Author's Note: That's right, I'm back. Whether that's a good or bad thing to you, I'm not sure, but deal with it either way. I wasn't updating because I was going through a, um, difficult time in my life and I needed a few weeks to just sort things out. Writing is my passion, though, and I couldn't just leave all yous. That would be cruel...well, that was totally unjustified because I'm cruel towards Hermione by pulling her through terrible stuff. I'm not even sure if my previous sentence made any sense whatsoever to anybody. I figured that I would "speed things up", if you're catching my drift. You guys deserve some kind of romantic scene after waiting for so long :)

And special thanks to Sky (SkyTreader62) not only for reading this chapter beforehand and giving her input, but for understanding when I began going through my difficult situation. Thanks, girl. You're amazing and awesome and the bomb Now you all better read her stories after reading and reviewing this, or Eliza Markovitch will come after you!

Super-quick Recap: (If you have NOT read any of the other chapters, then by reading the recap you are spoiling the element of surprise. Your choice.) The trio got back at Hogwarts, and people keep bugging Hermione about what had happened to her. She is scheduled to have "counceling sessions" with Eliza Markovitch, her scary-looking Comforter (a.k.a. guidance counselor, if you will), once a week.

Tears of a Mourning Bookworm

Chapter Eight: Realization of Beauty

"I mean, can you believe the nerve? I want Markovitch dead! Dead! I suppose I would loose my prefect's badge if I actually killed her, but still – Oh, Harry, hi!" She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to look calm and relaxed with the "don't worry about me" look upon her reddened face.

Harry was sitting in the common room, where he had been for the past hour waiting for Hermione. She was acting more like herself every day, but Harry wasn't sure if it was a natural process or if she was trying to disguise her pain.

Harry stood up, fuming already, wondering what had occurred at the "counseling session" Hermione had with Eliza Markovitch.

"What happened?" he asked as he rushed to her side and pushed her wheelchair beside the couch that he was previously sitting on.

"First of all, Harry, you don't need to push my wheelchair for me. I can move it myself." But he spotted a smile and an addition of redness that had nothing to do with her outburst of anger just before. "And I can kind of walk!" she added, protesting, as he easily picked her up and carried her to the seat next to him.

"Tell me what Markovitch did," Harry said. "I don't have a prefect badge to loose."

"Well," she began, breathing in deeply, "she asked me to recall what happened to…you know…my…parents." Hermione choked out the word parents with a lot of apparent effort. "And…I told her no, but we got in this whole argument…really pointless to call it counseling…"

"Oh God," he muttered, absently reaching for her hand and holding it tightly in his. "Hermione, I'll talk to Dumbledore about this. He'll -- "

"Don't," Hermione said the one thing Harry hadn't been expecting. "You're too...protective. Really, I'm fine. That little rant of mine wasn't necesssary. It really really wasn't."

This left Harry speechless. He gazed at her chocolate brown eyes, both realizing their beauty and trying to understand why she was saying all this. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to say, but before he could open his mouth, Hermione spoke again.

"I know that you want to help me. I really do appreciate everything you've done," she said gently. She applied pressure to his hand quickly before continuing. "But..."

"But what?" Harry asked desperately, finally finding his voice.

"I'm...I'm annoying, aren't I? I feel like I'm such a burden for you. Like you feel like you have to take care of me all the time, and you have much more important things to worry about," Hermione admitted.

Harry blinked at her.

She thought she was annoying. She thought she was a burden. She thought that he had more important things to worry about.

"Hermione," he began.

"Don't!" she interupted. "Dont say that I'm wrong! You have to worry about Voldemort, not this burden in a wheelchair! When Markovitch asked me to repeat what happened, it made me think. Here's me, in a bloody wheelchair, and I'm all you've been worrying about. Me. There are more important things. Worry about yourself. I'll be fine. I am fine."

Harry, his motions quick so that she didn't have time to protest, carried to her to his lap. Hermione was looking away from him. Her eyes were focused upon the grand fireplace, her eyes reflecting the deep fire. He could spot a potential tear in the corner of each eye. For the second time that night, he swallowed hard, wondering how to put his thoughts into words correctly.

"You're not fine," Harry whispered in her ear.

He felt her shiver against him. Hermione shook her head, her chin trembling.

"I-I'm fine," she argued, her voice as smooth as silk itself. "I have to be strong, anyways." She seemed to be talking to herself more than to him, as though she were in a desperate attempt to convince herself that what she said was true.

He closed his eyes. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Especially not around me. I understand."

Harry opened his eyes only to see Hermione looking straight at him, her face inches away from his own. He realized just now that her legs were on either side of him. If someone were to walk into the common room right now, a very wrong assumption would probably be made. But Harry didn't care if Tom Riddle himself walked in the room at that moment, because Hermione was gently leaning towards him and his breath quickened and his heart was racing and she looked beautiful. Beautiful.

This scared Harry. This was Hermione, his best friend, and he somehow found her beautiful. This young woman, so hurt, leaning towards him, was beautiful.

However, Hermione ended up resting her head against his chest. "I don't know if I told you this," she said, "but thank you, Harry. For everything. I owe you." She chuckled.

He absentmindedly stroked her brown hair. "You don't owe me anything."

"I'm still a burden, though."

"No," he whispered. "You never were a burden, you are not a burden now, and you never will be a burden."

"I -- "

"Shh, Hermione. Don't argue with me and accept the fact that I care about you and you're very important to me, no matter how dangerous Voldemort may be."

He saw her nod against him. She suddenly sat up, facing him and her cheeks stained with tears. This time, when she leaned towards him, she didn't rest her head against his chest.

For some reason that Harry couldn't quite explain at that moment, he was disapointed when her lips did not meet his lips, but instead his cheek. Her lips were extremely soft, even if it was just an innocent peck against his cheek.

Hermione away by a few centimeters and he could feel her hot breath trickle against his skin. Harry looked off to the side, where he met her gaze was. She was smiling.

It wasn't the fake smile that she had tried to pull off lately. It was a smile that displayed nothing but pure happiness. Without thinking, and not being sure if it really mattered whether either of them were thinking at that moment, Harry put his right hand on her cheek and gently stroked it. Hermione closed her eyes and smiled once more, leaning into his hand.

Harry had to admit that if he had been thinking thoroughly about common knowledge, he never would have done it. He wouldn't have been holding her face in both hands now. He wouldn't have dared to touch his best friend in such a nonplatonic way like this. He wouldn't have even considered kissing her if he were to think about Ron's and Ginny's feelings. But for once, Harry wasn't thinking about anyone but him and Hermione and how badly he wanted to kiss her.

And then he finally stopped to think about Hermione's feelings: would she back away? Would she be okay with it? Although it might've ruined the moment, Harry knew he had to ask for permission, especially with a such a currently fragile person like Hermione.

He leaned towards her face just a bit closer. But before he spoke, Hermione whispered, "Kiss me."

This caught him off guard. "W-What?" he stammered, immediately feeling idiotic afterwards.

"I said: kiss me. I want you to kiss me."

Author's Note: Romantic cliffys are the best...except for, you know, the fact that it's a dang cliffy. But other than that, they're chill, I think. Please review, even if you're mad at me for not updating for a while. I still reply to each review personally :)