Disclaimer: Nope. I’m not JK Rowling. This will become fairly obvious as the story progresses and my lack of brilliance shines through. Therefore, all recognizable characters belong to her and her alone. Only the plot is mine.
Author’s note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far”I read and appreciate each review more than you can know! Now without further ado--Chapter 4. Hope you like!
WAKING UP HARRY
Chapter Four: The Best-Laid Plans
The only member of the trio who managed any decent sleep that night was Ron, who decided that if his two best friends were going to crack up, his losing sleep would be of no earthly use to either of them.
Meanwhile, Hermione had retreated to her dormitory in such a state of agitation that she simply couldn’t settle down. She was also quite angry with herself for her entirely unplanned show of emotion and was convinced that Harry must think her completely mad. Sensible Hermione and Hermione-in-Love were at it again.
‘Well you’ve done it now, Granger,’ Sensible Hermione snorted. ‘That was a right lovely temper tantrum you threw down there.’
‘I know!’ wailed Hermione-in-Love, ‘I know! What was I thinking? I just felt so embarrassed about the whole charms-transfiguration fiasco; I made a complete fool out of myself.’
‘That you did,’ agreed Sensible Hermione, a trace of pity in her tone. ‘You behaved like a total ass. Poor Harry.’
‘Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?’ protested Hermione-in-Love.
‘Ours, of course. But honestly! Storming off in a temper like the heroine of a Grade B movie was hardly a part of The Plan. I warned you about scaring him away.’ Sensible Hermione sounded just a bit smug.
‘I don’t remember you having any brilliant ideas the last time I asked!’ Hermione-in-Love snapped. ‘Besides, he’s my best friend. One wonky mood-swing will not scare him away.’
‘Won’t help any either,’ Sensible Hermione noted dryly.
Huffing and grumping, Hermione tossed and turned, making so much noise that her unfortunate roommates finally advised her to either shut up and let them sleep or take herself somewhere far away. This of course improved her mood considerably. She muttered a quick “Silencio,” and spent the next two hours behind her bed-curtains, grumbling and mumbling to herself.
By 1 a.m. she had given up the idea of sleep entirely. Throwing open her bed-curtains, she grabbed a worn book from her bedside table and flounced down to the deserted common room, dragging a fluffy blanket behind her. The fire was still lit and gave off a soft glow of warmth and light. Plunking herself down into the depths of the cushy couch, she threw open her favourite comfort book (“Hogwarts: A History”) and immersed herself in its pages, eventually lulled to sleep by the soothing, familiar story.
In the interim, in his dormitory, Harry was flinging sheets and tossing blankets, trying to get comfortable. His anger was gradually turning to worry. What on earth had he done to make Hermione so upset? And if it wasn’t something he did, then who or what was to blame? No doubt about it”something was bothering her, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was. It just wasn’t like her to flare up over nothing; his Hermione was usually so sensible.
Maybe Ron was right; maybe it was “that time” of the month. That would explain the whole screwing-up-her-face-in-pain earlier. But then the other things: the cheek-stroking . . . the delicious peachy-fresh scent of Hermione. . . her unnatural obsession with her charms book (transfiguration, eh? Ha!) . . . Hermione’s soft hair (and hands) . . . Argh!
Either way, Harry thought, it was obviously one of those female things that a man could simply not be expected to fully understand. Eventually, his exhausted mind sank into slumber.
Tendrils of thought wove their way through his sleeping mind. Luna helping a terrified Hermione onto the thestral . . . Hermione seizing his arm, “You can’t hurt a baby!” . . . Hermione praising him, “Well done, Ha--” before being hit by a purple flame from a Death Eater’s wand and crumpling motionless on the floor . . . Harry panicking . . . “Don’t let her be dead, don’t let her be dead, it’s my fault if she’s dead . . .” over and over and over. Paralyzed with fear . . . unable to think, unable to help her . . . Then, Neville, nose broken and bleeding, carrying a limp Hermione . . . Ginny injured . . . Ron fighting the brain . . . Luna thrown . . . the veil . . . Sirius falling . . .
“Noooooooo!” Harry yelled. He sat up abruptly, cold sweat trickling down his back, hands shaking.
“Ahhhh!” yelped Seamus. “What the . . .”
Neville groaned.
“Urmffff,” from the direction of Ron’s bed.
“Harry?” whispered Neville. “You all right?”
“Yeah, just a dream,” Harry said hoarsely. “Go back to sleep, Nev.”
Harry waited until he heard the familiar symphony of snores and heavy breathing then, as quietly as possible, put on his glasses and got out of bed. Pulling on an old T-shirt of Dudley’s and wearing a pair of tartan flannel pyjama bottoms, he padded barefoot down to the common room and headed for the couch. There he was greeted by the sight of Hermione, fast asleep with her face buried in a book and snuggled up in a large fluffy blue blanket
Tiptoeing over to her, careful not to disturb her, Harry smiled at the trickle of drool soaking into the pages of the text. Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed a stray curl from the corner of her mouth. He really should wake her up, he thought. She’d have a sore neck in the morning. But the sweetness of the sight touched him and slowly, tenderly, he eased himself down beside her. Her very presence was comforting and he concentrated on slowing his ragged breathing and quieting the trembling in his hands.
“Haaarrry?” Hermione’s voice came out husky with sleep. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she slowly raised her head and turned to him.
Harry noticed that Hermione was wearing a rather voluminous flannel nightgown and a pair of silly beagle slippers with floppy ears. Her hair was in disarray from sleep and messy, fuzzy tendrils curled around her face, lit to gold by the dying fire. A pink imprint on her cheek still showed an impression from the material of the couch. He had never seen anything quite as lovely.
“Harry!” she said, more urgently. “What’s wrong? What are you doing down here?” She put a hand over his. “Harry, you’re shaking!”
Not thinking about Stage Two or any phase of The Plan, only worried about her Harry, she reached out and put her arm around him. “Harry, what is it?”
Harry leaned his head against hers and sighed. “Just the same old thing, Hermione. The same dream as always.” Her hair, her skin, felt soft and warm against his.
“Sirius,” she said sympathetically. It was not a question. “Oh Harry.” With one arm she tugged at her blanket and brought it around to cover both of them. Her other arm came up and engulfed him in a gentle hug. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
It felt so good; being with Hermione felt so good that Harry let his head drop down to her shoulder. Then he paused for a moment, waiting, almost afraid to breath.
This was the closest Harry had ever been to his best female friend in such an intimate setting and he wondered fuzzily how she felt about this. About him. About him like . . . this.
Cautiously, he allowed his head to sink down deeper still, until the side of his forehead was tucked into the grove at Hermione’s neck. The nightmare which just minutes ago had such a strong grip was rapidly fading into oblivion, pushed away by even more powerful emotion.
Hermione gave a muted sigh and continued to hug him. Her curly hair tickled his jaw, the blanket was squashy and cozy, and he could smell the warm, familiar scent of peaches. Harry had never before felt so aware that Hermione was his female best friend.
Hesitating, marvelling, he reached out and wove both hands around Hermione’s waist.
‘He’s holding me. Harry’s holding me and I’m holding him! He’s . . . we’re . . .’
Hermione was experiencing the most unbelievable sensation; what felt like warm honey was trickling down ever so slowly from her abdomen to her toes. The rhythm of her heart-beat pounded in her ears, pounded loudly, and she wondered if Harry could hear. Breathing was becoming tricky. In an attempt to compose herself, she began stroking his hair, weaving her fingers in and out of the messy black strands.
Harry had never felt so content, so happy, so . . . well . . . so downright blissful.
The two stayed like that, neither saying a word, for a long while, until Harry noticed that the proximity to Hermione was having a peculiar effect on him. Even though the terror of his nightmare had worn off, his heart-rate was speeding up again, he felt dizzy, and he had to fight to control his trembling.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked himself, mystified. ‘What’s wrong with me? This is Hermione. Hermione! The same Hermione who has been my best friend for over five years. The same Hermione who squabbles with Ron over every little thing. The same Hermione who spent hours teaching me the summoning charm in fourth year. The same Hermione who nags and lectures Ron and me about homework. The same Hermione who has given up sleep more times than I can count, searching for spells and charms to help me and keep me safe. When did she get this much smaller than me?’ he wondered. ‘When did she stop being Hermione, one of my two best friends, and become Hermione, my best female friend? And yet, she’s more than that. All this horrible stuff I’m going through--without her, without Hermione, I don’t think I could take it. I couldn’t keep going . . . She’s . . .she’s just . . . more.’
Harry’s mind stalled; he was aware of Hermione, of her warm, soft, peachy presence, with every fiber of his being.
Hermione was experiencing the same phenomena: thumping heart, incoherent thoughts, and quivering limbs. She felt as if she might faint. She, however, did not think this strange at all. Hermione knew precisely why she was melting into a quivering puddle of goo.
Both teens pulled away at the same time and peeked hesitantly at each other; Harry’s eyes wide and startled.
“Hermione, I . . .”
Their eyes locked. Hermione’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid that now he would hear it. Harry’s eyes were a deep, glowing emerald and she could drown in them.
“Harry, I’m sorry I was such a prat earlier tonight. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean--”
“Shhhh. It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry whispered, putting a hand over her mouth to stop her flow of words.
Silence.
Harry’s heart throbbed in his throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen supply. His cheeks burned, and he felt light-headed, as if all the blood was rushing away from his brain. Her eyes were so dark”like pools of rich chocolate syrup. Without conscious thought, he found himself leaning forward, falling closer and closer into those chocolate pools; his hand moving unconsciously from her mouth to the side of her cheek.
‘Oooh! Harry’s skipping over Stage 2 part E. Each stage was supposed to take at least two weeks, but he’s going straight towards . . .’
Hermione’s eyes started to drift shut, her body relaxing towards him, while her internal babble died away.
‘. . . straight towards Stage . . .’
“ZZZZZ!” A loud snore blasted through the open doorway of the boys’ dorm, followed by a crash and the sound of frenzied swearing.
“RON!” they said in unison.
Snapping out of his daze, Harry hauled himself up. “I . . . I g-guess I’d better go ch-check on him.” He fought to regain command of his voice. “Sometimes he snores so loudly he wakes himself up and falls out of bed. He’ll go right back to sleep and won’t even remember it in the morning, but unless I shut him up he’ll wake up the whole tower.”
‘Darn it! Why couldn’t he stay in the bloody bed or at least fall out of bed quietly, just this once. Why didn’t I shut that blasted door?’ Then, ‘Wait a minute. What was I doing? What were we doing? What was I thinking? If Ron hadn’t made that racket, I would have kissed Hermione! I would have kissed Hermione! HERMIONE!’ he finished with a mental shout.
“Yeah. Sounded like he fell pretty hard,” Hermione said, laughing. But inside, ‘Darn you, Ronald Weasley! WHY couldn’t you have waited just one more minute!’
“Well, you go see if he’s okay. I guess I’ll head up to bed. Goodnight, Harry,” she said a little shyly.
“G’night, Hermione.” But she had already started up the stairs and didn’t catch his bemused stare.