Harry stumbled sleepily down the stairs from the boys’ dormitory, still troubled by his dreams of last year and the death of his godfather at the Ministry of Magic. Lately he was having more and more difficulty sleeping, and this last dream about Sirius was only one in a long series of nightmares.
Shadows flickered across the walls, the only light coming from the dying fire in the hearth. Harry rubbed his eyes blearily and made his way over to his favourite couch near the fire, only to realize that someone was already there. Hermione appeared to be fast asleep, slumped sideways over the arm of the couch, books and parchment scattered everywhere. Smiling affectionately at the familiar sight, Harry bent over to pick a couple of the larger tomes off the floor. As he leaned over, Hermione suddenly twitched and moaned in her sleep.
“No . . . no, I can’t . . .” she mumbled, thrashing her head back and forth fretfully. Harry looked more closely and noticed the beads of sweat glistening on her face. Was it the glow from the fire or was Hermione flushed? He raised his right hand and gingerly touched her cheek. It was burning hot!
“Hermione,” he whispered urgently. “Hermione, wake up . . .” he gently shook her shoulder, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. She was definitely feverish!
“Whaa . . . Harry?” Hermione looked up, her eyes unnaturally bright. She struggled to sit up. “I need to finish my Potions essay. I need . . .” She closed her eyes briefly and raised a hand to the side of her head as a wave of dizziness overtook her.
“Whoa there! Steady on,” said Harry, putting an arm around her and holding her tightly. “We need to take you up to Madame Pomfrey.”
“No. My essay,” Hermione insisted crossly. “I’m fine. I just fell asleep for a minute. Must finish . . .” she lowered her head, tears forming behind her eyes. “I must . . .”
Lifting her chin with his free hand, Harry used his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. “No, Hermione. You’re burning up. The only thing we ‘must’ do is get you up to the hospital wing. Here, let me help you up,” he coaxed, placing one hand under her right elbow and the other around her waist.
“Don’t wanna go to the hospital wing. I’m fine,” Hermione mumbled, resisting “Please Harry.” She hated feeling so weak, especially in front of Harry.
“Hermione,” Harry said tenderly, “You’re not fine. Please let me help you, O.K.? Humour me and just come and see Madame Pomfrey. If she says nothing is wrong, we’ll come right back and we’ll do our homework together. Deal?”
At first Hermione didn’t seem to hear him, but then she slowly nodded and let Harry help her to her feet. Almost immediately she began to tremble, shuddering with fever as a wave of weakness came over her, making her collapse back onto the cushions of the couch.
“Hermione!” Harry was really alarmed now, afraid that his friend was sicker than he’d thought.
“Just let me sleep . . . I need to just . . .” Hermione closed her eyes, still shivering.
Harry dropped down beside her and once again shook her gently. “Hermione, we have to get you to the infirmary. Right now! I’m going to go up and get Ron.”
“No,” Hermione clutched his sleeve, “please “ no.”
“If you don’t want Ron to see you like this, I can get Professor McGonagall,” Harry urged her.
“No! Just you, Harry. I just want you. Just . . . Harry.”
Harry didn’t know what shocked him more, having Hermione say she wanted him or seeing his strong-willed, independent friend so helpless. Strangely, it made him good to be needed like this by Hermione.
“All right,” he agreed softly. “I’ll be right back, O.K.?” Laying her down softly, he bolted off the couch and raced up to the boys’ toilet, returning almost immediately. “Here,” he said, “I saw my Aunt Petunia do this when Dudley had a fever once.” And he began to gently wipe Hermione’s flushed face with a towel which he had soaked in cold water.
“Oh, Harry, it’s so cold,” Hermione moaned, tried to pull away.
“I know honey, but it will help, trust me,” Harry said soothingly. “We’ve got to bring this fever down.”
Hermione seemed to understand and made no further protest as Harry continued wiping her face and then began sponging her neck.
“Mmmmmm “ does help,” she murmured with a wobbly smile. “You always know what to do. How come you always know? Always. My Har . . .” This last was said so softly that Harry wasn’t even sure he had heard her correctly. For some reason, the room seemed to be getting warmer. Maybe he was getting sick too?
“Er”um, I’m glad you feel good.” He cleared his throat, startling himself with the sound. “I mean, I’m glad it feels good; the cool towel I mean.” ‘Oh just shut up Harry,’ he thought in desperation. ‘You’re just making it worse. This is Hermione. Your best friend, know-it-all, always-there-when-you-need-her, beautiful Hermione. When did I notice how beautiful she is?’
“You think I’m beautiful,” Hermione asked in confusion. “Me?”
Harry closed his eyes in embarrassment. This couldn’t be happening. This was a nightmare. ‘Oh, brilliant! I must have said that last part out loud. Get a grip, Potter.’
He decided that evasion was the best course at this point. After all, his friend was running a very high fever and would probably not even remember any of this later. And if she did remember, maybe she would think she had been delirious and imagined the whole thing. Yes, that’s what would happen.
He felt an overwhelming desire to launch himself at her and snog her senseless right there and then.
‘Stop it!’ he told himself angrily. ‘She’s sick. What are you thinking? This is Hermione!’
“Harry?”
“Huh?”
“You think I’m beau. . .”
“I think you’re very sick, Hermione,” Harry interrupted quickly. “And we are going to take you to Madame Pomfrey right now. Yes, we sure are. Yep. Up we get.” Placing her hands around his neck, he grasped her firmly around the waist and raised her to her feet. “Just hang on to me and we’ll get you there.”
“But Harry, did you really say. . . ” Hermione didn’t get to finish the sentence.
“Yes! I really said we’re going to get you to Madame Pomfrey. That’s what I did”er”said. Yes.” Harry cut in, blushing. “Just hang on,” he repeated.
Harry was concentrating so hard on helping Hermione put one foot in front of the other that he didn’t notice the little smile playing around her lips. Despite feeling as if she had been run over by a truck while lying on burning coals, a wave of pleasure flowed over Hermione. Muddled thoughts of the boy she had loved for the past year and a half raced through her feverish brain. Did he really think she was beautiful? Did he think she was beautiful in an objective, friendly sort of way or in a nonobjective, feeling sort of way? Darn it, Hermione, stop analyzing everything to death, she scolded herself irritably. She couldn’t think straight. It was the fever. Yes, the fever. Having Harry’s arms around her while she clung to his neck had nothing to do with it. It was definitely the fever.
It was the fever, Harry thought. That’s why he was feeling so warm. Hermione’s fever was rubbing off on him. The warmth radiating from her body, the soft heat of her arms around his neck . . . He wished desperately that he could loosen his school tie. It felt like it was strangling him. Wait a minute “ he wasn’t wearing a tie. He was wearing his pajamas and robe. What was making his neck muscles so tight? It wasn’t Hermione’s arms. They weren’t tight, they were . . . soft. Soft and . . . Harry groaned out loud.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said sadly. “Shouldn’t have to be burdened. . . have enough to deal with. I c’n walk ‘n my own.” She took her arms from around his neck and promptly stumbled, staggering into the wall.
“Whoa, steady there.” Harry tightened his grip around her waist. “You are never a burden, Hermione. You’re the strongest, smartest girl at Hogwarts. What you are is sick.”
“Ohhhh, you really think I’m the smartest?” she smiled at him somewhat mistily. “And you said before you thought I was beau . . .”
‘Does she never let up?’ he thought to himself in frustration. ‘She’s like a dog with a bone.’
“You. Are. Sick.” He repeated firmly.
“I’m fine,” she insisted stubbornly. “I can . . . ohhhh!” and she almost fell through the portrait hole, Harry catching her just before she hit the floor.
“Honestly, Hermione, you are not only the strongest, smartest witch at Hogwarts, you are also the most stubborn!” Ignoring her weak protests, he put her hands around his neck again and swung her up into his arms. “Shhhh,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Please Hermione, let someone help you for once. You’ve always been there for me. Let me be the one to help you this time.”
“Not true. Always helping me. Always saving me. My Ha . . .” Hermione laid her head on his shoulder, hair flying out wildly in all direction. She seemed to have fallen into a restless sleep.
Harry smiled to himself as he blew a stray piece of soft brown hair away from his mouth. Then he bit his lip in worry as an idea occurred to him. She really must be delirious he thought cluelessly. She had always been the one to save him. Who saved them from Devil’s Snare in first year?; who figured out the secret of the Basilisk in second?; who helped rescue Sirius and Buckbeak in third?; who taught him the ‘Accio Firebolt’ that allowed him to get the dragon’s egg without getting fried in fourth?; who helped fight the deatheater’s and almost got herself killed last year in the Ministry of Magic? . . . it was Hermione. ‘It’s always been Hermione,’ he thought, as realization hit him like a lightening bolt.
Harry looked tenderly down at the girl he had been friends with for over five years. ‘It has always been Hermione. Why did I never see it before?’ She looked so lovely, caught up in a fever-induced sleep in his arms that he decided to risk a soft kiss on the top of her head. She stirred slightly, nestling closer to him with a sigh. He stiffened, worried that she might be waking up, but was reassured to see that her eyes remained closed.
Halfway to the hospital wing, Harry’s arms were aching from the weight of his best friend. Steadying his back against the wall of the corridor, he lowered himself and his precious burden to the ground for a brief rest. Hermione never stirred, except for the occasional feverish shiver, as he sat with her cradled on his lap. He took a minute to enjoy the sight of her smooth skin when he brushed the curls back from her neck.
“Harry?” Hermione slowly stirred, moving her face against his shoulder.
He smiled tenderly down at the top of her head. “It’s O.K. Hermione. I just stopped for a minute. Let’s go.”
“No. Don’t want to go. Want to stay here,” she said sleepily. “Just, so cold,” and she shivered.
“It’s the fever. You’re not really cold; you’re burning up with fever and it makes you feel hot one minute and cold the next,” Harry said soothingly.
“Ummmm,” she murmured, snuggling closer and seeming to fall back to sleep.
Harry closed his eyes as a plethora of sensations washed over him. Worry for Hermione, happiness at having her in his arms, confusion about what his newly awakened feelings for his best friend--his currently-very-ill best friend.
“Sorry Hermione,” we have to go.” He carefully pulled his legs out from under her and braced himself to pick her up once more. “Up we get.”
Somehow Harry managed to get them both the rest of the way to the hospital wing. The minute Madame Pomfrey saw the condition Hermione was in she pointed decisively to one of the beds and ordered Harry to place Hermione on top of the covers.
“You should have sent for Professor McGonagall, Potter,” she fussed. “This girl needs to be seen to at once.” Then noticing Harry’s downcast face, she added more kindly, “Well, at least you had the sense to bring her to me.”
“Is she going to be all right?” Harry asked anxiously.
“Oh, yes. I’ll have her all right and tight in no time,” Madame Pomfrey assured him. “I have just the potion to get rid of that fever. And she needs a couple of days bed-rest,” she noted firmly.
“Can I stay with her?” asked Harry worriedly.
“Stay with her? Here?” Madame Pomfrey said in a scandalized tone. “I think not! I’m going to be giving her a nice dreamless-sleep potion; you, Mr. Potter, need to get back to your dormitory and hope that you don’t come down with this yourself! Right then, off you go. I might let you and Mr. Weasley see her in the morning,” she said grudgingly, acknowledging the special relationship of “the trio.”
“But she needs me,” Harry said plaintively.
Madame Pomfrey’s eyes bulged. “Out!” she barked, pointing a stiff finger at the door.
Harry knew further argument would be useless, so he slunk dejectedly out of the room.
‘Wait a minute,’ he brightened. After all, what good was an invisibility cloak if you couldn’t use it to watch over your best friend (especially a best friend for whom you just realized you had “feelings”!).
Rushing back to the boys’ dormitory (“Wizard Wheezes” he gasped out to the Fat Lady”the current password was in honour of Fred and George and their support for Dumbledore over Umbridge), he tiptoed over to his chest and removed his cloak and Marauder’s Map. Through sheer luck he and Hermione had managed to avoid Filch on their way to the hospital wing; although if they had been caught, it wouldn’t have been a problem, since Hermione was so obviously sick, but he didn’t want to risk being seen going back. None of the other boys stirred as Harry quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, the sound of Ron’s snores drowning out any noise Harry might have made.
Careful not to make the slightest sound and alert Madame Pomfrey, whom he used to quite like before she began acting like a dragon guarding a princess, Harry opened the infirmary door and snuck over to Hermione’s bedside. He smiled to himself as he looked down at her: riotous cinnamon-brown curls spilled over the pillow and long eyelashes fanned down over rosy cheeks. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and gingerly touched the soft hair, smoothing an errant strand off her forehead. Then once again, he risked a gentle kiss on her flushed cheek. When she didn’t stir, he kissed her again, this time near the side of her mouth. He was relieved to find that she didn’t feel quite as hot as before. Turning to arrange the invisibility cloak around him as he sat down with his back to the wall, Harry failed to notice Hermione’s eyes open briefly.
**********************************************
“Harry? Harry? Wake up!”
A voice cut through Harry’s sleeping mind and he opened his eyes in confusion. A brownish-white blur was leaning over the side of the bed next to him, and he suddenly remembered where he was.
“Hey, Hermione! How’re you feeling?” he fumbled with his glasses, pushing them back up on the bridge of his nose. “Wait a minute, how did you know I was here?”
“Your foot, silly,” she laughed softly, pointing. Sure enough, Harry foot had slid out from under the cloak during the night, and a black and white trainer was poking out for anyone to see. “And to answer your question, I’m feeling much better.”
“That’s great,” he said, pulling off the invisibility cloak and smiling at her. “You really had us worried last night.” A pause. “Ummm . . . do you, err . . . I mean, do you remember much about it?” he asked, trying desperately to sound casual. “Being . . . being sick, I mean?”
Hermione smiled to herself as she tried to decide how to answer him. He looked so cute with his hair sticking up in all directions, his face flushed from sleep (and maybe something else?), and his clothes all wrinkled from being on the floor all night.
“I remember bits and pieces--falling asleep in the common room and then you waking me up. And then you . . .” Her eyes widened and Harry gave a start of horror. She remembered!
“You didn’t let me finish my potions essay,” she said accusingly. “Oh no! What time is it?” she scrambled around frantically in the bed. “Where are my shoes? Where are my robes? I have to get that essay finished before breakfast!”
Harry laughed out loud in relief. “Hermione, Madame Pomfrey wants you on bed-rest for at least another day. You don’t have to worry about old Snape--he’ll have to give you an extension.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Anyway, isn’t that essay due next week?”
“Well, yes,” Hermione admitted, “but I can’t let myself get behind. We take our N.E.W.T.s next year and there really isn’t any time to waste. You’ve started your essay, haven’t you Harry?”
Harry rolled his eyes at the familiar bossy tone that had crept into her voice. “I’ll start it today, Hermione. Now, you just concentrate on getting better. It’s still really early, so I’m going to go and take a shower before the other guys get up and then I’ll let Ron know you’re here.”
“Harry,” she said softly. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, blushing. “It was nothing special.”
“Oh, I think it was pretty special indeed,” she smiled. “I’m no lightweight, you know.” And she reached out her hand to cover his.
“Yes you are,” he argued. “It was no trouble at all.” Then his blush deepened and he gulped. “You . . . you, err, you . . .”
“I what, Harry?” Hermione inquired innocently. But there was a definite twinkle in her eye.
Harry fiddled absent-mindedly with her hand as his brain flew wildly in every direction. Her hand felt so soft, so smooth, so . . .
“Harry?”
“Huh?”
“I what?”
“I, er, I just wondered . . . You remember? Last night, I mean. I mean”being sick.” By now he had a death-grip on her hand and Hermione winced slightly. “Oh, sorry,” he said, mortified, letting go.
“Yes, I remember,” she smiled shyly at him. “And you don’t need to be sorry. Just don’t hold it quite so tightly next time.”
“Oh, right,” he stammered. “Wait--next time?”
Their eyes met. Harry’s face was hot with colour. His hands were starting to sweat and chills ran up and down his entire body; Hermione was flushed and trembling, blushing deliciously.
“Well, yes,” she said nervously. “That is, if you,”
“Yes,” Harry blurted out abruptly. “I mean, that is . . .”
His voice dwindled away and his eyes dropped down to where her hand lay, small and gently curved on the white sheet. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out and took her hand again, gently tangling his fingers with hers. A tiny smile played around his lips and the two stayed, hands entwined, for what seemed like an eternity, neither speaking, neither wanting the moment to end. Then Hermione made a small sound and emerald eyes met brown.
Harry felt as if he were in a dream. His heart pounded in his ears as he tentatively lowered himself to his knees beside the bed, reaching out to cradle the back of Hermione’s head with his free hand. Then, almost in a trance, he leaned forward and touched her lips with his in the softest whisper of a kiss.
“Hermione . . .”
“Harry . . .”
“I . . .”
“Me too,” she breathed out on a sigh. Both were trembling, eyes downcast, then Hermione let out a watery gurgle.
“What is it, Hermione?” he asked nervously. To his horror he saw a tear trickle down her cheek. “What . . . Oh, umm--” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry?” he croaked. What was wrong with his voice he wondered frantically, his mind shooting wildly about. “Please don’t cry, Hermione. Please! I’m sorry, I--” He wiped at the tear with a shaking thumb.
“Oh Harry,” Hermione interrupted, looking at him in amused pity. “You are such a hopeless git sometimes. I’m crying because I’m happy!”
“I am? You are? You are?” he repeated dubiously. “You mean, you didn’t mind””
Instead of answering, Hermione raised her hand and tugged forcefully at the back of Harry’s head. “Honestly, Harry. What am I to do with you? You are so--umffff”
The rest of her words were cut off when Harry bent down rather desperately and pressed his lips to hers. Waves of pleasure crashed through his body and his stomach clenched almost painfully as his mind ceased to function. Everything was sensation. The fragrant scent of Hermione--vanilla and peaches; the texture of her body--soft and yielding; the taste of her lips . . .” Caught up in the moment and unable to think, Harry instinctively relaxed his mouth and caught her upper lip between his lip and tongue.
Hermione sighed softly, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck and tentatively touching his tongue with hers. Harry let out a sound halfway between a groan and a gasp and, reaching out with both arms, gathered Hermione tightly to his chest. He shivered as Hermione’s fingers began playing with the damp hair at the nape of his neck, her mouth warm on his.
A few minutes later, the two teens pulled apart, panting for air, foreheads pressed together.
“That was . . . that was--” Harry gulped.
“Amazing.” She brushed away his rather sweaty bangs. “Now, about last night. Did you really say you thought I was beau . . .”
Harry groaned.