Truly, Madly, Deeply

Arc/Harry

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 26/05/2004
Last Updated: 26/05/2004
Status: in_progress

A simple, sweet, fluff piece about Harry and Hermione's feelings for one another.

Chapters

1. Truly, Madly, Deeply

1. Truly, Madly, Deeply

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related ideas are copyrighted and property of J.K. Rowling. I in no way own or claim anything henceforth with exception to the invented storyline.

Author’s Note: I’m writing this as a break from my novel story. This story is purely fluff, and only going to be one chapter and that is why there will be little in regards to Harry’s feelings about Sirius or Voldemort, or any major problem relating to cannon. Also I’m going to try and avoid issues brought up in my novel fic. so as not to spoil anything for it’s readers.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Harry stared out the small window near his four-poster. Beautiful crystal snow covered the grounds of the school for as far as the eye could see. The soft December snow drifted slowly past the window. The dormitory room was empty but for the two boys near the window.

“What are you looking at?” said Ron, as he closed a book on astronomy. He sat his hastily scribbled notes and book aside, and stood to look out the window too. They stood in silence for a moment.

“Where do you think Hermione is?” said Harry. He continued to direct his gaze out the window, not bothering to glance at his friend. A loud roar of cheers rose up to the dormitory from the common room below.

“Probably down at the celebration. I honestly don’t know why we’re not down there.”

“She’s not there, I looked,” Harry uncrossed his arms. “I told you, you can go if you want. You don’t need to keep me company.” The wood of the windowsill creaked as he leaned upon it. The snow outside slowly began to come down harder. Ron gave a small sigh.

“You’re my best friend. I can’t let you go off by yourself. The celebration is for us though, I still don’t understand why you’re up here acting this way. Don’t you care that we beat Slytherin?” Ron picked his books up off the bed. “Look I’m going to go down and celebrate, maybe there are a few butterbeers left, are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah,”

“Just one of those days huh?”

“Yeah,”

The room was eerily quiet after Ron left. Harry slowly removed the glasses from his face and began to wipe them on his shirt. She’s been acting so odd lately, and to miss the biggest Quidditch match of the school year? Hermione hadn’t shown her face at the game. No one, as much as Harry asked, had even remembered seeing her the entire day. She’s not even at the celebration party. I wish I knew why she’s been acting so strange lately.

He noticed that he was still wiping his glasses off, and quickly returned them to his face. Deciding nothing could be done staring at what seemed to be a never ending falling of snow, Harry slowly made his way down the stairs to the party below.

The common room was strung from wall to wall with decorative banners of gold and scarlet. The students had not stopped at any lengths, after beating Slytherin, to decorate the common room like it had never been before. Banners made of the finest golden material, and streamers of magnificent gold floated magically above everyone’s heads. Box after box of butterbeer bottles were lined up against the wall, and at the rate the festivities were going, it looked as if they were going to need at least twice as many more.

Neville patted Harry on the back hard as he hit the bottom of the stairs. “Wonderful catch today,” he said, offering Harry a butterbeer. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Harry gave a weak smile in reply. “Thank you, and no thanks,” he said pushing the outstretched bottle of butterbeer back to Neville. The commotion and noise of the common room was beginning to give him a headache. One could only stand around and shout, “Long live Gryffindor,” for so long before their mind began to wonder. “I think I need to take a walk,” he said walking slowly away, leaving a disheartened Neville in his wake.

The Fat Lady of the Gryffindor House Portrait watched Harry sadly trail along the corridor, until he turned a corner and she could no longer see him. She slowly swung shut muttering, “Poor boy,” over and over to herself.

Although the afternoon had seemed to melt away, it was still early an early quarter past eight, so Harry took his slow walk down the halls in no rush. When he reached the stairs he took it upon himself to put both feet on each step, counting as he went.

Harry didn’t feel particularly sorry for himself; he had no real reason too. It was a constant worry about Hermione that had been slowly eating at him the past few days that led to his less than desirable state. His head hadn’t been in the match earlier, as he was oblivious to the face he was almost knocked into a dizzy by two bludgers. In fact he’d only caught the snitch because it happened to fly within a few feet of him sometime around the start of the second hour of play.

Blindly striding along the stairs he nearly knocked over a suit of armor as he reached the fifth floors landing. The armor gave a loud clink, and mumbled ferociously at him. Harry made a quick apology, setting the gauntlet of the suit he’d upset straight. When the armor once again looked as it should, he started down the stairs again.

Harry had no real idea of where he was going, but being away from the crowd, the people, made him feel much more at ease than he had all day. He began to step down the next flight of stairs when a small, subtle, noise caught his ears. Lifting his foot back up off the staircase he listened again. The quiet, yet very distinct sound of someone crying was coming from the corridor near the stairs.

“Myrtle?” Harry whispered to himself. “No it can’t be.” He placed a hand on the banister and peered over the side, counting the remaining flights. “This is the fourth floor, not the second.” The crying grew steadily louder as he began to trace it down the hall. He walked on tiptoe, so that from whomever the crying was coming from, would not be aware of his presence.

Harry laid his hand upon the bar of the large wooden doors, from behind which he could still hear the now very distinct sound of crying. “The library?” he glanced down at his watch, squinting to see it in the dark hallway. “But it closed fifteen minutes ago.” The drifting sound of crying was broken by a violent cough, a hack, and then the crying slowly resumed itself.

He very slowly pushed the door open, just far enough that he could wedge himself into the library, and shut the door quietly behind himself. The crying intensified, although he couldn’t see where it was coming from. The light from the moon, streaming in through the high windows barely made it bright enough for him to walk without tripping.

Who on earth? Taking small, barely audible steps he crept from table to table, searching for the noise. A stack of books sat upon a table in the back, so high that they blocked out Harry’s view of the figure behind them. The crying was as loud as ever. The figure gave another weak cough.

The small, thin, girl sat with her face buried in her arms. The thin streams of moonlight accented upon the bushy curls of her shoulder length hair. She hadn’t noticed the appearance of Harry, and only continued to sob uncontrollably into the sleeves of her robe.

“Hermione...” he said softly. The girl jumped, and quickly sat bolt upright, her hands clinging to her tear streaked face.

“Harry!” she shrieked. She quickly began wiping at her cheeks, “What are you doing here? I’m just studying, thought I’d get ahead on my notes.” her voice squeaked and cracked as each word escaped her mouth.

“In the dark? After the library’s closed?” said Harry. He picked up the book that she had been leaning on and flipped it closed to read the cover. “Madam Darling’s Magical Mixtures: Recipe’s for Large Parties,” he read the cover aloud. Hermione finished wiping her cheeks and promptly took the book back from him.

“I, um...” she sighed heavily.

“Hermione I’ve been looking for you all day,” said Harry, taking the chair next to her. “Have you been in here all day?” he smiled, “I should have known. Why are you crying?” he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and left it there. Hermione stared down at the table.

“I didn’t know it was that loud, I’m so sorry,” she gave a small sniff.

“Don’t be, there’s no reason for that.” Harry embraced her, patting her back reassuringly Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. Two minutes had passed before Harry spoke again. “Now tell me what’s wrong?”

Hermione gave a weak smile as she pulled away from him. It was hard, with the darkness pressing in upon her, and Harry’s vigilant eyes never faltering to lose contact with her face, to find words. Resting one arm upon the table she sighed and looked at the dark outline of his face. “Do you know what Malfoy called me yesterday?”

“I could guess.”

“Worthless.”

“So?” Harry eased against the back of the chair. “He’s called you much worse than that before.”

“Yes but, the other things weren’t true.”

“You’re not worthless.”

“It got me thinking.” said Hermione. She leaned upon the table again, pushing a few books out of the way. “You’ve never known what it’s like.”

“To be what?” Harry asked.

“Worthless. My entire life I’ve been nothing but worthless. I’ve never been popular. When I was young I had no friends.” she motioned around with her hands, “Books, books were my only friends. They don’t judge you by how smart you are, or what your opinions are, or even how big your front teeth are. It’s why I’ve always tried to be the smartest one around, I figured if I was smart that maybe people would notice me for something. But that just brings on insults, like egghead, or bookworm. I’ve never been accepted anywhere.” Tears slowly began to leak down her face again.

“I accept you. Ron accepts you. Ginny, Luna, and Neville; everyone loves and accepts you. Why are you like this all of a sudden?” said Harry.

“You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve always been popular, “The boy who lived”. I’ve never once been popular for anything. People only like me if I can help them in some way. Boys hate me. The only guy who ever even showed an interest in me, can’t even say my name right! How would you feel if girls treated you like that? I’m so pathetic, I’ve never even been kissed.”

“Well...” quivered Harry. Very slowly he placed a hand on her knee, leaned over her, and tenderly placed his lips to hers. They sat connected, unmoving, for what felt to both of them like an eternity. It was Harry who pulled away first, forgetting to remove his hand from her knee.

Tears glistened on Hermione’s eyes, and rolled down her cheek, although no sound came from her. She choked a little on the words that were trying to form in her throat. “You’ve, you’ve always been my, my best friend Harry. No one has ever been there for me like you have. You’ve never judged me on anything except for who I am. That’s why I’ve been crying. It’s because, well, I think I-“

“Love you,” said Harry, smiling. Hermione nodded slowly in agreement. Not a word passed between them for the next minute. They simply sat staring at what they could make out of one another in the darkened library.

Harry slid his arm down around her waist, and gently slid her onto his lap. “Well,” he said. “How can you be unpopular when you’re the girlfriend of the famous Harry Potter?”

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, as she curled her legs up in his lap. “But you always said that I wasn’t your, I mean that we weren’t together...” He wrapped his arms around her, and took her soft hand in his.

“I lied. Next time you see that Skeeter woman, tell her, boy have we got a story for you.”

“Do you think she’ll say, “About time.””? Hermione asked.

“No. I think everyone will.” and for the first time in his life, Harry removed his glasses and sat them upon Hermione’s face.

Dedicated to my better half, my Hermione, my love, Betty.