Right Now

Anazecria

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 28/12/2003
Last Updated: 28/12/2003
Status: completed

You've been here before. Sequel to For Now. Some people wanted a sequel, lucky for them, I had an idea. I hope this meets your satisfaction.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

You’ve been here before. Sequel to For Now.

She’d been having a nightmare. There were snakes, silence and darkness. The strangest part was there was something familiar about this dream, like she had seen these images before.

Hermione 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 summer, but it was cool and the trees moved and whistled with the wind outside. After Sirius’ death Kreacher had disappeared from Grimmauld Place, but Dumbledore insisted that the Fidelius charm prevented Kreacher exposing its location. Despite his assurances, Hermione still had her doubts.

Sirius. Hermione had tried to talk to Harry about it, she had. But Ron had hindered her at every opportunity. Ron probably thought he was being helpful. Ron didn’t understand that Harry may not be good at talking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to on occasion. Besides, who else could he talk to about it? Ultimately, this left Harry to deal with his loss the only way he knew how. Alone. Harry had just arrived at Grimmauld Place this morning. He appeared to be perfectly normal considering, she even caught him smiling a few times. But his eyes betrayed him; at least to her they did the few times he let their eyes meet.

Hermione stood up, reached out for her dressing-gown and covered herself as she got up to head downstairs. Flames. She would stare into the flames in the fireplace for awhile, the flames were always comforting. They could help her forget the nightmare and sleep.

Mindful of Ginny sleeping in the next bed, Hermione stepped out of the room. She crept slowly down the hallway, past the other bedrooms, and was about to continue past Harry and Ron’s room, when she paused. Strange sounds could be heard 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. A Bludger of realisation struck her in the chest.

This is not déjà vu. You’ve been here before. A year ago. Ron had been snoring, and Harry had been having a nightmare about Cedric. A year ago, Hermione had kissed a sleeping Harry, and the revelations of that night had led to Hermione having to keep every feeling a secret, in light of more important things that were going on at the time, that were still going on, and most importantly; Harry’s need for his best friend when everything else in his world had been turned upside down.

You can’t go in there. You remember what happened last time. Hermione had been lucky. Harry had not woken up and he had never given any hint that he knew what had happened that night last summer. She couldn’t take the risk again.

So opening the door and entering the room was a deed that definitely was a contradiction of every conscious thought running through her normally meticulously organised brain.

It was as if this was that night all over again. Hermione suspected the room even smelt the same as it did that night. She could smell Harry sweating as she watched him grimacing and writhing on the bed, one sheet and himself the only things that hadn’t been tossed off it in his feverish movements, Ron’s snores barely registering in her mind. The pillow was in the same place as last year, but it was lying on the floor at a different angle, and the blanket was crumpled slightly differently. She might have been able to describe the scene better, but overall, it was the exact same scene as last year, with only slight inconsequential differences.

Hermione awaited the next part of the scene. She didn’t have to wait long.

‘Not dead … hiding … let me go …’ he muttered.

She could only guess he was talking about Sirius. Because she was unconscious at the time, she wasn’t there when he died, so she wasn’t sure about the exact meaning behind Harry’s words. Hiding? Let me go?

Hermione walked closer, reaching for the pillow and blanket on the floor. Once again she placed the pillow next to the bed, but she grasped the blanket to her chest as though it were a shield, and stood next to Harry, watching him mumble and contort in his nightmare.

She wanted to end his suffering so badly, but she couldn’t trust herself. She’d been fighting these feelings all year, and now she was right back where she had started. But now Harry had only traded one nightly ritual for another, and even a troll could tell you that this certainly was not an improvement.

Still in a state of indecision of course, Hermione moved closer. This time, she knew Ron wouldn’t wake up, no matter the noise Harry made. This time, Hermione was deathly afraid of waking Harry. She sat beside him on the bed, still clutching the blanket.

As she once had a year ago, she reached out to move his hair out of his eyes. As Harry once had a year ago, he stopped moving, but remained breathing hard and emitted a small cry. This time, her hand didn’t freeze; she knew he would not wake up. Her fingers trailed down the side of his face, along his jaw, across his cheek.

‘Inside the curtain … hiding … must go find him …’

Hermione slowly understood.

‘No, Harry. He isn’t hiding. He is gone. Sirius is dead. There’s nothing you can do for him now, you cannot follow him,’ she spoke as gently as she could. But how can you be gentle with such a harsh truth?

He handled this answer better than she had expected. Harry seemed to accept this answer, but he hated doing so. His face contorted as though he was fighting against a howl of pain that wanted to escape from him.

‘Can’t … leave him there …’

‘You didn’t leave him anywhere Harry. He died. There was nothing you could do. Sirius doesn’t need you where he is, but we do, Harry. I need you,’ Hermione finished on a whisper.

Her hand had found its way into his hair and was massaging him, she didn’t know if he had heard the last part, but he did seem to calm down a great deal, although not entirely. Harry and Hermione continued the familiar pattern; his muttering, her hopefully comforting replies, and her hand running through his hair.

Time passed. Harry still seemed upset, but he was tranquil. Hermione believed he was in a state where he could sleep somewhat peacefully. He had to be, she had stayed there far too long.

Hermione was still clutching the blanket. She withdrew her hand from Harry’s hair and stood up to place the blanket over Harry. She picked up the pillow. Hermione didn’t dare get close enough to place it under his head. Instead, she placed it next to him, and slowly turned and moved away from him, determined to get out of there no matter what sound he made. Her hand had just made contact with the door handle when --

‘Hermione!’ he gasped suddenly.

She froze. Get out. Now.

She turned and stared at him. He was definitely still asleep so he couldn’t be calling after her. The pillow she had placed next to him was already discarded on the floor. What on earth was he dreaming about now that would include her? Oh no. If Harry was having one of those dreams with her in it, she would just --

‘Hermione, wake up … please … wake up …’

Hermione brow furrowed. What? Wake up? Her? From what?

‘Don’t be dead … please wake up … my fault …’

Hermione’s eyes widened. He was dreaming about her being hurt? When? Oh. The Department of Mysteries. Harry had never talked about it, she hadn’t really thought about it. She had been worrying about his reaction to Sirius. She had never thought that her injury had affected Harry so keenly that he would be having nightmares about it. He had been afraid she was dead? Yet here Harry was, supplanting his nightmare about losing someone he loved with a nightmare about almost losing a friend. Harry also believed it was his fault.

Hermione automatically rushed back over to him. This didn’t make any sense. Sitting beside him once again, she placed her fingers on his lips.

‘It’s alright Harry, I’m right here. I’m alright, I’m not dead. It’s OK.’

Her hand moved to cup his cheek. Harry shuddered.

‘I’m so sorry …’

‘Why Harry?’

‘Was a trap … you were hurt … my fault …’

‘Stop right there, Harry. It was a trap, but what happened to me was not your fault. I said I’d go with you; it was my choice, not yours. Nothing that happened that day was your fault Harry, none of it,’ she told him firmly, but quietly. She was leaning forward.

‘But …’

She was much too close.

‘Let it go, Harry, let it all go …’

Hermione completed the distance. Lips met. Oh, it was just like their last kiss, only there seemed to be more urgency in it, as though this kiss was draining all the grief out of him.

Just like the last time, Hermione understood. This was why her being hurt had affected him so badly. This was why he hadn’t talked about it. Only this time her understanding felt infinitely better. Perhaps it was suddenly knowing he felt the same, even if he didn’t know it himself, perhaps it was the way he returned the kiss, perhaps it was the way his hand had buried itself in her hair. Hang on …

Hermione leapt back. Surprisingly, she did not scream. Perhaps that had something to do with the lump the size of a Niffler lodged in her throat. Harry Potter was awake and sitting up, gazing at her blearily.

Ron gave a loud grunt in his sleep and turned his back to them.

‘Hermione, what are you …?’ as Harry’s question trailed off, his eyes cleared as understanding dawned.

They stared at each other for an age. Hermione was still trying to get her breath back, her hands behind her and bracing herself on the bed. Harry’s stance mirrored hers.

Every sensible, rational thought in Hermione’s diamond mind was gone as she looked at him, all she could think was run. Run away from here and maybe he’ll have no clue what happened. Run away from here and maybe he’ll go back to sleep and forget this ever happened. Run away from here and maybe he won’t forget, but he’ll play along and pretend this never happened. Run away from here and let’s never talk about it again.

Harry spoke first.

‘I didn’t dream that, did I?’

This is the point where Hermione should have feigned ignorance, made up a story, and excused herself as quickly yet as inconspicuously as possible.

Hermione shook her head.

‘No.’

Oh, clever girl.

Harry lowered his eyes, as though deep in thought.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Long enough,’ was all she could say.

‘So those weren’t just voices in my head. That was you?’

Hermione nodded.

Minutes passed as Harry’s eyes stared, unfocused, at the blanket. Hermione should have taken advantage of Harry’s stupor and run from the room and locked hers and Ginny’s bedroom door until morning, but she couldn’t move. Harry finally looked up and met her eyes again. His own were filled with what can only be described as sadness.

‘Hermione, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know --’

‘Harry, it’s alright, you don’t have to --’

‘Yes I do Hermione, let me finish!’ Harry took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way. Until that kiss, I didn’t know I felt that way, too. I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner.’

Hermione leapt up.

‘We can’t do this now; I have to go --’ She backed away from the bed.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s late, I should be in bed, your nightmares have stopped, I need to sleep, there is so much work to do in the morning, I --’

‘Hermione, what are you frightened of?’

Hermione stopped. She couldn’t answer him. She just gaped at him like an idiot, what was she scared of? Then Harry spoke.

‘Stay …’

There it was. No. Not again. Not that word. Not the word she had had to fight with every fibre of her being.

‘Harry --’

‘We don’t have to do anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘No, but, if someone finds me here -- in your bed -- Ron -- what they will think --’

‘I don’t care about that Hermione. I just need you here, right now. I always have. Please.’

You try and turn down a request like that. No, a plea.

Slowly she approached the bed; she stopped to remove her dressing-gown, placing it next to the bed. Harry’s hand reached out and curled around hers, guiding her as she climbed into his bed, under the covers, facing him. Immediately, she felt one arm slide under her neck while the other clasped around her and pulled her to him tightly. So this is what it meant to be enveloped by Harry. The sensation made her shiver.

Harry must’ve thought she was cold because his hands ran themselves up and down her back soothingly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

‘There is something familiar about this …’ he whispered, ‘I feel like I’ve been here before … but whatever the reason, nothing can possibly feel better, more … real than this. It feels like … home,’ a tremor ran through his voice on the last word.

Hermione didn’t answer. Hermione just wrapped an arm around him, gave him another kiss, and nuzzled into him as close as she could. She felt a hand running through her hair, much like hers had run through his earlier, and as she fell into dreamless sleep, she smiled at the thought of never having to be jealous of a pillow again.