As the fire in the Gryffindor Common room roared with fierce determination to heat the chill in the air, Harry stood before it, silently watching it, lost in his thoughts. It was late, just about to reach the curfew of the castle.
The fire is the only source of light for the large room, it ricochets off of the red, plush armchairs. The room was bare of students, save for the few third years catching up on their homework for classes the next day. They sat at the back, completely oblivious to the fifteen-year-old boy standing in front of the fire, deep in thought. The portraits softly whispered to each other, careful not to create too much of a disturbance around the room.
Honestly, Harry didn't know how long he had been standing in front of the fire for. He couldn't even remember stopping in front of it. But, that's where he found himself, head tilted down, emerald eyes unblinking and arms crossed across his chest. A small bandage wrapped around his left hand. He was still in his uniform, although his cloak was thrown carelessly across one of the armchairs, he never bothered to change after a gruelling day of classes. Usually it was potions that was the cause for such thoughts but this year, the Ministry had decided to interfere with the education of Hogwarts students.
It was a known fact that Dumbledore couldn't find a replacement for the Defence of the Dark Arts class, given that the positions seemed to be cursed. Only ever holding a teacher for as long as a year before they either died or were cast out.
So, for the Ministry of Magic, it was the perfect time to plant one of their own into the school.
Of course, it just had to be one of the most ruthless and unforgiving people in the Ministry to take up the position. Delores Umbridge was known to stick her nose in places where it didn't belong. In retrospect, she was only there to keep an eye on Harry himself and Dumbledore. Convinced that conspiracies were in the making, convinced that Voldemort had not returned the year before and that it was a plot by Harry and Dumbledore to instil fear into the wizarding population, to create an army.
As a way of trying to convince the woman who didn't seem to know that any other colour existed except a sickly bright pink, Harry lost his temper in one of her classes and continued to state that Voldemort had indeed returned. It must have been arrogance on her part to completely ignore the evidence that the most evil wizard that once tried to take over wizarding Britain, was alive and breathing.
Muggle killings, raides on the muggle population, mysterious disappearances. All evidence of an uprising of the dark side and still no one could accept the fact that it was happening.
So, instead of trying to stop it, the ministry hag, decided to give detentions as punishment for any small thing that she disliked.
It's where Harry had just returned from. He had tried to prove that the proof was out there. Cedric, a Hogwarts Champion from the Triwizard Tournament a year before, had died at the hands of a pawn of the evil wizard himself. The traitor to the Potter family was still alive and still serving the Dark Lord, whether that be out of fear or not, Harry did not know. That was just more proof that things were changing in the wizarding world and not for the better, and Harry tried to get her to understand it. To see it. But it was a futile battle. They didn't want it to be true, so in their minds, it wasn't.
The bandage around his left hand was the proof that Umbridge was so caught up in her medieval ways. The detention is just another way for her to worm her way into Harry's life and cause him pain. Cause him to doubt himself.
It's where Harry found himself after the detention, in front of the fire, brows furrowed. He had been telling the truth and for his friends and teachers to dismiss his encounter with the Dark Lord as some child trying to grab attention was hurtful and demeaning. Harry didn't want this life. He didn't want his family murdered because some megalomaniac decided that a child would cause him harm. It was disillusioning at best.
Harry was so deep in his thoughts that he missed the door open and slam shut behind Hermione as she walked in with a pile of books trucked to her chest. She looked around the common room to see it empty, seeing feet waddle up the stairs to the third year dormitories. She turned, ready to put the fire out if no one was down to accompany it, when she halted in her movements, eyes landing on her best friend. He looked so peaceful, but as Hermione moved closer, she could see the troublesome look on his face. She made a beeline for him, softly placing the books she had on the table in front of one of the armchairs.
Hermione stopped on his right and watched as the embers in the fire glowed a bright orange and white. She didn't need to say anything. There wasn't anything to say really. Just being there can be the only solace someone needed from another person.
So she waited.
Hermione waited for what seemed like an hour but must have only been a few minutes. Harry never moved and Hermione thought that he may have not noticed that she was there. Slowly, Hermione turned to face him, careful not to startle him. She reached up with her left hand and lightly placed it on his right bicep. Harry didn't move, nor did he react, so with a little guidance, Hermione gently pushed him to turn and face her. He was slowly pulled out of his reverie as his eyes disconnected from the glow of the fire. They made contact with Hermione's hazel orbs and he smiled. He wasn't surprised to find Hermione the one to pull him out of his thoughts.
"Hi." He whispered. Fearing that if his voice was too loud, he could break the moment.
"Hi?" Hermione whispered back questioningly. "Are you okay?" She still hadn't removed her hand from his arm and she was quite content to leave it there until she knew her best friend was okay.
Harry smiled down at her, he may have been the same height as his female best friend, but he felt taller. "I'm okay."
"No, you're not." Harry puffed out a small breath of air, a light chuckle.
"You know me too well, Hermione."
"Tell me what's wrong." Hermione frowned. He wasn't telling her something.
"I feel...I feel alone I guess. No one believes me-us that the danger is real, and no one is taking it seriously. I feel alone. The only person who I can talk to is Dumbledore and he is on a 24/7 hour watch from the Ministry." Harry reached up with his bandaged hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hermione noticed his hand but knew it wasn't the right time to discuss it. "I feel so lost." She almost missed it, he said it so quietly that she had to lean in to hear it.
Hermione reached up with her left hand and placed on the arm that he had brought up to pinch his nose. "Hey.." She started as she lightly tugged on his arm to move it away from his face. He had his eyes closed, a way for him to hide his true feelings. "Look at me." He did. The green in his eyes bright with unshed tears. "You are not alone, you hear me." Her grip tightened, a way to prove it. "I know words don't mean much, if at all anything, but you are not alone." Hermione punctuated the last part with a tug on his arms, guiding her own arms up around his neck, pulling him down to her. It took a moment for Harry to react, but slowly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on tightly. His chin resting on her shoulder. "You have me. You have Ron, and the rest of the Weasley's. You Have Sirius, Lupin, McGonagall. You have so many people who care for you, who love you, and would do anything for you. You are not alone in this fight, Harry, so stop taking the burden all on your own. Share the weight of the world with me. With the others." Hermione squeezed tighter, giving him as much comfort as she could.
Harry squeezed back as tight as he could without causing pain. He took a shaky breath and tucked his face into the crook of her neck. It was odd for both of them. Their friendship had never reached the level where it was normal for them to hug and draw comfort from the other. It was just the way it was. But, for both of them now, it felt right, as if they had always done it and that it wasn't weird. If it was Ron that Hermione was hugging, she most likely would feel awkward. But for she and Harry, they never found awkwardness with anything. In fact if they thought really hard about it, Harry was the only person who Hermione felt the most comfortable with, except for her parents, but she couldn't talk about the war with her parents. It had its drawbacks. For Harry it was the same, although he didn't have parents to talk to. Hermione really was the only person he could feel completely comfortable with.
So he let go.
Hermione felt warm liquid drip down onto her neck before she realised what it was. Harry was crying. It was the first time that he had truly let go and accepted his emotions. Hermione drew him closer, if that were possible, and Harry did the same. He tightened his grip until it was borderline uncomfortable for them both.
They stood for a few minutes longer when Harry realised that he must have been standing for a couple hours in front of the fire before Hermione found him, so he felt his legs give out before him as he crumbled to the floor, dragging Hermione with him. She never let go and he never released her.
They both knelt there, arms wrapped around each other, when Hermione felt his breathing return to a comfortable rhythm. She moved her head off of his shoulder facing the boy growing into a man. She didn't let go of him, nor did she loosen her hold on him. Harry raised his own head and looked into her eyes. His emerald orbs were still shining, tear tracks drying on his cheeks.
Hermione released her right arm from around his neck and brought it up to his face, cupping his cheek. Harry leaned into her touch as she wiped away a stray tear with the pad of her thumb.
This was a dangerous situation for them both to be in. They knew that. They were both teenagers. Things could go badly really quickly or things could change for the better really quickly. It would only take a small movement and everything would change for them.
They had plans. They were at that age where they had an idea of what they wanted, who they wanted. But, as they looked into each other's eyes, emotions running high, those ideas were quickly squashed the ground as Harry briskly pushed forward and connected his lips to Hermione's soft pink ones. He knew she didn't love him back, and she knew that he didn't love her, but he couldn't resist. He pressed even harder against her lips, causing them to bruise. Merlin, he couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him. Her very smell was flooding his senses now. The smell of Vanilla and parchment hit him so suddenly that it caused him to pull back quickly. He stared into her eyes, looking for any sign from her, anything. But nothing.
"Sorry." Harry muttered, unwrapping his arms from around Hermione's waist and walking towards the boys dormitory. He didn't look back, it's possible that he had just ruined a perfectly good relationship with his best friend. But, if he did look back he would have seen Hermione had stood up and was stalking towards him.
Hermione grabbed his right arm and turned him around to face her. She saw the questioning look on his face but completely ignored it as she crushed her lips against his in an equally bruising kiss as Harry had given her. Harry was so surprised that he ended up stepping back and slamming his back against the wall with a small grunt, almost knocking off a portrait of sleeping wizards as he did so, dragging Hermione with him. Thankfully they never awoke.
Harry came to his senses, realising what was happening and took control. He pushed himself off of the wall, grabbed Hermione's hips and spun them around, crushing her to the wall. She gasped the impact and gave Harry the opening he was looking for. Harry pressed his tongue into Hermione's mouth, moaning at the sensation. Hermione reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck, playing with the nape of his hair, crushing her body impossibly closer to his. Harry groaned again at the movement.
It was a sloppy kiss with a strong scent of pumpkin juice intermingling with their breaths which were constant and hurried. Hermione moaned as she arched her back into him.
Unexpectedly, his hand drifted to her hip and she gasped as his skin made contact with her uncovered hip bone. Her shirt had risen up as a result of their frenzied kissing.
It was funny, and Hermione was completely unprepared. She would think that after all that time being around Harry and spending time with him - watching him talk, laugh and frown - that she would know all that there was to know about his lips. But she hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against her own.
A crash to their left caused them to separate so quickly it was as if they had burned each other. They looked around, thinking they had been caught red handed only to see that they had knocked into a plant pot. It lay on the ground smashed to pieces, the soil splattered around it, the flowers - white daisies - crushed and covered by the soil.
Harry and Hermione both looked at each other, finally noticing their appearances. Harry's black hair was tousled and messy, like it had dried without being combed. His shirt was untucked, a couple of buttons undone at the top, and his lips purple from being thoroughly kissed.
Hermione looked no better. Her hair which she had just learned to contain was also a mess, tendrils folded around each other and frizzy from the heat of their make-out session. Her shirt was also untucked, still revealing a small amount of her stomach, which she quickly tucked back in when she realised that Harry was staring at it. Her lips were also puffy and bruised.
An experience they would not forget too soon.
The pair had no expressions on their faces, they didn't smile or frown, they just looked at each other.
"Goodnight, Harry." Hermione quickly said, rushing past him to the girls dormitory across the room, leaving the daisies ignored. Harry watched after her.
"Goodnight, Hermione." It was a ghost of a whisper, but it was still words he felt he needed to say. He then also ignored the fallen daisies and continued his trip up the boy's dormitory.
As they both laid in their separate beds that night, unable to sleep, they both smiled and shyly hid themselves under their covers.
They would not talk about what happened.
It was their little secret.