Disclaimer: I don't own any of JK Rowling's fantastically awesome characters, obviously...
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Harry gripped Hermione's arm hard. They were in the middle of a deserted corridor of Hogwarts. Harry doubted Hermione had even ever been here, except maybe in her imagination while reading Hogwarts, a History. There weren't any classes held in this part of the castle, though Harry had been here a couple of times before, wandering underneath his Invisibility Cloak at night when sleep refused to take him away.
Lately he'd been here more than ever, though the reason of his insomnia wasn't what it used to be. Well, not all of the time anyway. Normally the cause was fear, fear of reliving the most horrible experiences in his life. The grave yard scene with Voldemort, Wormtail and Cedric had never really abandoned the realm of his nightmares, but Sirius' fall had taken the edge out of that memory. He could blame Bellatrix, Kreacher, Voldemort, even Snape, Dumbledore, and so many others, in his heart he still felt solely responsible for the death of his godfather... And for all the misery Voldemort had caused since his resurrection...
His friends obviously tried their best to help him, and he couldn't ask for more reassurance, but he had his weak moments. Hence his new habit of wandering at night with his Invisibility Cloak. On his walks he'd found an abandoned room. At first he'd thought it was an unused classroom, because it had a normal door, and not a portrait or gargoyle as entrance. But there weren't any desks in it.
The room had been covered in dust, and it was clear no one had entered the place in ages, not even House Elves. There were several old four-poster beds, the curtains torn and heavy with dust. There weren't any mattresses on them, except for one. Though on closer inspection it hadn't been a mattress, but merely a bunch of old cushions covered by a grey-used-to-be-white sheet. The pillows on the bed weren't torn, but there were several more strewn everywhere on the floor of the room that were.
The first time he'd entered the place, he'd felt as if he'd committed a sacrilege. He was entering some kind of shrine of old memories, not to be disturbed. It was strange to see those first footprints in the thick layer of dust covering the floor and know it were his. His first reservations about the room disappeared the second night he'd entered it. He felt selfish about the room. And even though it was very unlikely anyone else would find it or him there, he went through great lengths to ensure he was the only one getting access to the room. Ever since the existence of the Room of Requirement was discovered by Umbridge, it certainly wasn't privacy one found in that room.
Making sure Ron didn't find out about the very Hermione-like action, Harry'd researched the library books on strong locking spells for the door, a one-way blinding spell for the window (so that he could still see the night sky) and silencing spells for a whole room, without cutting of the sound that came from outside of the room. He even went as far as to search a spell that would keep the ghosts outside, but had to settle with placing minor repellent charms, that gave no real guarantee of warding off the dead.
He'd gone there on and off, when the nightmares plagued him too much, to let of steam. In that room he was safe from people judging him, from restraining himself, he was safe to let himself go. He'd beat the cushions, rarely using magic, but usually with his bare hands. Though he knew that without his magic, he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight, he found relief at beating the stuffing out of the stupid cushions. Sometimes when he thought about it during the day, he felt really embarrassed. It really was a ridiculous thing to do. He could work his frustrations during duelling practises, maybe that would be more appropriate.
But he always felt that odd restraint while duelling. It was like he was afraid that if he'd let go completely he'd lose control over his actions, he'd feel too powerful, and that scared him shitless. And made him angry as well. He hated feeling fear; he remembered Lupin's reactions to the Dementor-Bogart. It meant that his greatest fear was fear itself. He hated feeling it, the fear of losing control of his magical power, the fear of losing his friends to the vengeful Dark Lord, the fear of being helplessly locked up in the cupboard under the stairs. It enraged him to feel that paralysing fear and he took it out on the poor old pillows in 'his room'.
All well, this wasn't the main reason of his 'irritation' lately. Hermione was. Loyal, logical, most times annoying, dependable, studious, pseudo-librarian, 'I-have-an-answer-for-every-problem' best friend Hermione was also a sweet, caring, confusing, distracting, deliciously female, brilliant witch. He didn't know when it started; Hermione had always just been there. He knew he was guilty of taking her for granted, and he would've gladly retorted in fourth year when she had blown up about the stupid comment Ron made before the Yule Ball: "of course we know you're a girl, we're not that daft". But he knew better, he'd acknowledge she was actually pretty during the Ball, but it wasn't until much later he'd REALLY noticed she was a WOMAN.
She'd never dated anyone, even the whole 'Krum thing' wasn't what the papers claimed it was. She admitted later that she was quite flattered about Krum's obvious affection for her, but that she never felt more for him then curiosity about how he combined events in his life as a student and Quidditch star and what he studied back at Durmstrang. And it had grown from there to a sort of pen-mate friendship. Ron had gotten a good laugh out of her admission, thinking it typical Hermione to only be interested in academical stuff.
Ron had tried to date her; she'd even relented to try. But Harry didn't catalogue what they did as dating. They went on a Hogsmead trip just the two of them, had a couple of butterbeers, and kissed once. Ron had confided in Harry that kissing Hermione had been like kissing his sister, only worse. The two had wordlessly agreed to just be friends and leave it at that. After a while Hermione went by the name Ice Queen Granger with the boys at Hogwarts, because nobody could 'get' her.
Harry had been bemused at first. He didn't understand why they would even bother giving her a nickname. She wasn't what you could call popular, like the Patil twins or that blond airhead from Hufflepuff. But she did get asked by some blokes every time there was a Hogsmead weekend, all of which she turned down. At first he thought maybe she was asked because they thought she wouldn't have the heart to refuse. Obviously that logic didn't hold when she made arrangements to go with Harry and Ron as just friends, or with Ginny and her friends, or even planned to not go at all, and consequently never said yes to any of the offers...
Though Ron and Harry threatened blokes who called her Ice Queen, he couldn't help but feel that Ron agreed with them. The final straw had come when Malfoy had whistled after Hermione, as usual calling her Mudblood, and offering something as "warming up the cold prude". Before either Ron or Harry could retaliate, Hermione'd simply stopped in her tracks, calmly walked up to Malfoy and without blinking she'd kneed him in the family jewels. Of course the all Gryffindors publicly acknowledged Malfoy got what he deserved, but in the dorms Harry'd heard the whispers.
Damn gossip, they were the cause of all this. Hermione's nickname was even more frequently used, even among females. There were actually some girls who considered it to be a crime to even turn down sexy Draco Malfoy, let alone jeopardise the functions of his precious reproductive system... Malfoy had been really popular, especially since sixth year. Harry still didn't know for sure what his deal was. Well, he was no idiot; he knew the girls were mostly attracted by his looks and bad boy act. But that was it: Malfoy had always been just obnoxious and vicious, but ever since he spent that summer while his father was in prison (Voldemort took his time freeing the Death Eaters that had failed him back in fifth year) he had that flirtatious 'fallen angel' attitude going on, becoming a real cruel man-whore in the process.
Then he had that bloody talk with Ron... That was when Harry confronted him about his suspicions of Ron thinking Hermione was cold. Ron had challenged him to prove she wasn't. Harry retorted with numerous examples where she'd shown her deep concern and worry about their safety. Ron had waved them away impatiently. He'd acknowledge that she was very caring and friendly and all that, but approach her with a more than friendly attitude, and she'd tense up, or, when you were considered out of line, cause severe damage. He'd also said it was a damn shame because she could be sexy as hell. Of course this had been a one-time conversation between the two boys, never to be brought up afterwards.
But to Harry it had been the beginning of the end. He knew he, himself, wasn't any better then Ron made Hermione to be. He probably had a similar reputation with the girls as Hermione had with the boys, or maybe not. Though unfair, he knew there were always different measures for opposite sexes. After the childish crush-relationship with Cho, and Sirius' death, he sort of made a pact with himself to not get himself into anything resembling a relationship. So he'd successfully kept to the big no-no on dating. He couldn't imagine, and certainly wouldn't want to experience, what it would be like to let himself get close to someone and have them used against him by Voldemort.
Well, except for Hermione and Ron. It wasn't for lack of trying, but he couldn't push them away. He needed them more then ever and felt sometimes selfish for keeping their friendship. Ron had never known about his 'angsty period', like Hermione now jokingly referred to. She on the other hand had seen right through him, and shaken some sense into him, quite literally too. Hermione... he wouldn't know what he'd do without her. She and Ron both kept him sane and gave him the feeling of being loved. But it was probably Hermione that he needed the most to stay really alive, not just existing.
Harry'd always prided himself in understanding Hermione better then Ron did. And in a way he did; they shared confidences they didn't with Ron. But then again there were things he'd told Ron he'd never tell her. But he'd always managed to overlook one thing; well part of it anyway. Of course he knew she was a girl, a woman now, but until recently his brain never made the connection that she was a 'she' as in the opposite sex, a sexual creature. The moment that finally sunk in, it hit him like a tidal wave.
He'd loved Hermione in one way or another for a very long time. The first time he'd seen her he'd thought she was an irritating snob, but he couldn't help but feel an instant respect for her. When over the course of his first year, they'd become friends, that respect for her only grew. Everyone used to joke Ginny and Colin were presidents of the Harry Potter Fan Club. To Harry, Hermione had always been his number one supporter. Not in the 'famous Harry Potter' way, but she stood by 'just Harry' through everything. She was always by his side, even when he yelled at her, and shamefully taken for granted most of the times.
So on with his current state of mind... They were in their final year, Voldemort was still on the rise. Hermione of course was Head Girl, and Draco Malfoy would've been Head Boy, if not for some rumour last year that he'd gotten a girl pregnant. Fortunately no new Malfoys were going to be put in the world for some time, but his questionable reputation made it to all teachers. And Snape could rave and rant all he wanted, Harry Potter was made Head Boy, since Dumbledore realised that this wasn't 'another burden' for Harry, but something he deserved.
This led to the part where he and Hermione now shared a common room, a private bathroom, and an office. This also meant she slept in the room just next to his. All this inescapably led to more intimacy. Over the summer before their seventh year Harry'd had his epiphany after Ron's 'challenge', and he found it sometimes hard to act the way he'd always acted around Hermione. He craved her touch, before only as comfort, but recently he caught himself tensing and shivering slightly when her skin brushed his unexpectedly.
He found himself listening mesmerised when she lectured him on Heaven only knows what, daydreaming about her, losing sleep over her. It wasn't as if the change of cause of his insomnia was entirely unwelcome, but he'd never felt more frustrated about anything in his life.
First of all, this was his best friend, a woman whom he'd gotten to respect a great deal, and thinking of her in any way sexual seemed inappropriate.
Secondly, he promised himself he wouldn't get involved with anyone as long as Voldemort was around, even if it was Hermione and she was already in that kind of danger for being his friend.
Thirdly, he'd gotten the point behind the Ice Queen thing. Well, part of it anyway... Though she confided once in him she was like every other girl, dreaming for the 'one' to love and care for her, she mostly sent signals that screamed 'back off!' to any male with the slightest indecent proposals.
The list went on forever in his mind: jeopardising a perfect friendship, fear of rejection, and so on. Not that he was really considering asking Hermione to be any more than a friend. Oh well, he WAS being a hypocrite if he really believed that. Ever since the start of term it became increasingly obvious to him... working with her even more then ever in the past: she was a goddess. Untouchable for a mere mortal like himself. She wasn't cold, she was untameable, but her passion, her heath within was carefully restraint behind her studious exterior.
The possibility of her being in some way similar to him, both struggling to keep control over themselves, was almost more than he could handle. He knew he wasn't what a lot of people considered a 'normal' teenage boy. Though he had his rare embarrassing 'wet dreams', he never masturbated, but took VERY cold showers whenever he felt the least bit 'bothered'. Again he assumed it had to do with control; the only activity he felt comfortable letting instinct take over was Quidditch.
Well, how in the world could he link sex and Quidditch in the same thought... Anyway, he'd encountered Hermione the day before on his way back from a nightly pillow bashing. Of course she heard the portrait open and shut and immediately guessed it was invisible Harry. She had seemed flushed and if that situation would have occurred before his epiphany he doubted he would've noticed anything different. She was sitting in front of the fire, Hogwarts, a History on her lap, nothing unusual. But he wasn't Seeker for nothing, he noticed a little flash of parchments that weren't from the book inside it. During their innocent conversation about insomnia he'd carefully 'checked her out'.
He'd had to fight to keep his composure. Her hair was wild and more untamed then he'd ever seen and was gloriously gold with the light coming from the fire; her robes didn't betray her curves, even now, but that did nothing but stimulate his curiosity of what was hiding underneath. The flush covering her cheeks had been caused by the fire, or so he kept telling himself. When he tried not to notice she was carefully squirming in her seat, he couldn't stop the thought that maybe, just maybe she was rubbing her thighs together. Of course that thought caused 'things' to stir, so he went to his room as quickly as possible, trying not to behave suspiciously.
That night he hadn't slept even a bit. He kept remembering those loose pages in Hermione's book. An idea was sneaking his way into his head, it would be wrong, it would mean betrayal of the person who meant the world to him, but he just had to know. The following day he executed his plan before he lost his nerve. When he was certain Hermione had left, he walked into her room. He knew her routines by heart; she wouldn't be back in a long time.
He hoped the pages were still in the tattered book. Maybe Hermione was really that confident in her opinion that no matter how many times she nagged them to read the damn thing, he nor Ron would ever come within reading distance of the old book. When he picked up the book, his eyes fell on the ones underneath it. Momentarily forgetting about his quest, his amusement was great when he saw Muggle romance novels piled in that corner of her room. He picked one up letting it fall open on his own, thus coming to the pages of the book that had been read the most.
He almost dropped the book in shock, but read through the steamy love scene all the same, hardly believing his Hermione would ever read such a thing. Then again, she did read about everything didn't she? ... Putting the novel back like he'd found it, he opened Hogwarts, a History. Several sheets of parchment fell out. The neat writing of Hermione greeted him, he read the first lines and almost passed out. He wanted to stop reading, telling himself this was way too personal.
For lack of a prettier description, it contained Hermione's sexual fantasies. He shuffled through the pages, froze when he recognised his own name, there, written in perfectly controlled letters H-a-r-r-y, Hermione's hand... Unable to stop himself he read the part. It resembled the part he'd just read in the novel, but it was written with 'I' and the lover of 'I' was named Harry, had 'gorgeous' green eyes, messy black hair... The love scene was adapted, to Hermione's own taste? It was mostly a little more... romantic, but at the same time more erotic then what happened in the novel.
He'd read them all, put everything back the way he found it and went straight for the bathroom. Of course this didn't really help him forgetting about Hermione in anything other then friendly ways. He'd let the bathtub fill with cold water, while taking a shower, a cold shower. He stepped in the bath, dipped his whole body under the surface and stayed in the cold water until the need for oxygen was becoming somewhat of an emergency. He'd been too cold, and curled up in his bed afterwards. He feverishly tried to think of anything but Hermione, but his thoughts trailed to the evening before. Now that he knew what she had been reading it put things in a maddening perspective.
The most unnerving part, was what she wrote about her emotions. Feeling totally captivated by his stare, getting shivers from hearing his voice... It was unreal, but she couldn't have described his own feeling of blissful abandon better whenever *he* was in *her* presence. He didn't know how to feel about all of this and decided to think about it in the morning. He remembered twisting in his bed in an effort to find solace in sleep, forbidden images flashing through his mind.
Next thing he knew, he was on his way to 'his room'. Being Head Boy, Harry knew Hermione was doing rounds this evening, but didn't realise that in fact it was still fairly early, thinking even she must have gone to bed already. He'd completely lost track of time, with all the 'excitement'. It was Saturday, he'd gone to her room after lunch, that meant he'd missed dinner. It wasn't that unusual for him to miss dinnertime on the weekends, which explained why neither of his friends had woken him this afternoon. They knew Dobby would take care of his hunger when necessary.
Of course knowing his luck, he encountered Hermione that night. She had developed the uncanny skill of sensing Harry when he was invisible. Part of him wanted to ignore her, but he revealed himself anyway. His voice had sounded hoarse when he acknowledged her saying her name. When he'd noticed her shiver slightly, his mind almost exploded. They'd engaged in a heavily sexually charged staring contest, sexually charged for him anyway. He still held back from believing Hermione could feel even half of the sensations coursing through his body.
The air in the desolate dark corridor seemed to get warmer, hotter, thicker, ... aargh, damn cliché's confusing his judgement. Some very primitive part of his brain sent images through his mind of pushing her up against the wall and just shag her senseless until all these building sensations were satisfied. He refrained from doing so, of course, but wasn't prepared for her question though. In a throaty voice he'd never heard her use before, she asked if he'd found what he was looking for in her room. He stumbled backwards, and saw Hermione looking at his reaction almost amused. He should've known something was fishy; the books had just lain there. If Hermione didn't want something to be found, you didn't, full stop.
Did she want him to find out like that? Or was she toying with him? Had she found out he'd been looking at her in a different way ever since the beginning of the new term, and decided he'd pay for daring to let his mind have these thoughts? His heart was thudding painfully in irrational fear, which soon transformed to anger. He was lost, worshipping the ground she walked on. He wanted to hate her for it, but he desperately, totally loved her. He was lost...
His anger took control and he grabbed Hermione by her arm. He fully expected her to flinch, then struggle, snap at him, even hit him... But she looked like he felt just minutes ago: lost. This brought him no particular joy, but damn it, it excited him seeing her look at him with wide eyes and a hint of fear. Irrationality overtook him, part of him wanted to do everything in his power to take any of her fears away. Another, very bad part of him, wanted to give her a real reason to be afraid, and before he'd knew it he'd dragged her to 'his' sanctuary.
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