanders from thoughts of them, not caring that whispers follow her like waves down the table.
She looks back and sees Ron with Luna, laughing, and she smiles half heartedly. She wistfully wishes that she could be like that, laughing, enjoying herself. But then she reprimands herself, and realises that if she is like that, she cannot help Harry. Because laughter and joy will not help him.
She goes up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, the corridors deserted. The fire on the walls hurt her eyes, she is tired, and her eyes threaten to close, but she carries on walking, her feet taking her to the place where she truly wants to be.
She mutters the password for her tower, and the portrait swings open, revealing an empty room. She smiles to herself as she thinks that the change of scenery from a hall filled of people to a deserted room makes no impact on her, as she is already alone.
She walks up the stairs and gently knocks on the door of the boys' dormitory. No one answers, but she knows he is in there.
She opens the door, the hinges moaning, and Harry looks at her from his perch next to the window, looking yet again outside. She closes the door and walks to him, sitting across from him on the ledge. There is a book in his hands, a photo album, and Harry's parents and godfathers smile up at him.
"They're all dead." He says quietly, and Hermione nods, not quite sure how to react.
"I know." She whispers.
He sighs, and turns the page, not bearing to look at it any longer. Hermione smiles at the sight of the photo, Harry, Ron and herself laugh in the small frame. Harry smiles also, the first real one that she has seen in ages. She wonders if he is smiling because she is there, or because he has smiled many times before and she had not been around to see it.
His thumb rests on the edge of the picture, near Hermione's face, and he looks up at the real one. "This picture is old." He comments.
"I know." She repeats.
"I wish it wasn't." He remarks softly, looking back at it.
"I know." She says again, knowing fully well what he means. She wishes that they could be like that again, happy and carefree. But the look on his face reminds her that they can't, and they might never be.
He flicks back to the page before, where Sirius laughs with James, and Lily watches the two men with amusement on her face. "I wish…" He starts, but Hermione places her hand on his, not hesitating this time.
"I know."
Heat rises into her skin from his hand, and she is surprised. She cannot understand how Harry can be warm, when his inside is so empty and unfeeling.
Her eyes meet his, and she is captivated. His eyes are like the sea, bottomless, and she can stare in them all day. The mystery and sadness that he holds in them enthrals her, and it binds her to her seat.
"No, Hermione." He whispers. "You don't know."
And he kisses her. Attacks her mouth like it is something that he needs to survive, and Hermione gasps despite of herself. Passion, riding on lust is behind the kiss, and Hermione kisses back, matching her desire to be with him as much as his. He pushes her back against window, her hands searching to hold him, any part of him. And as his tongue invades her mouth, the photo album drops to the floor, forgotten.
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He smiles now. Their hands entwine under tables, sneaking kisses behind closed doors. It's what gives her life and him too. The element of secrecy is something that has not run out yet, and she likes that she is his secret, his reason for when he disappears at night.
Away from peering eyes and wagging tongues they lie together, both sweating from their passion and lust, their desire for other not run out, and secretly they suspect it never will.
Worries and emptiness is left behind when they are together, their bodies making music and warmth, each other a safe haven from the horrors that face them everyday. Realities are forbidden in their minds when they are together, realities of evil wizards, of dead parents and the future that looms before them like a tidal wave.
And when Harry turns up at all his meals and all his classes, Hermione smiles secretly to herself when Ron asks what has changed.
Harry smiles to himself, looking past Ron and at her as her curls dance in the wind. The cold bites his cheek, but he's warm inside as he meets Hermione's cinnamon eyes. "I don't need to wish anymore."
End
Review please?