The Benefits of a Bad Night's Sleep

A/N: I own nothing but the sarcasm in my head

Part one of two. Thanks to Tawny Spitfyre for the beta!

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The Benefits of a Bad Night’s Sleep

I think anyone would agree with me when I say that, when it comes to dreams, I pretty much got the splintery end of the broomstick with a broken cushioning charm. Or, something like that. The point is that I’ve never been one to have good dreams, though once I did have an interesting dream involving Pavarti and Padma Patil…ah, twins….

Er, where was I? Oh yeah, dreams. Anyways, while my roommates were having wonderful dreams involving Celestina Warbeck, a bikini, and sandy beaches (bikini and sandy beach optional), I was often stuck with images of Voldemort dancing through my head. And while a dancing Voldemort might sound humorous, it really isn’t. Trust me.

To be fair, having my little spy camera into the back of Voldemort’s head wasn’t all bad – just mostly bad. In fact, if not for the blinding, mind-ripping pain from my scar that made me want to cry out for a quick death, it was actually pretty useful at times. I mean, at the beginning there, I was getting the inside scoop on his latest dastardly plan, though being the dense boy that I was, I usually couldn’t understand any of it. And then, there were a few times when I tapped into Voldemort’s head, only to see him going about his daily business; I tell you, you don’t know the meaning of the word “bored” until you’ve watched Voldemort pick out a set of robes to wear for the day (“Black is black! It’s all the same!” I wanted to scream many, many times).

All those good times, such as they were, ended in fifth year when Voldemort caught on to my little peep show. At that point, he began producing his own home-movies for me to watch, which led directly to the death of my beloved godfather. Though, truth be told, some of the blame must be placed on the shoulders of He-Who-Doth-Not-Telleth-Harry-Potter-Things; I’m not naming any names, but let’s just say that this person’s name rhymes with ‘Stumblemore.’ I mean, it would have been nice to know that Voldemort was trying to get into the Department of Mysteries before I went there, but there’s not much I can do about that now (except to be bitter and resentful, which I’m already doing quite fabulously, thank you very much).

After Sirius’ death, I learned to block some of it out, but sometimes Voldemort would manage to slip in a few horrifying images for me to fall asleep to. When I finally managed to heroically and boldly defeat the foul monster last year (which involved a lot of heroic running away and some bold cowering in fear), I had hoped that the bad dreams would end. Finally, after almost six years of waking up in cold sweats with my scar on fire, I could finally dream like a regular seventeen-year old guy; in other words, I was hoping to meet the Patil twins again with a side of whipped cream. Unfortunately, as with everything else in my life, nothing was that simple.

I had just woken up from a reoccurring dream that I’ve been having for a few years now; ever since third year, in fact. Though sometimes there were subtle differences, the main plot is always the same: I’m outside Godric’s Hollow minutes before Voldemort kills my parents, but there’s always something stupid and silly preventing me from reaching them in time. Sometimes I’ve forgotten my wand, and I waste time trying to find it; other times, I’m at the door to the house, but I can’t remember even the most basic unlocking spell to get inside. I tell you, it’s pretty frustrating. Tonight, my wonderful subconscious decided to put in a little twist to the standard dream – instead of my mom falling lifelessly to the ground, she was thrown backwards and into a black veil. Gee, I wonder what that could mean?

So now I was wide-awake and, frankly, a little shaken. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was still too early, and that I should be sleeping. No, really, that’s what it said - literally. Stupid wizarding clocks always have to give some kind of commentary rather than the actual time. I fumbled around a little for my Muggle wristwatch and saw that it was only two in the morning. I spent the next half-hour fruitlessly trying to get back to sleep before finally giving up. That dream definitely messed me up. I decided to be productive for once (instead of rolling around my bed for another hour) and review for Potions for a couple of hours, and then I would try and go back to sleep. I quietly grabbed my bookbag and slipped out of the dorm room, careful not to wake up any of my roommates, all of whom were probably dreaming about naked witches playing Quidditch. Lucky bastards.

I made my way down the stairs and was surprised to see that I wasn’t the only one awake at this time of the morning. Sitting at the long table and surrounded by books, her quill scratching away at a parchment, sat one of my best friends, Hermione Granger. I paused on the stairway, suddenly caught up in the sight. With the fireplace flickering behind her, giving her a certain glow, she looked so peaceful, like she was in her natural element. It was very picturesque. I suddenly felt like I was intruding, and I considered backtracking up to my room. But before I could move, she noticed me.

“Harry!” she said in surprise, her hand clutching at her heart. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” I said contritely as I made my way down the rest of the stairs and sat beside her. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up.”

She shrugged. “Just doing some homework.”

“Homework?” I asked a little dubiously. I walked over to her table and looked over the pages that one of the books was open to. “Homework for when? Two months from now?”

She smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, it never hurts to be prepared.”

I smiled back. “I know. Well, good news! Since you’re up, you can help me with Potions,” I said brightly.

“Oh yippee,” she said dryly. Then her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Harry, what are you doing up at this time of the night? And don’t even try and tell me it’s because you wanted to study potions.”

Ah yes, that was a very good question indeed. I really wasn’t in the mood to relive my dream with her, not to mention that being unable to sleep because of a ‘scawy’ dream wasn’t exactly something suitable for the savior of the wizarding world. I had a reputation to protect, after all, even if that reputation often fluctuated from savior to nutter and back again. I pulled my Potions text from my bookbag while I answered nonchalantly. “I just couldn’t sleep. I figured a little Potions would put me right back to bed.”

“You’re lying,” Hermione said instantly.

Huh? What the…? “Huh?”

“Look me in the eye and say that again.”

Ah, so that was it - Hermione was using her little Harry-lie-detector again. Somewhere along the way, she came up with the theory that I couldn’t lie to her when I looked her in the eyes, and that I was lying if I was purposely avoiding her eyes. Well, I’ll show her. I sighed and dramatically turned to face her, staring into her eyes.

“I just couldn’t” – she had a strand of hair drifting across her cheek – “sleep. That’s all.” Gah! Damn eye flicker!

“That’s what I thought,” she said, a little smugly.

“No, wait! Let me try that again.” Okay, focus now. “There’s absolutely nothing” – the fire seems to be getting lower – “wrong with me.” Urgh!

Hermione looked at me sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

I shook my head. Like I said, I really wasn’t much in the mood to rehash the death of my parents and Sirius; plus, opening up and sharing my feelings isn’t exactly the Harry Potter way. I’m more of the ‘keep-my-feeling-inside-until-they-explode-and-I-yell-at-everyone’ kind of guy; Harry ‘the ticking time-bomb’ Potter, that’s me. I was about to tell her a firm no when she screwed it all up by putting her hand over mine.

“I dreamt about my parents…the night they died.”

Ah well. There was just something about the way her hand felt over mine… Besides, I didn’t mind so much talking to Hermione; I suppose it was probably because Hermione was one of only two people, Ron being the other, who really knew me, the real me, and not just the Boy-Who-Lived, although Ron at times did lose sight of that. With those two, I didn’t have to maintain my steely façade at all times, though, of course, I would never share my feelings with Ron; we’re both guys, after all, and it’s just not a ‘guy’ thing to do. But Hermione was a girl, so talking about feelings with her was socially acceptable. I proceeded to tell Hermione about my dream, surprising even myself by not leaving out any details. And by the end of the tale, I actually did feel a little better.

“Oh Harry,” she said sadly. I looked at her, expecting to hear some encouraging words or some advice, but instead, she startled me by flinging herself at me and enveloping me in a tight hug. I sat there stunned for a while. Despite the years of closeness we shared, I was still very uncomfortable with hugs; I’m guessing I’ll either need years of therapy or a good Oblivious to repair the emotional damage the Dursleys inflicted on me. Anyways, it took me a few seconds to react, and I somewhat awkwardly put my arms around Hermione.

And lo and behold, after a few seconds, it actually started to feel good. It felt comfortable, peaceful, and just plain nice. And a few seconds after that, a few moments longer than necessary, we let each other go and just stared at each other. I then realized that things were getting a little awkward, and I cleared my throat.

“So…uh…about that Potions.”

That seemed to snap Hermione out of it as well. “Oh yes, potions,” she said, turning to riffle through her stacks of books and parchments. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw her cheeks turn a little pink, but maybe that was because of the fire. We spent the next hour going over Potions (okay, technically I spent an hour going over Potions, Hermione spent an hour patiently explaining it all to me). But after that, I still wasn’t sleepy so I started on Transfiguration while Hermione went on to Arithmancy. After about ten minutes of silence, I looked over at Hermione and saw that she had her head down in her book, her eyes closed.

“Hermione?” No response. I gently shook her shoulder. “Hermione?”

“Mmmmm?” She sounded very sleepy. And cute, not that I notice such things about my best friend.

I chuckled a little. “It’s late; you should get some sleep.”

She shook her head a little, hard to do since her head was still in lying on her book. “No,” she mumbled. “Stay with you.”

For some reason, hearing that gave me a strange warm feeling inside. I knew I should’ve insisted, or just Mobilicorpus’ed her up the stairs, but frankly, it felt very nice being with her, just the two of us, even if she was sleeping. “Okay,” I said softly, and then returned to my book. About an hour later I finally felt sleepy myself, and after nudging Hermione awake, we packed up and went to our dorm rooms.

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Getting up the next morning was definitely tough. After taking a few seconds to rub all the gunk out of my eyes, I somehow managed to get dressed (thank Merlin for uniforms; I definitely lacked the mental capacity to match clothes) and stumbled my way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As I sat down across from Ron, he looked at me curiously.

“Man, Harry, you look terrible,” he said. I grunted in response as I reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. “What happened?”

“Bad dream,” I mumbled without thinking. And just my luck, for some reason Neville, Dean, and Seamus decided at that very moment to listen in.

“Bad dream, huh?” Seamus asked/snorted.

Oops. It’s one thing to tell Hermione that I had a bad dream at two in the morning. It’s a totally different thing when dealing with the guys. Bad dreams just aren’t the things that tough guys lose sleep over; the Creevey’s maybe, but not Harry Potter. Fortunately, I knew how to salvage the situation. “Yeah. I was remembering the final fight with Voldemort,” I said nonchalantly. Though I made no outward show that I noticed, I was pleased to see the expected shudders (and a small squeak from Neville) that the name Voldemort still elicited. Being troubled by bad dreams may be wussy, but dreaming about Voldemort is another thing entirely. After that, the guys dropped the subject, probably because they knew that if they inquired further, I’d keep saying ‘Voldemort’ over and over again rather than ‘You-Know-Who,’ and despite his death, hearing Voldemort’s name still scared the bejeezus out of them.

A few minutes later, as conversation turned safely to Quidditch and classes, Hermione made her way to the table and sat beside me. I gave her a quick smile and mumbled a greeting. I think she was avoiding my eyes, but since I was avoiding her eyes as well, I really couldn’t be sure. Ron gave her a funny look as she sat.

“Sheesh Hermione, you look beat too. Don’t tell me you had a bad dream as well?”

If Hermione glanced at me at the mention of ‘bad dream’ I couldn’t be sure since at that moment I found my eggs absolutely fascinating. I did, however, hear her answer, “No, no bad dream,” she said. “I was just up late studying.”

And for some odd reason, I was pleased by her response. Now, I’m not saying that I regret telling her about my dream last night, but things do look a little different under the bright morning sun. I really didn’t want to talk about the dream anymore, and I felt a bit awkward now, knowing that I had revealed so much to her, that I appeared so…vulnerable. I was half-afraid she would give me pitying looks and lose respect for me, but to my immense relief, she acted as if nothing had happened at all.

Another reason that her answer made me happy was that I suppose when I told Ron and the others that I dreamt about Voldemort, I unconsciously made the decision to keep the events of last night to myself. When Hermione responded the way she did, it seemed that she too had chosen to keep it just between us. It’s not that I like keeping things from Ron, but it did feel oddly nice, knowing that Hermione and I had this little secret; something that was just between the two of us.

The rest of the day went rather quickly, but that was probably because I fell asleep in almost all of my classes – time sure flies when you sleep through it. After making the mistake of eating a plateful of pasta for dinner, I felt myself slipping into a food-coma. I could barely keep my eyes open, so I gracefully retired for the night, barely avoiding stepping on Crookshanks as I climbed the stairs.

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The next morning, I awoke refreshed and ready to start the day. Everything seemed to suggest that today would be a good day - the sun was shining, the birds were chirping. Predictably, things seemed to go downhill rather quickly from there. I walked with Ron and Hermione to the Great Hall for breakfast and had just started on my plate of eggs when Hermione spoke:

“I think we should start getting serious about NEWTs tonight. I’ve already drawn up a preliminary study schedule for us…” My fork clattered against my plate as the reality of what she just said set it. NEWTs. For some reason, I had completely forgotten about them! Hermione looked at me curiously. “Are you all right Harry?”

I nodded my head slightly and tried to clear the away the panic. “Er, yeah…I just…”

Hermione frowned. “You have been studying, right?” When I failed to respond, her frown deepened. “Right Harry?” she repeated.

I think I was too shocked to feel guilty. “Well…”

“Harry Potter!” she exclaimed. “I expected this kind of behavior from Ron-”

“Hey!” Ron protested, to no avail.

“-but not from you,” Hermione continued unabated. “Well, you’ll just have to work twice as hard now, since NEWTs are only two weeks away,” she said resolutely, as she handed me my schedule.

Two weeks? TWO WEEKS? Did she just say that NEWTs are TWO WEEKS away? For the love of… I just barely maintained control of my bladder. If I didn’t know that Voldemort was dead and buried, I would have suspected that this was some infernal plan of his to make my life a living hell. How did the entire school year go by without me realizing it? TWO WEEKS?

I numbly looked over Hermione’s study schedule and received the second shock of the day, or was it third? Hermione had listed all the NEWT classes that I was taking, including Herbology and Charms. Oh crap. I had been skipping my Herbology and Charms classes all year! I didn’t even know where the classrooms were. How in God’s name (er, Merlin’s name) was I going to cram a year’s worth of knowledge into two weeks, especially given that I hadn’t gone to a single class all year? For once I was glad that I had been facing death every year since I was eleven – it prepared me for this very moment, for otherwise I would probably have been struck catatonic with panic.

I considered my options. Obviously, since I had to study for every subject in the next two weeks in the first place, there was no way I could possibly make up for never attending Herbology or Charms. Maybe Dumbledore could do something for me. After all, I had been just a little busy the past couple of years, dealing with that whole ‘saving the world, Dark Lord trying to kill me’ thingie…maybe he could get me a special exemption or an extension? Sounded like a plan, and since nothing else came to mind, I decided that I would go talk to Dumbledore after lunch.

Heartened a little, I looked up and was startled to find that I was alone in the Great Hall. What the… I checked the time and saw that the first class had started ten minutes ago! How had I missed the entire Hall emptying? I stood up and hastily gathered my things, a little miffed that my two best friends left me here to vegetate for ten minutes. I rushed out of the Great Hall when I realized that I didn’t know where I was going. Where was my first class? What was my first class? I scrambled through my bookbag, searching in vain for a schedule. Okay, calm down Potter. I straightened and took a couple of deep breaths, hoping to calm myself. Surely the realization that NEWTs were so close must have muddled my brain. All I had to do was to relax and everything would come back to me, right?

I relaxed for a few seconds, and then became worried that nothing was coming back. So I forced myself to relax again, which only made me worry more because nothing was coming back; I found myself becoming more and more panicked the more I tried to relax! Almost to the point of hyperventilation, I saw a glimmer of hope approaching me.

“Hermione!” I cried out. I suppose I should have wondered why she was out and about and wandering the hallways rather than in class, but I was just too relieved to see a living person.

“Harry,” she said excitedly. She was clutching a textbook to her chest. “Are you busy tonight? Quidditch practice or anything?” she asked in a rush, clearly oblivious to the fact that I was about to pass out. “Do you think you can you help me with Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts tonight? I want to study for that test next week and…”

But I tuned her out at that point. Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts? What was that? “Hermione,” I said, interrupting her in mid-sentence, “What are you talking about?”

She looked at me oddly. “Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts? You promised you would help me study, remember?”

Actually I didn’t, which wasn’t all that surprising by this point. “Erm…”

She frowned. “Harry, you do remember promising me, right?” Before I could answer, she continued, “Well, no matter, you can still help me study, if you have time that is. We’re on Chapter 183 now, and I’m having a little trouble with the Buplerificus Tolarbiliferous spell.”

The what? What is going on today? “Er, Burpercus Tobercus spell?” I asked weakly.

Hermione frowned again. “Harry, you do know the Buplerificus Tolarbiliferous spell, right? I mean, you are taking Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?”

“Erm…”

“Harry Potter!” she said, shocked. “You promised!”

And while there was a small chance that I was indeed taking Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts and just not remembering, it was doubtful since I’d never heard of the Burper-what’s-it spell before. I fidgeted slightly as I spoke, “well, you see…”

But apparently Hermione didn’t want to see, and instead she gave me an icy glare before stomping off back in the direction she had come from. As I watched her retreating, I suddenly felt sad that I couldn’t help her. I mean, she’s always been there to help Ron and me with all our school things, and it would have been really nice if I could have been there for her for once. But before I could think of anything to bring her back, she was gone, and I was left alone once more. Then I remembered that I couldn’t remember anything, and that old panicky feeling came back. What was I going to do? I had NEWTs that I hadn’t studied for coming up for classes that I hadn’t been to all year! And to top it all off, Hermione was upset with me for breaking a promise I don’t remember making about a class I’d never heard of before! Argh! I felt paralyzed by my panic; I couldn’t think straight and-

With a deep intake of breath, I opened my eyes to the darkness of the dorm room. My heart was racing, and for a few seconds I had no idea whether what had just happened was a dream or not. After that, once I was sure that it had just been a dream, I took a great sigh of relief. God, how I hated that dream as well. That one was also a recurring dream, at least once every other month or so, though the whole thing about helping Hermione out with Super Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts was new. Fortunately, while it took a few seconds to recover, it wasn’t traumatizing like my dream from last night, so I could usually get back to sleep right away. As I settled back into my bed, my mind wandered over the meaning of the Hermione part. It then occurred to me that maybe Hermione was also up, studying again. Maybe she was downstairs at this very minute. I spent about five minutes thinking about that before I realized that I would never get any sleep unless I knew for sure. I was just curious. So, doing my best to be quiet, I slipped out of the dorm room and walked down the stairs towards the common room.

As soon as I saw her figure hunched over a pile of books, an uncontrollable smile broke out on my face. Fortunately, I managed to clear it off by the time she noticed me.

“Harry?” she said, looking up. “Are you okay?” She was giving me that look that one gives to a wet, bedraggled puppy. I knew that look well, for I got that look all the time from the neighbors in Surrey who thought I was some disturbed child and from the wizards and witches who knew that my parents had been murdered. It was a look of pity, and I hated that look. But for some reason, I didn’t mind that look so much coming from Hermione. I nodded my head as I walked down the last few steps. “Did you have a bad dream again?” she asked.

I considered that for a second. Technically, I did just have a bad dream, though it didn’t really bother me. But still, a bad dream is a bad dream, right? “Yeah,” I said in what I thought was a brave and stoic-sounding voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her eyes filled with worry and concern.

“No, I’ll be all right,” I said bravely as I stoically sat down next to her.

Fortunately, she didn’t press the issue, though I could tell she wanted to. “Is there anything I can do?”

Not the kind of thing an attractive girl should ask a seventeen year old male, because a whole bunch of impure thoughts flew through my brain, thoughts that I should not have about my best friend. “Er, no, I don’t think so,” I said valiantly.

“Do you want to study, to get your mind off of your dream? Or maybe just talk?”

As studying was rarely a preferred option of mine, it wasn’t that hard of a choice. I smiled and replied, “I think talking would be okay.” Hermione smiled back and closed her book, signifying that I was to be her sole focus of attention. I felt a flutter in my stomach, which I promptly ignored. We spent the next few hours talking.

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A/N: Profuse apologies for taking so long to update. A combination of work, golf, and the holidays conspired against me and prevented me from getting to a computer. Anyways, here’s the last part. Oh, and if you reviewed the last part, I may have left a reply just now, so check it out.

Enjoy!

The Benefits of a Bad Night’s Sleep - Part II

The next day was even tougher than the last. Staying awake was harder, though I followed Hermione’s example with a few cups of strong coffee, liberally laced with much sugar and milk and ice (I hate hot coffee). Throughout the day we never talked about what happened last night, but every time she gave me a small smile, or when our eyes met, I was sure she was telling me how much she enjoyed spending time together, just the two of us. That, or I had something on my face. Ron was fairly mystified by the whole ‘sleepy’ thing, but he seemed to believe our cover stories.

That night, I expected I would fall asleep the second my head hit the pillow. But I didn’t. Maybe it was all the caffeine I had ingested throughout the day, for while my body ached for sleep, my mind just wouldn’t shut off. I literally tossed and turned for an hour before I gave up. I briefly considered doing something productive – study or something – before my thoughts turned to Hermione. I wonder if she’s awake as well? I had no doubt that she was exhausted as I was and was likely sleeping soundly in her bed at the moment, but still… What if she was downstairs right now? Surely it would be rude of me to leave her by herself? In fact, it was almost like I had an obligation to see if she was awake, right? My decision made, I crept out of the dorm room and made my way to the common room.

It was empty. I felt a profound sense of disappointment and sadness, far in excess of the usual. I thought about that. Why should it matter? It was only Hermione, after all. But I was still disappointed that she wasn’t down here. I slowly walked down the rest of the stairs and sat on the couch in front of the fire, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep feeling the way I was right now. As I stared at the flickering flames, I began to wonder why I was so disappointed. Like I said, it was only Hermione, right? It’s not like I won’t see her tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. What should it matter? Why did I expect her to be here, and why does it make me so sad that she’s not here?

“Harry, are you all right?”

I turned in surprise and saw Hermione walking down the stairs, a look of concern in her face. I was so happy seeing her that I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot. Seeing me smile must’ve temporarily eased any of Hermione’s concerns, and she smiled back.

“And what are you so happy about” she gently teased.

“Seeing you,” I said without thinking, and we both blushed in tandem. “I mean,” I said quickly, trying to recover, “it’s nice to see you; I was feeling a little depressed just now.” Which was true, after all; I was being honest.

Hermione’s concerned look returned. “Did you have another bad dream?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. Well, so much for honesty.

Hermione sat beside me. “Oh Harry,” she said softly, giving me that look that I would hate from anyone else. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Especially considering that I was lying through my teeth.

She gave me an intense stare, which was kinda freaking me out. “Harry,” she finally said, “I really think you should talk about it. Keeping it all inside can’t be good; maybe that’s why you had another dream tonight.”

Ah, poopie. Why can’t we just sit and talk? “No, really, I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound firm without being rude.

“Please, Harry,” she said, giving me a soulful look and laying her hand across mine again. I promptly melted in a puddle of goo and knew that further resistance would be futile. My eyes frantically searched the room as I tried to think of a suitably traumatic plot for a bad dream.

“House elves!” I blurted before I could stop myself. House elves? HOUSE ELVES?? What the hell? Stupid, useless piece of mush I call a brain!

“House elves?” she asked, obviously not expected that response.

Great. Now what? I think it’s safe to say that house elves wouldn’t be my first choice had I had time to think it through. But my eyes had spied upon the window and the darkness outside, which reminded me of the time that I saw Fred and George’s firecracker-dragon, which reminded me how cool it looked with the reflection in the lake, which made me think about the lake, which brought up memories of the time I went swimming in the lake for the Second Task, which reminded me that Dobby had given me the gillyweed so I could breathe underwater, which made me think of Dobby, and of house elves. Brilliant, right? It’s not like somewhere along the line my train of thought could have stopped at ‘second task.’ That Tri-wizard tournament was full of good material for nightmares, but noooo, I had to ride the brain train all the way to Dobby and house elves. Stupid, useless piece of mush I call a brain!

“And what did the, er, house elves do in your dream?” Hermione asked, obviously torn between lingering concern and laughing out loud.

Okay brain, you failed me once; you have one more chance, don’t let me down! “Umm, they were cleaning things.”

Sigh. It’s a wonder I can tie my shoes in the morning. Maybe that’s why I don’t bother with the laces and just slip them on.

“Cleaning things?” The ‘laughing out loud’ side was currently winning on Hermione’s face. I had to act fast.

“Er, yeah. They were cleaning everything and it was driving me crazy… and… and… and it reminded me how the Dursleys treated me like a slave and made me clean everything.” Eureka! See? It may take a while, but the ol’ noggin comes through in the end. The Dursleys are always good for a few pity points, and the look of sympathy on Hermione’s face was proof of that.

“Oh Harry, I’m sorry,” she said, and I was rewarded with a hug.

“It was horrible, Hermione…absolutely horrible,” I said bravely.

Her arms tightened around me, and she made soft, soothing sounds.

“They just wouldn’t leave me alone…”

“It’s okay, Harry. They can’t hurt you anymore,” she said gently. Obviously the feeling of Hermione pressed against me must’ve scrambled my brain, because the next words out of my mouth were: “I did everything I could Hermione…I even threw socks and hats at them, but they still wouldn’t leave me alone.”

After a second’s hesitation, Hermione relaxed her hold on me and leaned back to look at my face. “What? Who wouldn’t leave you alone?”

Uh-oh. Something was amiss… “Er, the House Elves?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “I thought we were talking about the Dursleys?” she asked.

Oops. That’s right, we were talking about the Dursleys. Think fast! “Um, yeah, that’s right. You see…er…”

After a few seconds of silence, while my mouth opened and closed without emitting a sound, I would have settled for just plain thinking in general, much less thinking fast.

She squinted at me. “Did you really have a bad dream?” she asked skeptically.

When in doubt, tell a half-truth. “Of course I had a nightmare,” I said, trying to appear indignant. It was the truth. I did have a bad dream - just not tonight.

But Hermione wasn’t buying the load of crap I was trying to sell. “Just now? Did you have a bad dream tonight?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but then Hermione pulled her little Harry-lie-detector act again and bored her eyes into the back of my skull. “No,” I said in a quiet voice. Damn those eyes of hers.

Hermione’s eyes grew beady and her lips set themselves into a thin, firm line. I recognized this expression, and I knew fear. “Harry Potter,” she said slowly, building up steam, “how dare you come down here and interrupt my studying with some lie about a nightmare! Why? What was the point? Did you just want to play a trick on me?”

“No, no!” I said frantically, waving my hands in protest. “It wasn’t anything like that!”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she said, clearly not believing me. “Well, I hope you had yourself a jolly good time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of studying to do.”

“Wait, Hermione! It’s not like that! Honest, I-” And then it occurred to me; something was a little off here. “Er, Hermione? Where are your books?”

Her expression flickered for a moment, so fast that I doubt anyone else besides her mother would have caught it. But after everything we’ve been through together, I noticed it. “Hm? What was that?” she asked casually.

“Your books. You know, those leather and paper things that you love so much? If you’re studying, shouldn’t there be a stack of books nearby?”

“Er, yes. They’re still in my room; I just came down to make sure I wouldn’t be bothering anyone down here.” She said it so smoothly that one would have a hard time doubting her. But I had my own Hermione-lie-detector, and sirens and whistles were going off all over the place. I decided to be blunt, just as she was to me only a couple days ago.

“You’re lying,” I said simply.

“I am not!” she said huffily.

“Hermione.” She turned her head and made one of those snooty “hmph” noises, tilting her chin upwards. “So, why did you really come downstairs?” I pursued.

She looked back at me and looked a bit anxious. Then, she turned the tables on me and asked, “Why did you come downstairs?”

I used the time-honored response: “I asked first.”

“Ah, but you also lied first,” she pointed out.

“Fair enough,” I acknowledged. And I figured, why not; she was my best friend, after all, and we’re both adults in the eyes of the wizarding world. “I guess I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Really?” she asked, suddenly looking very interested.

“Really. I missed talking to my best friend.”

“But we talk all the time, Harry. I see you every day and in almost every class.”

I shook my head. “It’s not the same. We hardly have any time to talk anymore. Ever since seventh year began, you’ve been so busy with Head Girl duties, classes, NEWTs, tutoring…you spend more time with other people than with me.”

“Well, I do have a lot of responsibilities this year,” she replied, sounding a bit defensive. “I’ve had to prioritize my life and spend my limited time wisely.”

I sighed and nodded until I realized what she had just said, or rather, what was left unsaid. Did she mean that…? I decided to test the waters. “Yeah, you want to make sure you only spend time on the important things, right?”

“That’s right,” she said, looking relieved that I seemed to understand her. Oh, I understood her, all too well. Things that are important to her she spends time on; so, following her logic, if she doesn’t spend time on something, namely me, that means it’s not important.

I stood somewhat abruptly. “Oh, I see then,” I said a bit coldly. “Well, since I’m obviously not important to you then, not worth spending your precious time on, I’ll just go to bed now.”

“Huh? What?” Hermione said a bewildered. Then she grabbed my wrist before I could move. “Harry,” she said gently, “You know that you’re important to me. We’ve been through so much together, faced so many things…you’ll always be important to me, no matter what happens.”

I looked into those worried eyes and felt my anger dissipating, but some part of me obstinately held on to the anger. And I knew it really wasn’t anger that I was feeling, but fear. Fear that Hermione didn’t care as much about me as I did for her. And I also knew why I was afraid – the Dursleys. It was their special brand of parenting that made me slightly (and by ‘slightly’ I mean ‘extremely’) insecure at times. But this was Hermione, for heaven’s sake, not just some witch off the streets. I was being childish and throwing a hissy-fit. I took a deep breath to calm myself and nodded. Hermione’s worried face broke into a warm smile, and I couldn’t help but smile in return. She hugged me; I was starting to think I hit the hugging jackpot.

After she broke away, she shook her head gently. “Honestly Harry, how could you even think that you’re not important to me?”

I looked down, suddenly feeling rather foolish. “I dunno…I…I guess was feeling a little ignored. I mean, you have so much going on now, I guess I feel a little left out.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, Ron has been spending more time with Lavender recently. Do you feel left out with him also?”

I almost wanted to laugh. That was a completely different situation. “No, of course not,” I scoffed.

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “It’s just different. I mean, Ron’s a guy.”

“Oh really, I hadn’t noticed,” Hermione said dryly. “And what does that make me?”

“Well, you’re a girl,” I said. When she gave me a look, I hastened to add, “I mean, it’s just different, what with you spending so much time with the prefects and tutoring and studying and other things…I guess I’m used to having you all to myself. I don’t like sharing you with other people.”

“What?”

I looked up. Hermione had an odd expression on her face. “What what?”

“What did you just say?”

“Er…” I replayed what I had just said to her, trying to figure out what had spooked her so. Let’s see…feeling ignored…prefects…having you all to myself…

My eyes widened as I realized what I had said. “Oh no! It’s not how it sounded.”

“Really?” she asked. “And how did it sound?” She still had that strange expression on her face, one that even I couldn’t read.

“Er, like I wanted you all to myself or something. But it’s not like that at all.”

“Then what is it like?” I wasn’t used to not being able to read her emotions, and I felt unsure about what to say next.

“What I meant was…” and I tried to put into words what I was failing to say. It’s not like I’m jealous when I see her with other people or anything. It’s just natural to be feeling this way since we’re best friends, right? But then she did point out that I don’t feel the same about Ron. Sure, I sorta miss hanging around with him like we used to, but I understand things change; he’s got Lavender now. I mean, yeah, he’s my best friend, but if Ron went away and did his own thing and we lost contact, I’d be sad, of course, but I’m sure I’d survive.

But with Hermione…I guess some part of me rebels at the very thought that we’d stop being friends. She’d become a fixture in my life; the only thing that I could always count on when things were tough was Hermione’s friendship. Twenty years down the road, I can still see us together, living in some quaint little village, raising our children together…

Whoa! Stop the Hogwarts Express - Dementors sighted!

Children?! Where did that come from? I mean, okay, someday I want a family to call my own, to have children in Weasley-like numbers, but I’d never really thought about with whom. When I dared dream of the future, it’s always been some nameless, faceless witch by my side (but hot, I just know it). But then again, the kids always had an abnormal fondness for books and following rules…

“Harry? Are you all right?” I slowly turned my head to look at her. She chuckled. “If I knew that the question would cause you to think so hard, I would’ve waited until morning.”

But I wasn’t laughing. Something had just happened, like a switch being flipped in my brain. All of a sudden, Hermione wasn’t just Hermione anymore. She still looked the same, but there was something very different about her now, and my brain was trying to process it all. Her hair was still as bushy and wild as before, but for some reason I wanted to run my fingers through it. Her eyes were still that same shade of brown, but now they seemed to captivate me, and I felt like I could easily become lost in them. And her lips…her lips had never before held any interest for me, but now…but now all I wanted to do was to devour them. When I didn’t say anything, she cocked her head to the side. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Words have never been my strong suit; I was more of the ‘actions speak louder than words’ kind of guy. So, I spoke with my actions. Impulsively, without stopping to think of the ramifications (because surely if I had, I wouldn’t have acted), I leaned forward and kissed her.

I felt her tense up in surprise. Just as I was thinking that I had made a horrible, horrible mistake, I felt her hands cup my face, and she actually kissed me back! Once I felt her lips move, all bets were off - I couldn’t get enough of her, I couldn’t be close enough to her. I had no idea where all this passion came from, but I was only aware of her lips and the elation I felt at her kissing me back.

Unfortunately, one of the things that I wasn’t keeping track of was breathing, so eventually I had to end the kiss or risk passing out from lack of oxygen (I would have preferred to pass out rather than stop, but my body thought otherwise). I pulled away, gasping heavily, and was somewhat pleased to see her breathing hard as well. We looked at each other a moment; I figured this was the part where we talk about what happened, where Hermione analyzes and dissects every nuance about what just transpired. Where we spend the next few hours figuring out how this kiss affects our friendship, and what it meant for the future.

But, to my everlasting shock, Hermione launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and forcing me down to the couch. It didn’t take me long to regain my senses and kiss her back, and this time I made sure to take a breath whenever possible.

Time held no meaning after that. All I knew was the feeling of Hermione’s lips and her body pressing against me. Somewhere along the way, we had rolled off the couch and onto the floor with Hermione on top, somehow avoiding injury. Finally, though, Hermione pulled away from me and rested on her elbows. I pouted and tried to steal another kiss, but she averted her face.

“Harry, wait,” she said, but she was smiling. “We have to talk about this.” I knew it would come to this, the eventual talking. But I was hoping it could wait at least until morning, after we’d exhausted ourselves with the kissing. Hermione couldn’t help but notice my sigh. “What? Is talking that bad?” she asked playfully.

I nodded. “It is, when the alternative is more kissing,” I replied seriously, tilting my chin forward in a futile attempt to get back to it.

Hermione laughed, a delightful sound that I knew I would never tire of hearing. “Okay Harry. If I promise more kissing later, will you talk now?”

I pretended to consider the offer, but really, I’d go through Occulmency lessons with Snape again if it meant more kissing with Hermione. “I suppose. Anything specific you want to talk about?”

Hermione put on a face of mock thought. “Hmmm…there might be one or two things.” And then she turned serious. “What just happened, Harry?”

“Well, I kissed you, and then you attacked me and-”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Harry. I mean why did what happened just happen? Why did you kiss me?”

While I knew she would ask this, I also knew that now was not the time to tell her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and raise a family together. My mind was far too muddled with equal parts exhaustion from lack of sleep and desire (well, maybe a tad more of the desire), so I had to be careful. I didn’t want to scare her off with declarations of love; I had to take things slowly, find out how she felt about me and so forth.

“Well,” I began slowly, “I was sitting here thinking about why I lied about having a bad dream when I suddenly realized how much I love you and need you in my life and-”

Waitaminute. Where was I going with this? What happened to taking it slow? My mouth snapped closed. Gah! Stoopid brain! I briefly wondered where I had left my wand and whether or not I could successfully cast an Obliviate spell.

Hermione was silent, but I could tell she had heard me and was processing my gaffe; in any other situation, I would have congratulated myself for rendering her speechless. Finally, she swallowed and asked, “You…you love me?”

I thought about denying it and trying to come up with an excuse, but I figured the Kneazle had already been let out of the bag, plus I had absolutely no faith in the ability of my brain to come up with an excuse, so I nodded. “Yeah. I do, Hermione. I love you.” I reached up and caressed her face. “I’m not sure when it started, but I now know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. To raise the family I’ve always wanted with you.”

All right, so this was probably the complete opposite of ‘taking things slowly’ and ‘not scaring her away with declarations of love,’ but I was too tired to play any games, too tired to be afraid, and I really wanted to get back to the kissing. Besides, as anyone who’d been born with a ‘kill or be killed’ destiny will tell you, life is too precious to waste being afraid. I looked at Hermione carefully, watching for the tell-tale signs of horror, revulsion, happiness, or consternation. What I got instead was kisses, a whole slew of them. In a flurry of activity, she was kissing my lips, my nose, my cheeks, my eyes, all the while mumbling incoherently, though I caught my name a few times. And though this was probably a good sign, it was beginning to tickle a little (as well as get a little sloppy), so I gently pushed at her shoulders until I could see her face. She had this odd dreamy expression, one that looked so out of place on her face that I was actually a bit worried.

“Hermione?” I asked.

“Oh Harry,” she said breathlessly. “You don’t know how hearing you say that makes me so happy.”

I smiled, but while I was glad she was incomprehensively happy, that didn’t necessarily mean she felt the same way, right? I was a bit afraid, er, I mean hesitant, to ask how she felt, so I had to come up with a subtle way of asking. “So, er…”

She gave me a tolerant smile and tapped me on the nose with her finger. “And yes, Harry Potter. I love you too.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had a bigger smile than the one that I sported now. The feeling of happiness surpassed even that when I found out I was a wizard for the first time, and that I was leaving the Dursleys. Back then, at that moment, Hogwarts became my home. Today, right now, Hermione became my home.

We hugged for a long time, basked in the glow of our love and all that, but it was time to move on to more important things. “Er, Hermione?” I asked, my voice partially muffled by all that hair.

She rose on her elbows too look at me. “Yes?”

“Can we get back to the kissing now? You promised, remember?”

She smiled. “Yes Harry, we can get back to the kissing.” And we did just that. And suffice to say, I didn't have any more nightmares for a long while.

*********

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