Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing except Aunt Petunia's purple flowers. And maybe not even those. It might be a subconscious memory.
Note: So sorry for the supershort chapters. I think I write really slow. Also, I'm miserably sick. But summer school is now over (yay!) so I'll have more time to write.
"Hermione!" he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak. She stared up at him like a deer caught in headlights. "Why can't you say anything?" she cursed herself mentally. She realized her mouth was still hanging open and closed it.
Harry didn't wait for a response. "Climb up on that ledge there and on the window frame," he told her. "I'll pull you in."
Wordlessly, she obeyed. Harry's aunt's bushes were just as prickly as her mother's. She picked her way over them gingerly and managed to avoid a repeat of earlier that night. Careful not to step on the perky purple flowers growing along the side of the house, she pressed her fingers into the narrow nooks formed by the rows of bricks and put one foot on the ledge three and a half feet above the ground. Pushing up with that leg, she grasped the top of the window sill and lifted herself up. She looked up at Harry, who nodded encouragingly.
"Just step on the sill and pull yourself up, just like that again."
She did as he said and stretched out a hand toward him. He grasped it and a tingle shot through her arm. His hands were so much bigger than hers, and his skin was smooth and warm beneath her fingers. "Give me your other hand," he whispered, holding his own out to her. Normally, she would have said absolutely not, I am standing on a window frame two inches wide and eight feet off the ground, I cannot possibly let go now. But she took his hand without a thought. He pulled her up, letting go of her left hand and securing his arm around her waist. She held his upper arm with her free hand, and when he'd pulled her far enough she straddled the window and slipped off into the room. She looked down and felt a small jolt in her stomach. Suddenly, she remembered she was afraid of heights.
She turned to face Harry. His hand was still entwined with hers. He followed her eyes down and quickly let go.
She felt rather stupid, standing here in front of her best friend in her pajamas, having snuck into his room in the middle of the night. She realized she had yet to utter a single word. "Er…hello, Harry."
He looked at her for a minute more. "Hermione, what the hell are you doing here?" She couldn't quite tell if he was annoyed or thrilled. He rubbed his left arm with his other hand and motioned for her to sit.
"I…er…I wanted to see you," she said, realizing all too well how lame that sounded. He would think she was crazy, taking the Knight Bus all the way to Surrey in the middle of the night just to see someone she'd spend two more years at school with. She sat gingerly on Harry's bed, pushing away the rumpled bedclothes. The mattress was firm beneath her. She smoothed the soft blue comforter, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
There was a pause. "Oh," he said finally. His hand moved to his head, rumpling his already messy black hair. He looked awfully cute, Hermione thought suddenly. He wore only a pair of dark green pajama pants, which were slightly too big and allowed a few inches of his boxers to show over the top. His chest was bare, and Hermione noted entirely against her will that he'd filled out rather nicely. Who knew zooming around on a broomstick could do anything for someone's pecs?
"So," he said much more congenially than normal. "How was your holiday?"
"Oh, it was lovely," she replied a little too brightly. "Not quite as exciting as Hogwarts, but it's been nice at home." She gave a little cough and tucked her hair behind an ear.
"That's…that's good," he said. He was standing all the way across the room now, about eight feet from where she was perched on his bed.
She nodded and broke eye contact to look around the room. A wardrobe stood in the corner opposite the bed, with a Puddlemere United poster plastered across one door. She squinted at it and wondered if she recognized Oliver Wood as one of the figures zooming around excitedly on it. Next to the wardrobe, Harry's Hogwarts trunk sat open. Either he was very late unpacking, or very early packing. His robes, Gryffindor ties, shirts, socks, pants and Quidditch robes were piled haphazardly in no discernable order. A desk covered with rolls of parchment, ink, quills and a few textbooks sat across from the wardrobe. Hedwig's empty cage was on another table at the foot of the bed.
Hermione cleared her throat. It seemed a little insensitive to ask how his summer had been. "But is that part of the reason you came?" a little voice in the back of her head asked. "You want him to talk to you about Sirius."
"How are your aunt and uncle treating you?" she asked, partly in defiance of the annoying voice. "Mad Eye hasn't come swooping down on them, has he?"
One corner of Harry's mouth turned up a little, but he didn't look at her. "No," he said. "I've still got hope, though," he added. "I'd rather they treat me like crap if it means I get to see them turned into teapots. You have no idea how frustrating it is, Hermione, to listen to them snark about my parents, and to not be able to do anything about it. My aunt knows Voldemort is back. She knows. And she does it anyway." He broke off abruptly and looked back at her. "Sorry."
"No, no," Hermione said softly. "I want to hear."
He shook his head. "It's nothing new. Nothing you haven't heard before."
"I haven't." She frowned slightly. "You've never told me about this, Harry. You never mention your aunt and uncle."
"Yeah, well, they're nothing to get excited over," he said tartly. "You don't want to listen to me complain."
"You don't have to worry about that with me!" she told him anxiously, all awkwardness gone. "I'm your best friend, Harry!"
There was a pause. "I know." He took a few steps towards her.