Part 2 of Chapter 9
...
She said nothing more and a comfortable silence settled over them. And it was comfortable. She might have expected to feel more self-conscious to be literally sharing a bed with Harry but over the course of talking to him, that had slowly faded away for the most part. Whatever else, he was still Harry and somehow, for whatever reason, she was almost always comfortable with him. She couldn’t think of anyone else in the world with whom she was so at ease. It was no wonder that she loved him.
Her thoughts abruptly broke off, retreating and then tentatively moving forward again. She loved him. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. She had known, been aware of, this change, this deepening in her feelings for Harry for days, even weeks now. And yet, for all that, it was a little surprising. She had always avoided putting her feelings into so many words, skirted around an explicit admission. And now it had just slipped out.
She loved him. And he… well, she didn’t know what he felt for her exactly, didn’t know if he could care for her as anything more than his best friend. She could only hope…
She thought about their conversation, what he’d said and how he’d said it, and felt a bubble of warmth fill her chest. Maybe he didn’t love her quite as she loved him but she was his best friend and that meant a lot. She knew Harry, knew how guarded he could be, how chary he was with his trust and his confidences. But not with her.
And she loved that. She loved knowing he confided in her, loved the way he tried so hard to comfort her, loved that he was willing to force himself to talk about things he would rather not talk about in order to comfort her.
Maybe he didn’t love her the way she loved him but he cared about her, cared about her and trusted her in a way he cared about and trusted no one else, she knew, and for now, that really was enough. She let her eyes drift closed as she listened to the steady sound of his breathing, letting it lull her into sleep.
It started with fear, the sudden dread that pierced her heart, when she realized she couldn’t see Harry or Ron. They had been right there but she’d paused to admire the view and when she looked back, they were gone. She hurried on, dodging the crowds of people, looking for the familiar messy black hair or red head looming over most others in the crowd.
And then she heard the first scream.
Heard the first scream and rushed forward, her heart suddenly in her throat as the crowd seemed to dissipate before her until she could see- And it was her turn to scream.
“Hermione.”
She jerked awake, disoriented and panicked, her breath coming fast, and it took a moment for her mind to register where she was and that the voice she’d heard had been Harry’s. Harry, who was leaning over her, his face a pale blur in the darkness of the room.
A shuddering breath escaped her on something halfway between a gasp and a sob. “Harry.” In an abrupt movement, she dove towards him in an awkward hug that knocked him onto his back, her face ending up buried in his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Hermione,” she vaguely heard him murmur. “I’m fine.”
She became aware of the solid warmth of his against her, the reassuring pressure of one arm around her back, holding her. He was there, he was alive, he was safe.
And suddenly she was crying, harsh, jagged sobs being wrenched from her chest as she clutched him tighter. He was safe, he was safe, he was safe…
Like a summer thunderstorm, the bout of sobbing was intense but passed quickly, leaving her feeling drained from the sudden surge of emotions. After her sobs had slowed and then ceased, she stayed where she was, resting against him, quiescent now.
“Hey,” she heard him ask softly after a long few minutes, “are you all right?”
She let out an uneven sigh. “Yeah, I’m okay.” After a few moments, she added, “Sorry for breaking down like that.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that.” He hesitated and then asked, “Was it a bad nightmare?”
“No, at least no worse than usual. I just… I’ve been so afraid and I’m so… glad that you’re okay but I just can’t-”
“You can’t stop feeling afraid,” he finished for her quietly. “I know. I can’t either.”
“I keep telling myself and telling myself that I’ll stop feeling afraid and stop having nightmares so often. I know it’s not rational and… and I know we’re all safe now… but I can’t stop it.” She gave a small little laugh that ended on something more like a sob. “I guess I’m not as rational as I always thought.”
“You are rational,” he told her, his arms tightening around her a little. “You are but your dreams aren’t. Even-even before the nightmares, dreams never made sense. That doesn’t mean you’re not rational. You are. You’ll always be my rational, sensible Hermione.”
She sniffed a little even as she smiled, her heart warming at how he had called her “his,” an accidental, thoughtless endearment as it was. She doubted he had even noticed it.
“Besides,” he added with an attempt at lightness, “you have to be the sensible one. Ron and I are the impulsive, thoughtless ones, remember? We need you to be sensible so we don’t go off and do stupid things.”
She managed a small laugh, a little shaky but a real laugh all the same. “It’s good to know why you keep me around.”
“We keep you around for more than that.”
She was silent for a moment before she shifted into a more comfortable position, moving so she was lying beside him. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. I wasn’t sleeping,” he answered and there was something bleak in his voice.
“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, rather inadequately.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
She sensed him hesitate and then he asked, very quietly, “What happens in your nightmares?”
She paused and then answered evasively, “I told you already; my nightmares are about you.”
“I know, but I meant… what actually happens, what frightens you so much about them?” He hesitated and then added, hurriedly, “If you want to tell me. You don’t have to. I just… wondered…”
She sighed. She understood what he was asking but actually talking about her nightmares, putting her fears into words… “No, I know what you meant. I just… it’s not easy to talk about.” “I know. Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”
She was silent for a moment and then-“Do you remember Mrs. Weasley’s boggart?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, the words sounding rather forced.
“That’s basically what I see… My nightmares are the same as my boggart,” she added, somehow finding it… easier… to talk about in terms of a boggart than as the nightmare vision that haunted her dreams.
“Your boggart… it’s different now than what it used to be.” He paused. “I guess all of our boggarts would be.”
“No, it’s not,” she corrected automatically, unthinkingly. “My boggart’s always been the same.”
She sensed him frown and then he turned his head to stare at her. “What? That can’t be right.”
It was her turn to be confused. “Why not?”
“You said… your boggart used to be Professor McGonagall telling you you’d failed all your exams.”
She blinked, frowned, and then remembered. She had said that. She’d forgotten. “Oh right. I forgot I said that. I… honestly, Harry, I-uh-lied about what my boggart was that time.”
“You lied?” he repeated as if the concept were utterly foreign to him. “But you don’t lie.”
“I try not to but I did that time. I-I didn’t want to tell you and Ron about it then.”
“What was your boggart then, really?”
“The same as Mrs. Weasley’s. That’s what scared me so much. It’s what still scares me.”
“Even back then in Third Year? I wasn’t… nothing really dangerous happened to us that year.”
“No, I guess not, but I didn’t know that then. We all thought you were in danger because of-” she broke off abruptly and then finished, more quietly, “Sirius. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, so softly the words were barely audible.
She inwardly winced. Any mention of Sirius and Remus still hurt him. She could hear it in his voice, the thread of poignant grief that always laced his voice whenever either of them was mentioned.
“I worried about you so much that year,” she found herself admitting. “We didn’t know how he’d escaped Azkaban and I read so much about how it was impregnable and no one had ever escaped from it and then, to think that the one person who somehow managed it was also a threat to you… I think, by the time we actually met him, I was half-convinced he was some sort of super-wizard, more powerful and more cunning than anyone we’d ever heard of.”
“You never told me that.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “What would have been the point? Anyway, it was silly of me. When I think of all the time I wasted that year because I was worried-I don’t know what I was thinking to think using a Time-Turner that year was also a good idea.”
“You may have been wrong about Sirius but it wasn’t silly of you. I-that was really-it means a lot that you worried about me so much. You-you shouldn’t be sorry about that. I-it means a lot,” he repeated.
“I’m glad.”
He was silent for a long moment and then blurted out, “I never had anyone to worry about me before Hogwarts, you know. Whenever I could get away, I used to stay outside until nighttime, just wandering around the neighborhood, because I knew the Dursleys didn’t care what I did or where I was. I… I used to see other kids getting called inside once it started getting dark or being scolded for going too far and it seemed so… nice… to have someone that cared enough to worry.”
“Oh, Harry, I’m so-”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted her. “It really doesn’t bother me that much anymore. I just-I thought-not that I like you being worried but it-it just means a lot to me to know that you worried so much, even back then before-before everything really started.”
“You’re my best friend. Of course I’d worry about you-and Ron,” she added as an almost imperceptible afterthought.
“Thanks for that.”
“Always,” she promised.
“Always,” he repeated.
And then neither of them said anything more, just waited out the rest of the night until morning arrived, but somehow, that was all they needed.
~To be continued...~
A/N: I am losing track of how many times I've written H/Hr having this conversation about Hermione have lied about what her boggart was in Third Year but it's really become canon, as far as I'm concerned, and somehow it keeps feeling appropriate for Hermione to mention it. (Or I just really like to write it...) I hope it's not getting boring.
Happy Holidays, everyone! And thank you, as always, for reading. As long as you keep reading, I'll keep writing!
She said nothing more and a comfortable silence settled over them. And it was comfortable. She might have expected to feel more self-conscious to be literally sharing a bed with Harry but over the course of talking to him, that had slowly faded away for the most part. Whatever else, he was still Harry and somehow, for whatever reason, she was almost always comfortable with him. She couldn’t think of anyone else in the world with whom she was so at ease. It was no wonder that she loved him.
Her thoughts abruptly broke off, retreating and then tentatively moving forward again. She loved him. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. She had known, been aware of, this change, this deepening in her feelings for Harry for days, even weeks now. And yet, for all that, it was a little surprising. She had always avoided putting her feelings into so many words, skirted around an explicit admission. And now it had just slipped out.
She loved him. And he… well, she didn’t know what he felt for her exactly, didn’t know if he could care for her as anything more than his best friend. She could only hope…
She thought about their conversation, what he’d said and how he’d said it, and felt a bubble of warmth fill her chest. Maybe he didn’t love her quite as she loved him but she was his best friend and that meant a lot. She knew Harry, knew how guarded he could be, how chary he was with his trust and his confidences. But not with her.
And she loved that. She loved knowing he confided in her, loved the way he tried so hard to comfort her, loved that he was willing to force himself to talk about things he would rather not talk about in order to comfort her.
Maybe he didn’t love her the way she loved him but he cared about her, cared about her and trusted her in a way he cared about and trusted no one else, she knew, and for now, that really was enough. She let her eyes drift closed as she listened to the steady sound of his breathing, letting it lull her into sleep.
It started with fear, the sudden dread that pierced her heart, when she realized she couldn’t see Harry or Ron. They had been right there but she’d paused to admire the view and when she looked back, they were gone. She hurried on, dodging the crowds of people, looking for the familiar messy black hair or red head looming over most others in the crowd.
And then she heard the first scream.
Heard the first scream and rushed forward, her heart suddenly in her throat as the crowd seemed to dissipate before her until she could see- And it was her turn to scream.
“Hermione.”
She jerked awake, disoriented and panicked, her breath coming fast, and it took a moment for her mind to register where she was and that the voice she’d heard had been Harry’s. Harry, who was leaning over her, his face a pale blur in the darkness of the room.
A shuddering breath escaped her on something halfway between a gasp and a sob. “Harry.” In an abrupt movement, she dove towards him in an awkward hug that knocked him onto his back, her face ending up buried in his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Hermione,” she vaguely heard him murmur. “I’m fine.”
She became aware of the solid warmth of his against her, the reassuring pressure of one arm around her back, holding her. He was there, he was alive, he was safe.
And suddenly she was crying, harsh, jagged sobs being wrenched from her chest as she clutched him tighter. He was safe, he was safe, he was safe…
Like a summer thunderstorm, the bout of sobbing was intense but passed quickly, leaving her feeling drained from the sudden surge of emotions. After her sobs had slowed and then ceased, she stayed where she was, resting against him, quiescent now.
“Hey,” she heard him ask softly after a long few minutes, “are you all right?”
She let out an uneven sigh. “Yeah, I’m okay.” After a few moments, she added, “Sorry for breaking down like that.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that.” He hesitated and then asked, “Was it a bad nightmare?”
“No, at least no worse than usual. I just… I’ve been so afraid and I’m so… glad that you’re okay but I just can’t-”
“You can’t stop feeling afraid,” he finished for her quietly. “I know. I can’t either.”
“I keep telling myself and telling myself that I’ll stop feeling afraid and stop having nightmares so often. I know it’s not rational and… and I know we’re all safe now… but I can’t stop it.” She gave a small little laugh that ended on something more like a sob. “I guess I’m not as rational as I always thought.”
“You are rational,” he told her, his arms tightening around her a little. “You are but your dreams aren’t. Even-even before the nightmares, dreams never made sense. That doesn’t mean you’re not rational. You are. You’ll always be my rational, sensible Hermione.”
She sniffed a little even as she smiled, her heart warming at how he had called her “his,” an accidental, thoughtless endearment as it was. She doubted he had even noticed it.
“Besides,” he added with an attempt at lightness, “you have to be the sensible one. Ron and I are the impulsive, thoughtless ones, remember? We need you to be sensible so we don’t go off and do stupid things.”
She managed a small laugh, a little shaky but a real laugh all the same. “It’s good to know why you keep me around.”
“We keep you around for more than that.”
She was silent for a moment before she shifted into a more comfortable position, moving so she was lying beside him. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. I wasn’t sleeping,” he answered and there was something bleak in his voice.
“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, rather inadequately.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
She sensed him hesitate and then he asked, very quietly, “What happens in your nightmares?”
She paused and then answered evasively, “I told you already; my nightmares are about you.”
“I know, but I meant… what actually happens, what frightens you so much about them?” He hesitated and then added, hurriedly, “If you want to tell me. You don’t have to. I just… wondered…”
She sighed. She understood what he was asking but actually talking about her nightmares, putting her fears into words… “No, I know what you meant. I just… it’s not easy to talk about.” “I know. Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”
She was silent for a moment and then-“Do you remember Mrs. Weasley’s boggart?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, the words sounding rather forced.
“That’s basically what I see… My nightmares are the same as my boggart,” she added, somehow finding it… easier… to talk about in terms of a boggart than as the nightmare vision that haunted her dreams.
“Your boggart… it’s different now than what it used to be.” He paused. “I guess all of our boggarts would be.”
“No, it’s not,” she corrected automatically, unthinkingly. “My boggart’s always been the same.”
She sensed him frown and then he turned his head to stare at her. “What? That can’t be right.”
It was her turn to be confused. “Why not?”
“You said… your boggart used to be Professor McGonagall telling you you’d failed all your exams.”
She blinked, frowned, and then remembered. She had said that. She’d forgotten. “Oh right. I forgot I said that. I… honestly, Harry, I-uh-lied about what my boggart was that time.”
“You lied?” he repeated as if the concept were utterly foreign to him. “But you don’t lie.”
“I try not to but I did that time. I-I didn’t want to tell you and Ron about it then.”
“What was your boggart then, really?”
“The same as Mrs. Weasley’s. That’s what scared me so much. It’s what still scares me.”
“Even back then in Third Year? I wasn’t… nothing really dangerous happened to us that year.”
“No, I guess not, but I didn’t know that then. We all thought you were in danger because of-” she broke off abruptly and then finished, more quietly, “Sirius. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, so softly the words were barely audible.
She inwardly winced. Any mention of Sirius and Remus still hurt him. She could hear it in his voice, the thread of poignant grief that always laced his voice whenever either of them was mentioned.
“I worried about you so much that year,” she found herself admitting. “We didn’t know how he’d escaped Azkaban and I read so much about how it was impregnable and no one had ever escaped from it and then, to think that the one person who somehow managed it was also a threat to you… I think, by the time we actually met him, I was half-convinced he was some sort of super-wizard, more powerful and more cunning than anyone we’d ever heard of.”
“You never told me that.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “What would have been the point? Anyway, it was silly of me. When I think of all the time I wasted that year because I was worried-I don’t know what I was thinking to think using a Time-Turner that year was also a good idea.”
“You may have been wrong about Sirius but it wasn’t silly of you. I-that was really-it means a lot that you worried about me so much. You-you shouldn’t be sorry about that. I-it means a lot,” he repeated.
“I’m glad.”
He was silent for a long moment and then blurted out, “I never had anyone to worry about me before Hogwarts, you know. Whenever I could get away, I used to stay outside until nighttime, just wandering around the neighborhood, because I knew the Dursleys didn’t care what I did or where I was. I… I used to see other kids getting called inside once it started getting dark or being scolded for going too far and it seemed so… nice… to have someone that cared enough to worry.”
“Oh, Harry, I’m so-”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted her. “It really doesn’t bother me that much anymore. I just-I thought-not that I like you being worried but it-it just means a lot to me to know that you worried so much, even back then before-before everything really started.”
“You’re my best friend. Of course I’d worry about you-and Ron,” she added as an almost imperceptible afterthought.
“Thanks for that.”
“Always,” she promised.
“Always,” he repeated.
And then neither of them said anything more, just waited out the rest of the night until morning arrived, but somehow, that was all they needed.
~To be continued...~
A/N: I am losing track of how many times I've written H/Hr having this conversation about Hermione have lied about what her boggart was in Third Year but it's really become canon, as far as I'm concerned, and somehow it keeps feeling appropriate for Hermione to mention it. (Or I just really like to write it...) I hope it's not getting boring.
Happy Holidays, everyone! And thank you, as always, for reading. As long as you keep reading, I'll keep writing!