Fic: A Comforting Gesture, Harry/Hermione, PG
Title: A Comforting Gesture
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Hermione (mentions of R/Hr)
Word Count: About 2,000
Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I just like to play with her characters. ;)
Summary: There isn’t anything more natural then realizing what she means to him. She has always been a constant in his messy life, a source of warmth, support and advice, but most of all, she is someone who understands him.
Notes: Many thanks to jacyevans for the lovely beta! Enjoy!
A Comforting Gesture
It is to him she comes, him she searches for, himhimhim she huddles close to, and Harry can’t quite understand it.
Hermione has been having nightmares, cruel, ugly dreams she can barely share with her friends. It has been like this ever since they started their hunt down the remaining horcruxes, or maybe it started when Dumbledore died. Harry doesn’t recall, and neither does Hermione. Hours and days and weeks and months have all been a blur, a carefully studied puzzle that none of them have been able solve.
She made an attempt to assemble that puzzle for herself. Ron asked her to be his girlfriend, and she accepted with a smile, happy that he’d finally opened his eyes to what was right in front of him all along.
Yet, when Hermione wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp for air, a little shriek, or trembling hands covering her eyes, she reaches for Harry.
Not Ron.
No, never Ron.
At first, Harry thinks it is a mistake. Of course he wants to comfort his best friend, but he wonders why Hermione would turn to him, and not Ron. After all, Ron is her boyfriend, not Harry.
So when she shakes him awake for the first time, whispering the horrors of the night in his ear, he says, “Hermione, it’s me. Harry.”
“Yes, I know.”
Silence falls over them, but Hermione bravely asks him, “Can I lie with you, Harry? Please, I don’t want to be alone.”
He loves Hermione, and he doesn’t want to hurt her in any way, so he nods in the darkness and pulls her close to him. Her breath is warm on his cheeks and his chest as she huddles close to him.
He only hopes that Ron won’t see them like this the following morning.
*
When Harry wakes up, he stretches just so he can feel her shudder against his side. He stares at her flushed cheeks. He could see the spots on the bedsheets where a couple of tears have dried.
Harry sighs and rests his fingers against her forehead. She feels warm, incredibly warm. He bends his head silently, careful not to wake her, and his lips touch the skin right beneath the curls on her forehead. Hoping she didn’t have another tough night, he breaks away from her and tiptoes to the bathroom.
The rustling of water from the shower must have woken her, because when he enters the room again, Hermione is sitting on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed in an awkward position.
“Thank you, Harry.”
*
So it becomes a sort of a ritual, a silent agreement that Hermione will be able to sleep next to Harry whenever she needs to. They never speak a word to Ron about it, and during the day, they try to act as if everything is normal - if they can call their present situation normal at all.
During the day, she is intimate with Ron. She spends time with Harry too, of course, and no less than she used to, but she was with Ron, his best mate, and Harry still couldn’t quite understand it.
Not when she crawls next to him, whispering thoughts of panic and despair and Idon’twanttoloseyoucanIholdyou?
It always breaks his heart when he sees her like this, so he hugs her tightly to his chest and forgets - about Ron, about everything.
He should always forget.
*
He has seen them kissing before. It had always been a normal, natural thing to him. Ron had been crushing on Hermione since their fourth year. Yet it feeels strange now, in ways Harry couldn’t explain, not even to himself.
His world turned upside down when she first crawled into his bed, telling him she needed him the most.
*
They fight a lot, and Harry becomes sick of it, and he knows Hermione has to be too. They bicker over silly things, like burned toast and tasteless gifts and Crookshanks. He thinks they have better things to be mad about, what with the war raging and them not quite succeeding in their quest for horcruxes.
Sometimes, Hermione leaves the room in tears of fury, and knocks on Harry’s door only minutes later.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he smiles and tells her it will be okay. “We’re all very tense at the moment,” he says.
She looks up at him and asks him if he honestly believes that.
Before he can give it a thought, she is gone, hurrying towards her own bedroom and shutting her door with a loud bang.
*
Harry is surprised when she returns only ten minutes later.
“You okay there?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern.
Hermione sits down next to him, and forces a small smile. “I’m so sorry I acted like that, Harry. I really didn’t mean... what I said, and I didn’t want to take it out on you…”
He smiles back at her warmly. “You don’t have to be sorry, Hermione. I know it’s tough.”
They sit for a while on Harry’s bed in a soothing silence. A ray of sunshine that seeps through the closed curtains bathes the room in light.
*
Ron. She was lying close to Ron on the worn sofa. Ron.
RonRonRonRonRonRonRon.
Suddenly, a feeling of loneliness stings him. Hard.
Harry has yet to discover why Hermione had chosen him for comfort, and not her boyfriend. He reckons she has a reason for not telling him.
Harry reckons he might not want to know.
*
There isn’t anything more natural then realizing what she means to him. She has always been a constant in his messy life, a source of warmth, support and advice, but most of all, she is someone who understands him.
It doesn’t come to him like a lightning strike. It is more a gradual processing of thoughts, moments and memories that stick together, showing him what she means to him. He loves her, he cares for her deeply, and he would never, ever want to lose the strongest person in his life.
Yet the feeling of her soft breath against his skin, her fingers touching and clutching his arm, and her softly murmured words provoke something entirely different (or was it the same?) from him.
He comes to love having her against his chest, tangling his fingers in her hair, and studying her face while she sleeps.
Harry tells himself he doesn’t feel more for her than plain friendship and affection, but can he even fool himself anymore? He is starting to doubt it.
*
Envy stings Harry’s chest like a horde of needles when he sees them together now. He wonders whether his definition of romance is based on jealousy.
*
The desire to kiss her that night wells up inside him and never really leaves. So he gives in, justforonce, and he doesn’t know if he should regret it or be happy.
She gasps, a lone sound in the silence of the dark, but she doesn’t push him away. Her lips curl into a soft smile, brightening the curves of her face.
Harry vaguely remembers that she and Ron had a fight during the evening; and even when a pang of guilt goes through his thoughts, he forgets all about his best mate and can only feel her, Hermione.
To his surprise, she kisses him back.
*
“What about…?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.”
“Let’s forget about it for a little while longer.” He regrets he’s said that a moment later. He can’t betray Ron like this.
He dated Ron’s little sister for God’s sake, and now he has fallen in love (love? Was that the right word?) with his girlfriend.
“It’s a mess.”
“I know, Harry.”
“But I-I care for you, Hermione, m-more than you could imagine.”
She laughs then, and this makes him smile a bit, too.
“Gosh, Harry, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
”We are in trouble, you know.”
“We always have been.”
*
They don’t dare look at each other for the next day. Harry hopes Ron can’t see their faces when they are forced to communicate or interact together. It isn’t very likely that his friend would suspect anything, but he doesn’t want to take risks.
In the early afternoon, all three of them are sitting in the kitchen clutching a cup of freshly made tea. Hermione blushes fiercely when she hands the cup to Harry, but manages to sit down with an expressionless face mere seconds later. He studies her face. Her hair reminds him of autumn leaves, her eyes a mess of agate and chocolate.
He involuntarily suppresses a grin. He feels guilt and want and adoration all the same.
*
“I don’t-”
He pushes one finger against her moist lips. Not wanting her to think about their situation, this, any longer, he pulls her close and presses his lips on hers. A rush of warmth surges through his body. They break there kiss seconds, moments later.
“You didn’t even have a nightmare tonight, did you?” he says, trying to change the subject, rather quickly.
He thinks she nodded, but it is too dark for him to see her clearly.
“Yes, and I don’t know why I’ve come here.”
He looks at her with eyes marked by exhaustion, and leans his head against the softness of his pillow.
“You do,” he says quietly.
She sits there silent for a moment, then breaks out of his grasp. “Oh, I know and I’m so sorry, Harry! I don’t know why I’m feeling like this and I’m all messed up. It’s not supposed to be… I mean…”
Harry hears her saying I care for you so much and I love you, Harry and I’m with Ron. Ron! and I don’t know what to do.
Eventually, she breaks out in sobs, leaning against the bedpost. Harry thinks she seems so fragile, so breakable, and it hurts him.
“Do you love Ron?” Harry asks her softly.
Hermione stares at the ceiling and never answers.
*
Harry doesn’t want to do this to her, to make her choose between him and Ron. He isn’t good at these things, telling people how he feels and about his emotions and such. Yet he has always been at ease with those subjects around Hermione.
So, he was going to tell her.
Weren’t things already complicated enough?
How, exactly, did they even find the time for things to get like this?
No, he was going to tell her it had to stop. No more kisses, no more comfort in the dark, just a close friendship. Maybe this had been an expression of strong friendship the entire time.
*
Who was he trying to kid? Himself?
*
Screams, a shriek and a slamming door greet him as he walks toward the little space they call their living room. He hurries to the door, panic taking over.
When he enters, he sees Ron sitting on the sofa, a furious expression on his face. His hands are curled into fists in his pockets. He mumbles something Harry can’t understand.
Without thinking, Harry runs to the other end of the room, throwing Ron a questioning look. “Her,” Ron hisses quietly, as if speaking to himself.
Harry opens the door that leads to the hallway and bursts into Hermione’s room.
He doesn’t need to ask anything. She is curled up against the plain white wall, tears flooding freely down her face.
Followed by his heart, he walks right up to her and kneels down beside the girl he has always loved.
Silently, he takes her in his arms and she lets him, gratefully accepting his comfort.
Harry decides that he should stay quiet for just a little longer, let everything pass, and be there for her. It is what they both need most, he reckons.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Hermione (mentions of R/Hr)
Word Count: About 2,000
Disclaimer: JKR owns all. I just like to play with her characters. ;)
Summary: There isn’t anything more natural then realizing what she means to him. She has always been a constant in his messy life, a source of warmth, support and advice, but most of all, she is someone who understands him.
Notes: Many thanks to jacyevans for the lovely beta! Enjoy!
A Comforting Gesture
It is to him she comes, him she searches for, himhimhim she huddles close to, and Harry can’t quite understand it.
Hermione has been having nightmares, cruel, ugly dreams she can barely share with her friends. It has been like this ever since they started their hunt down the remaining horcruxes, or maybe it started when Dumbledore died. Harry doesn’t recall, and neither does Hermione. Hours and days and weeks and months have all been a blur, a carefully studied puzzle that none of them have been able solve.
She made an attempt to assemble that puzzle for herself. Ron asked her to be his girlfriend, and she accepted with a smile, happy that he’d finally opened his eyes to what was right in front of him all along.
Yet, when Hermione wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp for air, a little shriek, or trembling hands covering her eyes, she reaches for Harry.
Not Ron.
No, never Ron.
At first, Harry thinks it is a mistake. Of course he wants to comfort his best friend, but he wonders why Hermione would turn to him, and not Ron. After all, Ron is her boyfriend, not Harry.
So when she shakes him awake for the first time, whispering the horrors of the night in his ear, he says, “Hermione, it’s me. Harry.”
“Yes, I know.”
Silence falls over them, but Hermione bravely asks him, “Can I lie with you, Harry? Please, I don’t want to be alone.”
He loves Hermione, and he doesn’t want to hurt her in any way, so he nods in the darkness and pulls her close to him. Her breath is warm on his cheeks and his chest as she huddles close to him.
He only hopes that Ron won’t see them like this the following morning.
*
When Harry wakes up, he stretches just so he can feel her shudder against his side. He stares at her flushed cheeks. He could see the spots on the bedsheets where a couple of tears have dried.
Harry sighs and rests his fingers against her forehead. She feels warm, incredibly warm. He bends his head silently, careful not to wake her, and his lips touch the skin right beneath the curls on her forehead. Hoping she didn’t have another tough night, he breaks away from her and tiptoes to the bathroom.
The rustling of water from the shower must have woken her, because when he enters the room again, Hermione is sitting on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed in an awkward position.
“Thank you, Harry.”
*
So it becomes a sort of a ritual, a silent agreement that Hermione will be able to sleep next to Harry whenever she needs to. They never speak a word to Ron about it, and during the day, they try to act as if everything is normal - if they can call their present situation normal at all.
During the day, she is intimate with Ron. She spends time with Harry too, of course, and no less than she used to, but she was with Ron, his best mate, and Harry still couldn’t quite understand it.
Not when she crawls next to him, whispering thoughts of panic and despair and Idon’twanttoloseyoucanIholdyou?
It always breaks his heart when he sees her like this, so he hugs her tightly to his chest and forgets - about Ron, about everything.
He should always forget.
*
He has seen them kissing before. It had always been a normal, natural thing to him. Ron had been crushing on Hermione since their fourth year. Yet it feeels strange now, in ways Harry couldn’t explain, not even to himself.
His world turned upside down when she first crawled into his bed, telling him she needed him the most.
*
They fight a lot, and Harry becomes sick of it, and he knows Hermione has to be too. They bicker over silly things, like burned toast and tasteless gifts and Crookshanks. He thinks they have better things to be mad about, what with the war raging and them not quite succeeding in their quest for horcruxes.
Sometimes, Hermione leaves the room in tears of fury, and knocks on Harry’s door only minutes later.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he smiles and tells her it will be okay. “We’re all very tense at the moment,” he says.
She looks up at him and asks him if he honestly believes that.
Before he can give it a thought, she is gone, hurrying towards her own bedroom and shutting her door with a loud bang.
*
Harry is surprised when she returns only ten minutes later.
“You okay there?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern.
Hermione sits down next to him, and forces a small smile. “I’m so sorry I acted like that, Harry. I really didn’t mean... what I said, and I didn’t want to take it out on you…”
He smiles back at her warmly. “You don’t have to be sorry, Hermione. I know it’s tough.”
They sit for a while on Harry’s bed in a soothing silence. A ray of sunshine that seeps through the closed curtains bathes the room in light.
*
Ron. She was lying close to Ron on the worn sofa. Ron.
RonRonRonRonRonRonRon.
Suddenly, a feeling of loneliness stings him. Hard.
Harry has yet to discover why Hermione had chosen him for comfort, and not her boyfriend. He reckons she has a reason for not telling him.
Harry reckons he might not want to know.
*
There isn’t anything more natural then realizing what she means to him. She has always been a constant in his messy life, a source of warmth, support and advice, but most of all, she is someone who understands him.
It doesn’t come to him like a lightning strike. It is more a gradual processing of thoughts, moments and memories that stick together, showing him what she means to him. He loves her, he cares for her deeply, and he would never, ever want to lose the strongest person in his life.
Yet the feeling of her soft breath against his skin, her fingers touching and clutching his arm, and her softly murmured words provoke something entirely different (or was it the same?) from him.
He comes to love having her against his chest, tangling his fingers in her hair, and studying her face while she sleeps.
Harry tells himself he doesn’t feel more for her than plain friendship and affection, but can he even fool himself anymore? He is starting to doubt it.
*
Envy stings Harry’s chest like a horde of needles when he sees them together now. He wonders whether his definition of romance is based on jealousy.
*
The desire to kiss her that night wells up inside him and never really leaves. So he gives in, justforonce, and he doesn’t know if he should regret it or be happy.
She gasps, a lone sound in the silence of the dark, but she doesn’t push him away. Her lips curl into a soft smile, brightening the curves of her face.
Harry vaguely remembers that she and Ron had a fight during the evening; and even when a pang of guilt goes through his thoughts, he forgets all about his best mate and can only feel her, Hermione.
To his surprise, she kisses him back.
*
“What about…?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.”
“Let’s forget about it for a little while longer.” He regrets he’s said that a moment later. He can’t betray Ron like this.
He dated Ron’s little sister for God’s sake, and now he has fallen in love (love? Was that the right word?) with his girlfriend.
“It’s a mess.”
“I know, Harry.”
“But I-I care for you, Hermione, m-more than you could imagine.”
She laughs then, and this makes him smile a bit, too.
“Gosh, Harry, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
”We are in trouble, you know.”
“We always have been.”
*
They don’t dare look at each other for the next day. Harry hopes Ron can’t see their faces when they are forced to communicate or interact together. It isn’t very likely that his friend would suspect anything, but he doesn’t want to take risks.
In the early afternoon, all three of them are sitting in the kitchen clutching a cup of freshly made tea. Hermione blushes fiercely when she hands the cup to Harry, but manages to sit down with an expressionless face mere seconds later. He studies her face. Her hair reminds him of autumn leaves, her eyes a mess of agate and chocolate.
He involuntarily suppresses a grin. He feels guilt and want and adoration all the same.
*
“I don’t-”
He pushes one finger against her moist lips. Not wanting her to think about their situation, this, any longer, he pulls her close and presses his lips on hers. A rush of warmth surges through his body. They break there kiss seconds, moments later.
“You didn’t even have a nightmare tonight, did you?” he says, trying to change the subject, rather quickly.
He thinks she nodded, but it is too dark for him to see her clearly.
“Yes, and I don’t know why I’ve come here.”
He looks at her with eyes marked by exhaustion, and leans his head against the softness of his pillow.
“You do,” he says quietly.
She sits there silent for a moment, then breaks out of his grasp. “Oh, I know and I’m so sorry, Harry! I don’t know why I’m feeling like this and I’m all messed up. It’s not supposed to be… I mean…”
Harry hears her saying I care for you so much and I love you, Harry and I’m with Ron. Ron! and I don’t know what to do.
Eventually, she breaks out in sobs, leaning against the bedpost. Harry thinks she seems so fragile, so breakable, and it hurts him.
“Do you love Ron?” Harry asks her softly.
Hermione stares at the ceiling and never answers.
*
Harry doesn’t want to do this to her, to make her choose between him and Ron. He isn’t good at these things, telling people how he feels and about his emotions and such. Yet he has always been at ease with those subjects around Hermione.
So, he was going to tell her.
Weren’t things already complicated enough?
How, exactly, did they even find the time for things to get like this?
No, he was going to tell her it had to stop. No more kisses, no more comfort in the dark, just a close friendship. Maybe this had been an expression of strong friendship the entire time.
*
Who was he trying to kid? Himself?
*
Screams, a shriek and a slamming door greet him as he walks toward the little space they call their living room. He hurries to the door, panic taking over.
When he enters, he sees Ron sitting on the sofa, a furious expression on his face. His hands are curled into fists in his pockets. He mumbles something Harry can’t understand.
Without thinking, Harry runs to the other end of the room, throwing Ron a questioning look. “Her,” Ron hisses quietly, as if speaking to himself.
Harry opens the door that leads to the hallway and bursts into Hermione’s room.
He doesn’t need to ask anything. She is curled up against the plain white wall, tears flooding freely down her face.
Followed by his heart, he walks right up to her and kneels down beside the girl he has always loved.
Silently, he takes her in his arms and she lets him, gratefully accepting his comfort.
Harry decides that he should stay quiet for just a little longer, let everything pass, and be there for her. It is what they both need most, he reckons.