Harry, je t'aime by MyUsedRomance

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 24/08/2006
Last Updated: 24/08/2006
Status: Completed

A denied love. A whispered sin. Hanging onto the string of sanity before the last battle.
Wishing for one night to chase their dreams and forget reality. When "I love you" is not
enough, you look for other words. "Harry never thought that a simple peck on the lips would
bring him a taste of infinity. He never thought that a simple peck on the lips would want him to
stop time. To discover life. To discover himself because he was whole again." One-shot.




1. Harry, je t'aime
-------------------

A/N: Ok, so this pop up in my head and I just had to write it. The title was created from a
movie title I thought Orlando Bloom was going to be in. I don’t know if he is going to do that
movie anymore ( *Paris, je t’aime* ). Well, this is one-shot. I hope you like it.

*Harry, je t’aime*

A slim young man looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was eighteen years old. Yet, the
dark circles under his eyes made him look twice his age. His dark hair was still long and messy. He
traced the scar on his forehead. It still burned from the nightmare he had been having. It seemed
real. He knew it was real. But it hadn’t happened yet. It was the future. He only hoped that a girl
- no woman, he reminded himself - with bushy brown curls would not fall to the ground, dead.

Shivering at the image, he splashed more water to his face. It was a little past five in the
morning. Even though he felt tired, sleeping seemed to be part of another him. Another world that
had died years ago.

He put his glasses back on and saw the truth he had tried to hide since he started his journey:
Harry Potter was scared.

All of the Hocruxes had been destroyed. All of the Hocruxes had asked for a sacrifice. There was
only one of them left. Nagini had to be destroyed along with her master, Voldemort.

Harry walked back to his room and started dressing. He pull his dark black jeans up. They were a
little loose, but he didn’t care. He reached for a t-shirt from his drawer and smiled when he
noticed it was the one that Hermione had chosen for him when they had gone to *Diagon Alley*
to shop for supplies. She had wanted him to have more clothes that could fit him; that were meant
to be his and not hand-me-downs.

He exited his room and walked quietly to the library. After picking a book from the shelf, he
sat on the love seat near the fireplace. He opened the book where a bookmark had been left by him
the previous night. It was *Hogwarts: A History*.

That was all he had been doing on the last week at Godric’s Hollow. He would sit for hours on
the love seat and read *Hogwarts: A History*. Why? For the simple pleasure of knowing what
Hermione knew. Hermione. She would usually bring him a mug of hot chocolate and sit in front of him
with a book in her hands. He would sometimes look at the way she read and found her expressions
endearing; the way she thought something was ridiculous or interesting, the way she wanted to find
more facts or think of another world. But they never spoke. The final battle was never once
mentioned during those nights. They had agreed to forget it all.

He had been reading about the enchanted staircases in the castle when he noticed (or more like
felt) Hermione’s presence in the room.

“Ron left,” she said. She wasn’t surprised to see him at six thirty in the morning reading a
book.

“I thought I heard him leave.”

“He’s coming back in two days.”

Harry nodded. “I hope he can enjoy his family as much as he can.” *It may be the last time he
sees them*.

Harry looked up at Hermione and saw her eyes becoming teary. It was his fault. Her parents were
killed by Death Eaters seven months ago. They had been tortured and the house was left
unrecognizable. Harry could not even console her when it had happened. He was too worried about
hurting more people because they had already hurt the most important person in his life. She never
blamed him. Instead, she console him.

Hermione closed her book and looked at him. He noticed that her cheeks had turned a bit pink.
“I’ll go make breakfast. Would you like anything especial today?”

*A young girl was calling his name. She had blood all over herself. He saw her brown eyes
disappear.*

“Harry?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well-uh- I’ll bring it here.” She turned to leave but his voice stopped her.

“No. I-we’ll eat downstairs if you don’t mind.”

He saw the surprise in her eyes. He had stopped eating downstairs after an image had appeared in
his mind. It was of his father and mother eating breakfast and laughing as a little boy played with
his meal. He had stood up and had ran up to his room. He never set foot on the kitchen again.

Hermione nodded and left with a smile on her face. He knew that she somehow had found out what
had happened.

They ate silently that morning. Hermione noticed that he would sometimes have this far away look
on his face. He seemed to be somewhere else with someone that was not her.

When he was done he looked up and smiled at her. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Harry-”

“I’ll be upstairs, Hermione. If you need anything, tell me.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

*I need you.*

Hermione had noticed that Harry had purposely pushed her and Ron away. They had had their fights
about it as well. But she got tired of them. She got tired of reminding him everyday that he would
never be alone. That she would never leave him. She got tired because he made her cry each time
they fought. Yet, she never showed him her tears because that would mean weakness. She had to be
strong for him.

Looking at her watch, she realized that she had been seating there for more than an hour. She
wiped the tears away from her eyes and started cleaning the table. When she was done, she started
cleaning the house. That’s how Harry found her.

“Hermione, what are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“Yes, I see. But you do realize that the house is clean.”

She didn’t bothered answering him. Hermione kept cleaning the table.

“Hermione.”

She moved to the sofa and started fixing the cushions.

“Hermione.”

She moved towards the kitchen. Harry took her arm and stopped her. She kept her head down.

“Please tell me what’s happening.”

His voice was hopeful and frightened. He wanted to know the answer, but he didn’t think he could
handle it.

“I’m scared. Sometimes, I just want to turn from it all, like a blind man. But I can’t.”

“Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry.” He took her in his arms. “I should’ve known. I shouldn’t have
brought you into this mess. I-”

“Stop it Harry,” she looked into his eyes and thought about the last time she had truly seen
them. “I’m not scare about the war. I’m scare about you. I don’t want to lose you. If anything
happened to you, I - I don’t know... I truly do not know what will happen to me because - because I
believe there won’t be a Hermione without you anymore!” She hugged him tighter, not wanting him to
disappear. She felt Harry's arms envelop her, assuring her that he was not going to leave her.
At least, not yet. If one where to watch the couple, they would not be able to see where one
started and the other one begun. There were lines and curves, but no ends.

“You will never lose me,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, you will *never* lose
me.”

“Promise me.”

He thought of the war. He thought of Voldemort. He thought of the chances against him. Of the
chances that he could survive. He didn't know if he would survive. But at the moment in time,
it didn’t matter. He knew then that he had a reason to survive. And one to die for.

“I promise.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Together, they walked to Harry’s bedroom. They lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. They
would do this once in a while. When they needed each other. When they secretly wanted each
other.

“I’m scare too, Hermione. Everyone tells me that the only way to kill him is to believe in
love... Hermione, I’ve been coming up with love but it’s so slashed and torn...”

“No Harry, it’s not.” She turned her head to see him. “You still have me. Harry...” she turned
her body and now she was fully facing him. She removed his bangs away from his scar and kissed
it.

He felt the warmth of her lips on his skin. It burned, but it didn’t hurt. It chilled him, but
it wasn’t cold. He felt the collision. The friction. The pleasure. He closed his eyes.

She started planting kisses on his eyes, cheeks, nose and finally on his lips.

Harry never thought that a simple peck on the lips would bring him a taste of infinity. He never
thought that a simple peck on the lips would want him to stop time. To discover life. To discover
himself because he was whole again.

He looked into the eyes of a goddess. Into the eyes of Hermione.

Hermione.

Hermione.

Hermione.

“Hermione.” It was barely a whisper. She only heard him because of their proximity.

“Harry, I-” But she didn’t want to say *I love you*. She knew that he deserved more. She
knew that he had heard those words. That those words had only been spoken, but not felt. She felt
it. She tasted it. She touched it and heard it. She lived it. “Harry, je t’aime.”

“Uh?” His look was sincere. His look was Harry. Just Harry. Her Harry.

She smiled and said it again. “Je t’aime. Te Amo. I love You.”

She didn’t see his reaction, but felt it instead. He kissed her.

When breathless, they finally parted. His eyes had a different shade of green, ones she had
never seen before and it scared her to know that it was because of her. She had caused this to
happen. She had made him feel something different. Something new. Something that was them.

“I love you too.”

All memories of his nightmares vanished. He wasn’t scare to lose her because he knew they would
always have each other, no matter what. Yet, he was scare of having her because he did not know a
limit when it came to her. He was scared of the things he could do for her.

“This is our last night to chase our dreams.”

“No. This is the first one.”

*The End*

A/N: So? Tell me what you think. Did you like it? Hate it?

Some of the lines said in this story are from a song, Under Pressure by David Bowie and Queen.
They inspired me to write the story as well. So thanks to Orlando, David, and Queen you have this
story! Lol.

If you haven’t noticed, *je t’aime* and *te amo* mean I love you in French and
Spanish.

Please review. I want to know what you think. Thank you!

Valia



