For Now

This was inspired by a scenario posted at Portkey by Soulshine. Many thanks to him. Here is a link to that post. Below is the result.

“‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’

Harry considered for a moment.

‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.

Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.

‘Because she was crying,’ Harry continued heavily.

‘Oh,’ said Ron, his smile fading slightly. ‘Are you that bad at kissing?’

‘Dunno,’ said Harry, who hadn’t considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. ‘Maybe I am.’

‘Of course you’re not,’ said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

‘How do you know?’ said Ron very sharply.” (OotP, Chapter 21, The Eye of the Snake, pg. 405, UK Edition)

She couldn’t sleep. She’d been having a nightmare about snakes. She couldn’t remember much about it, except for the darkness, and the silence. The silence was the worst part. Hermione was not going to get any sleep tonight.

She sighed as she pulled back the covers, swung her legs over the edge and slipped her feet into her slippers, and stared out the window of Grimmauld Place. It was deceptively peaceful outside. There was a gentle breeze in the trees and the sky was cloudless. There may have been no clouds in the sky, but she knew where the clouds were tonight. Hermione stood up, reached out for her dressing-gown and covered herself as she got up to head downstairs. At least the flames in the fireplace aren’t dark, perhaps she could try to fall asleep staring into the flames.

Careful not to wake Ginny in the next bed, Hermione stepped out of the room. She crept slowly down the hallway, past Fred and George’s room, and was about to continue past Harry and Ron’s room, when she heard strange sounds coming from there.

She stopped, and put an ear to her two best friends’ door. She could hear what sounded like a low, slightly agitated muttering. She could also hear snoring.

That’s odd, she thought. One of them is talking to themselves while the other is snoring. She had only slept in the same room with them once, and that was in third year, when Sirius had slashed the Fat Lady’s portrait. So after listening for a few more moments, she guessed that it was Ron who was snoring. This left Harry as the one who was muttering. Was he talking to someone? Who? There should only be he and Ron in the room.

Wait a minute … muttering. Oh why didn’t she think of this before? Harry must be dreaming. But by the sounds Harry seemed to be making, it wasn’t a good dream.

Before she could reconsider the matter, Hermione opened the door as quietly as she could and stepped into the room.

It was as she guessed it. Ron was snoring contentedly, while Harry was in the throes of a nightmare. His head was tossing from side to side, and it looked like the pillow and blankets had been tossed aside long ago. The remaining sheet was barely covering him, he was bathed in sweat and breathing erratically. She moved closer to Harry to see if she could make out what he was saying. It didn’t take her long to realise what he must be dreaming about.

‘No … don’t kill Cedric …’

Well that narrows it down considerably, thought Hermione wryly. She moved even closer, picking up the pillow and blankets and placing them next to the bed, watching Harry toss and turn meanwhile. She didn’t want to leave him like that, but she didn’t want to scare the living daylights out of him by waking him up and finding her in the room. She suspected he wouldn’t want her to see him like that. Hermione wondered if this had become a nightly ritual for Harry, she suspected it had.

So doing her best not to wake him, she sat on the bed next to him. His hair, slightly stringy from the sweat, was falling into his eyes. Instinctively, she reached out gently to move them away.

Harry immediately stopped tossing his head, though he remained breathing as though he’d just run a marathon and his body shuddered at her touch. He whimpered. Hermione froze, but let her hand remain, waiting to see if Harry would wake up.

He didn’t. She would have been relieved, had Harry not continued muttering.

‘My fault …’

‘No Harry, it was not your fault,’ she told him softly.

‘Cup … shouldn’t’ve … told him … take it …’

‘It was not your fault, Harry,’ she repeated. ‘It’s done now …’

Hermione’s hand began stroking his hair soothingly. Harry continued muttering and Hermione would answer him softly, calming him and reassuring him. This continued for several minutes. Eventually, Harry’s body stopped shuddering, his breathing had slowed, and he looked the picture of dreamless sleep.

Hermione was no longer stroking his hair. Hermione was running her hand through it, massaging his scalp. She was startled when he suddenly groaned. Again, she froze. But only for a moment, after seeing his brow furrow when her hand had stilled. So her hand immediately picked up where it had left off, and Harry’s face immediately cleared, there was even the hint of a smile adorning his face … was he leaning into her hand?

He was. Hermione immediately stifled a giggle and settled for a smirk as she instantly thought of how Harry was behaving exactly like Crookshanks when she was petting him. Wait a minute … petting Harry?

Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of this. All she knew was that she couldn’t imagine treating Ron this way, and it seemed to bring her a sense of peace and content to see and know that she could help Harry feel better, even if he didn’t know she was doing it. She was reluctant to say she cared for Harry more than Ron … but she did worry about Harry more. Wasn’t that the same thing, and was it wrong of her somehow to feel that way? That one of her best friends took greater prominence than the other?

Harry’s problems are more serious than Ron’s, she told herself.

But if Ron was in Harry’s position, would she be doing what she’s doing now? Chasing his nightmares away, soothing him back into restful sleep, massaging him far longer than she needed to, because she couldn’t bear the look on his face when she had stopped, if only for a moment?

She realised that, if she found Ron in the middle of a nightmare, if he was lucky, the most she would do is shake him awake. Poor Ron.

What did this mean for Harry?

Honestly, she wasn’t sure.

Hermione shook her head, and resolved that she’d better get herself out of there; after all, Harry’s nightmare had stopped, hadn’t it?

Refusing to look at Harry, she pulled her hand away, got up, and headed to the door.

She was stopped by a frantic cry that would’ve woken Ron up if he wasn’t capable of sleeping through a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs. She spun around to look at Harry.

The expression on his face that was contorting his features sent all thoughts out of her head and she rushed back over to him.

Hermione reached over to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand, as if to wipe that look off his face. At once, his expression became untroubled again.

‘Harry, I can’t stay here … I have to go back to my room,’ she spoke gently.

She was stunned when he answered.

‘Stay …’

Upon hearing that one word from him, her heart broke. Finding him in the middle of a horrific nightmare didn’t do it. Hearing him blame himself didn’t do it. The look on his face when her hand had stopped moving didn’t do it. But this did. She was quite sure he was still asleep, and she would have stayed, but she knew he would not remember any of this. It wasn’t safe for her to stay … as much as she wanted to, she realised.

‘I’m sorry Harry, I have to go, and you need to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning Harry, Goodnight. Sweet dreamless sleep,’ she managed to say.

In an effort to atone for refusing his request, she leaned forward, fully intending to kiss his forehead, but she missed.

Hermione missed Harry’s forehead because Harry had lifted his head and met her lips with his own. She could have sworn he could sense her. Oh, wow. She didn’t know how to describe this kiss. All she knew was that everything in the world seemed to fall away and she loved it. In that kiss, she understood why her feelings for Harry were different to those for Ron.

She would have let the kiss continue, if the thoughts that Harry might wake up, and that she was awake and therefore had to be the responsible one, had not entered her mind. Ruefully, she pulled away.

‘Goodnight Harry,’ she whispered against his lips.

Harry leaned up as she began to pull away. Hermione placed a hand on his chest to keep him in place. Defeated, his head fell back against the bed. He shivered.

Hermione quickly retrieved the forgotten pillow and blanket she had set aside earlier. As gently and as quickly as she could, she lifted his head with one hand and slipped the pillow underneath it with the other. She gently lowered his head back down onto the pillow. Then she placed the blanket over him, tucking him in. Probably the first time he’d been tucked in for fourteen years.

Harry did not seem entirely happy. This was brief as he grunted and pulled the pillow down and away from his head, hugging it to him like a life line. He wore a faint smile as he nuzzled it. This was the first time she’d ever been jealous of a pillow.

Hermione thought she’d heard someone snicker, and spun around only to see an empty painting. She turned back to watch him for a few moments more before she finally turned and silently left the room.

Walking back to her room, she thought about her sudden understanding of her feelings for Harry. Hermione understood, but he had no idea, let alone understood. Plus there was also Cho to consider. She also knew Ron wouldn’t be very understanding right now. She couldn’t act on the thoughts she was having right now. But she had this, and it would have to be enough, for now. For Hermione was a clever witch, and also understood that it was only a matter of time.

She entered her room, with a smile on her face.

‘What are you doing up, Hermione?’ said a groggy voice.

‘Oh, I was just staring into the flames in the fireplace. Helps me sleep. Don’t worry Ginny, go back to sleep,’ she whispered.

‘Mmph,’ was Ginny’s reply.

Hermione removed her dressing-gown, stepped out of her slippers, climbed under her covers, and slept her own dreamless sleep.

“‘Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,’ said Hermione vaguely. ‘She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.’

‘You’d think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,’ said Ron, grinning.

‘Ron,’ said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, ‘you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’” (OotP, Chapter 21, The Eye of the Snake, pg. 405, UK Edition)