Thieves

Thieves

“For you and I are past our dancing days.”

Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Act I Scene V

Hermione awoke to patchwork darkness, pieces of light streaming from the window and from Madame Pomfrey’s slightly opened office door burning her eyes. Her hands fumbled against the softness of her bed sheets, searching for an ounce of familiarity. Anything, something—

She needed to—

His hand.

His hand inches away from her own. She reached and grasped his hand tightly. Soft, soft, soft, soft, bandages? He was hurt. She withdrew.

And then she remembered that horrible, horrible feeling.

She nearly died tonight. She nearly died in a place that was cold and sad and completely unfamiliar. She nearly died without kissing her parents or fighting with Ron or buying her dad that vintage Stones record he wanted. She nearly died and had left him.

She nearly died and left him behind.

Hermione reached and grabbed his hand with a frightening desperation. She reveled in the fact that she could still touch him; the he was still with her. She said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity that had protected them from the dark danger. She was frighteningly grateful for being alive… for the both of them being alive. She was too alive in some sense. It was unnerving to relieve every memory that she carried near and dear to her heart. But memories were fragments and although they were fragments, she was eternally grateful for every bit and piece.

“Hermione,” he murmured, his voice laced with sleep and heavy emotions.

“Hermione…”

“Harry,” she croaked, her own voice weak from the lack of use.

She heard a rustle of fabric and a chair shift forward. He tightened his grip on her hand as he peered down on her. She swallowed, her throat burning and tears spilling from her eyes. She knew that look on his face. It was same look he wore as an eleven year-old boy, then at twelve and thirteen, and at fourteen. He wore that look of agony; that look of blame because he carried the entire world on his shoulders.

With trembling fingers, she reached up and brushed them against his cheek. She had to reassure herself and him…

“I almost lost you,” he whispered fiercely. He grabbed her hand in his own and brought it to his lips. The intensity of his eyes was terrifying.

“I almost lost you,” he chants. “I lost Sirius and I almost lost you.”

She chokes down a sob. “I’m here,” she offers helplessly.

But I almost died.

She can only offer him words because that’s all she has. Words and dark curses, and the cold hands of death… What can she offer him?

“Harry,” she whispers with a gentle tug on his hand. “Lay with me, Harry.”

“I-”

She shakes her head. She needs this. He needs this. “Lay with me,” she repeats.

And so he complies. He unties his shoes and she opens his blankets to him. The bed shifts and squeaks, pressing down at the weight of them both. His arms wrap around her waist and she buries herself into his warmth.

“I lost Sirius today,” he speaks in a broken whisper.

She knows the last thing he wants to hear is sorry. Instead, she burrows herself even deeper in his embrace. She seeks comfort in the beating of his heart.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I had lost you,” he murmurs into her ear.

The intensity of his words sends a chill through her body. This is the turning point, she realizes. When was thought to be one man’s weakness was really his strength. She knew that Fate had pushed her into a catalytic position tonight.

She feels his lips against her ear. “Promise me, you won’t leave me.”

Hermione had never been so scared as the meaning, hidden and known, sunk into her. This was it. “Harry…”

“Promise me,” he hisses, his lips inches from her own.

And she knows she can do no less. “I promise.”

He kisses her then.

Fin

Author’s Note

I’ve always liked this one. It was actually almost immediately written after I read the DoM chapter. It’s amazing what you can find when you clean out your computer files.