Any Time At All

Any Time At All
Susie Bones
March 2003

If the sun has faded away, I'll try to make it shine,
There's nothing I won't do
If you need a shoulder to cry on I hope it will be mine.
Call me tonight, and I'll come to you.

Any time at all, any time at all, any time at all,
All you've gotta do is call and I'll be there.

-- The Beatles
Harry sat in his bed, rubbing his watery eyes. He reached for his glasses and put them on. The room swam into focus as he pushed back the curtains of his bed.

Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ron were still sleeping. Harry wiped the wet spots under his eyes and stood up.

He'd been dreaming again, of the tournament last year, of Cedric Diggory and his own parents. It was all mostly a green blur in his mind, but he could recall watching his parents and Cedric disappear in a flash of green light while he stood, frozen, beside the grave of Voldemort's father, his injured leg throbbing with pain.

He sighed. It was over and there was nothing he could do about it; Cedric was dead, along with the Potters.

Still, as he descended into the common room, he wondered again why he hadn't just taken the damn trophy himself. Why did he have to be so damn *noble*?

He sat down in front of the fireplace, frustrated with himself.

“Harry?”

He jerked, startled and looked around. Hermione stood behind the couch.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said, peering at her. “Why are you up so late?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then moved to sit beside Harry.

“I should ask you the same thing,” she replied, leaning against a squishy pillow

“I had a dream.” Harry was embarrassed to hear his voice break upon speaking.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione sat up and looked at him with an intense, brown-eyed gaze. It made him shiver unexpectedly.

“Yeah, it's all right.” Harry waved a hand dismissively. Hermione appeared doubtful, but she said nothing.

“And what are you doing here so late?” Harry asked again. Hermione looked away.

“It's stupid,” she said. Harry placed two fingers under her chin and turned her face to his.

“You never say anything stupid,” he told her sincerely. Hermione blushed and glanced at the fireplace.

“Honestly, Harry,” she muttered and smiled a little. “It just comes from being overtired and overworked, I suppose. And what with this new Order …” she paused. “Malfoy said some things to me today.”

Harry scowled darkly. He didn't so much mind Malfoy taunting him (he chalked it up to jealousy, anyway), but Malfoy's mockery of Hermione always hit a nerve where nothing else did.

“What'd he say?” Harry asked, not exactly sure if he really wanted to know. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“The usual. I'm not going to repeat it, in any case,” she sighed, “That on top of O.W.L.'s, homework, the Order, worrying about you—“

“You worry about me?” Harry blurted, surprised.

“Well, of course.” Hermione spoke as if that were the most obvious fact in the world.

“You really shouldn't,” Harry said, “I'm not dead yet.”

“Don't say things like that, Harry. I'd hate to think of you dead,” Hermione admonished.

“Sorry.” Harry closed his eyes.

“What did you dream?” Harry opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. She was looking down at her small hands. The fire danced over her face; the light bounced off her long dark waves and skipped playfully in her cinnamon colored eyes. She wasn't what Witch Weekly would call “absolutely stunning”, but she was beautiful in Harry's eyes.

“The usual,” Harry said and the smile he hoped to be rewarded with bloomed on her lips. “Voldemort killing my parents and Cedric while I just stand there.”

“You don't really think that's what happened; that just you stood by while Cedric was murdered and Voldemort brought back? Because you're a great flaming prat if you do,” Hermione said flatly, her voice holding little room for objection. Even so, Harry opened his mouth. “Stop it, Harry. You know I'm right.”

“When are you not?” Harry muttered. Instead of receiving a wounded look (which surely would have been the case if Ron had said it) Hermione only smirked.

“Let the record show that for the first time in five years (and who knows what went on before then) Harry Potter used his brain in a matter not concerning You-Know-Who or Quidditch.” She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling in a teasing way. Harry felt the nearly-impossible-to-resist urge to kiss her teasing lips.

“Oh shut up,” he said instead, propping himself against the arm of the couch. Hermione yawned suddenly and rubbed her eyes.

“Reassuring you is awfully tiring work. I hope you don't mind if I fall asleep now,” she said, resting her head against the back of the couch and closing her head, “It's too far to walk.”

“I'll carry you,” Harry said simply, before he could stop himself. Hermione opened one eye, but gave no answer. Harry, taking her one-eyed gaze as a yes, stood up and, gently gathering her into his arms, lifted him from the couch. She bit her lip and wrapped slender arms around his neck.

“Don't let me go,” she whispered as he began up the girls' staircase.

“I'd never let you go,” Harry answered quietly, his heart racing. Hermione looked away and it seemed to Harry that a faint flush rose in her cheeks and neck. She rested her head on his shoulder as he pushed open the door to her room. She was breathing deeply and evenly; right where it was whenever she fell asleep countless times during homework or even class once or twice. Harry was almost entirely sure she'd fallen asleep. He lay her down and pulled her blankets up to her chin.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, as he knelt beside her. He brushed stray strands of her dark hair out of her face. On impulse, he leaned over and touched his lips to her.

“Sweet dreams, Hermione.” He stood quietly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione turned on her side as soon as he had gone, smiling serenely.