Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The song is, of course, not mine either.

Summary: "Someday I will have somebody to lie in bed with, somebody to hold and kiss and touch. But the thing is, I don't just want any somebody. I want her. Her. My best friend, the person I go to for advice, for a solution to all my problems. But this is one problem she can't help me find the solution to because she is the solution."

Author's Note: Here's another song ficlet by me. It was only supposed to be a one chapter deal but, of course, was lengthened. It will only be a couple of chapters though ... no more than ... three, let's say. The song is "Let Me Love You" by Tim McGraw. I don't even listen to Country but the lyrics sparked inspiration. Hope you all enjoy!

Dedication: To Jen for helping me out when I was stuck and for always reviewing! Thanks!

:: Twisted Anjel ::

Let Me Love You -- Part 1

Sometimes I close my eyes

And imagine you with me

Chasing passion into the night

All tangled in a dream.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. I see couples everywhere, holding hands and kissing passionately, gazing at each other like there will be no tomorrow. It seems like everybody has somebody and all I have is a dream to comfort my loneliness; a small flicker of hope that someday I will have somebody to lie in bed with and somebody to hold and kiss and touch.

But the thing is, I don't just want any somebody.

I want her.

Her. The woman who has been in my life for fifteen years; since we were eleven years old. My best friend, the person I go to for advice, for a solution to all my problems. But this is one problem she can't help me find the solution to because she is the solution.

I watch her go out with all these wizards who only want her for her body not her mind, not her personality. They only see her beauty; they don't bother to look deeper. They don't take the time to get to know her. I know her. Inside and out. They don't really love her like they say they do; I do.

When I let myself think about it, I realize that Hermione and I have this problem with dating in common. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, Witch Weekly's Hottest Bachelor, not a human being who longs to be loved for who I am inside and not for what I did to the darkest wizard of all time or for what I look like.

Hermione is known as Harry Potter's Genius Friend. The one who found a cure for a deadly disease, the one who is so smart that she now has millions of money and formed an organization that travel around the world helping people who are sick and too poor to do anything about it. The one who is so beautiful yet so humble. She's Witch Weekly's Hottest Bachelorette, not another human being who wants to be loved by someone who will accept her for everything she is, not for saving the world one step at a time while looking good.

I'm still amazed how she manages to keep all her relationships a secret and have time to even have a relationship at all. She keeps her private life just that: private. The media would eat their own heads to get even a word about Dr. Granger's love life.

Me, well, they find out everything about 'Auror Harry Potter.' There is nothing, well, almost nothing, that I can hide from those people. The only things I can hide are my feelings for my best friend. No one knows.

I want to tell her. I want to lift the weight I've held for so long off my shoulders. I've tried, but something or someone always interrupted. I'm considering doing it now, while it's only us two in the flat we share with Ron, but she's getting ready to go out on a date with Matthew, her latest boyfriend.

He's not much of a boyfriend, always canceling on their dates the last minute. Hermione's patient though, she's also very understanding. She understands that he's busy but what is she? She's busy too but she leaves room to spend time with people she cares about. Hermione gives so much to the world and they don't give anything back. She doesn't mind though.

Well, I guess I'll go see if she's ready. I walk out of my room and head down the hall, where her door is slightly ajar. I knock lightly. "Are you decent?" I call through the door.

I hear Hermione laugh. "Come in, Harry," she calls back.

I push open the door and step inside her large room. It's decorated in a very Hermione-like manner. A bookshelf lined with volumes and volumes of books is against one wall. I smile at the thought and sit on the edge of her bed.

She's standing in front of the mirror, fixing her hair. She turns around to face me and I have to catch my breath. I'm ready to jump up and hunt Matthew down for not realizing what he has. She looks so beautiful I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

"Do I look okay?" she asks me self-consciously, mistaking the look on my face. Hermione doesn't put much stock on her looks and never has. She's one of those woman who are beautiful and don't realize it.

I look her up and down and cock my head to the side. The long, sleeveless, black dress she's wearing hugs her in all the right places. The black strappy sandals make her long legs look longer and slender. She's wearing small diamond earrings and no other jewelry. Her hair is down, soft curls are framing her face like a halo, and her eyes are shining.

"Harry?"

I snap out of my reverie and smile up at her. "You look beautiful," I tell her honestly. "Matthew is a prat if he doesn't know what he has."

She gives me a glowing smile and I feel my stomach doing a dance. "Thanks, Harry," she says and kisses me on the cheek. "I better go. Matt wants me to meet him at our restaurant at seven."

I nod and follow her outside. "Take a coat and umbrella. It's pouring outside," I call as she heads out the door.

She turns and smiles at me before disappearing behind the closed door.

::::::::

Oh, if you could see my heart

The way I feel inside

You would know just how far

I'm willing to go to get to you

There is nothing I won't do.

I had just finished taking a shower and was about to grab a book to read when our telephone rang. Despite Ron's insistence that we don't need a 'pheltone' Hermione insisted she needed it in case her clients needed to get a hold of her at home.

I jog downstairs and pick up on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Harry? Is that you?" a male voice asks.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Matthew. Is Hermione there?"

Matthew? He's supposed to be out with Hermione right now. I glance down at my watch which reads 8:30. "Matthew?" I repeat.

"Yes, is Hermione there?" he sounds annoyed, as if he's talking to a child who doesn't quite understand who he's asking for.

"Why would she be, Matthew? You're supposed to be with her at the restaurant. She left an hour and a half ago." I bite back words that I want to hit him with for standing her up -- again.

"Oh no," he groans. "I should have called earlier to tell her that I couldn't make it. The team had an impromptu practice and I'm still at the Quidditch pitch."

Why is he telling me? I don't care for any of his excuses; especially since they wouldn't be playing in weather like this. You shouldn't be on a broom with lightning striking through the air; his coach isn't stupid.

When I don't answer, he continues. "I know I always ask you this, Harry, but is there anyway you could contact her and tell her for me? I don't remember her mobile number and I can't get out of practice."

I don't bother to tell him that he should be able to remember her number and that his excuse this time isn't efficient; but then again, none of his excuses ever are. "Sure."

"Thanks so much, Harry. I owe you."

"Yes, you do," I reply coldly then hang up without a good-bye. I sit glaring at the telephone, blood boiling in my veins. "Bastard!" I shout out in the empty room.

I grab my coat, don't bother with an umbrella, and hurry out the door. I can't Apparate because the restaurant is in a Muggle neighborhood. Damn. I run out to my car and speed out of the driveway. Matthew might not be there for her, but I will always be.

I turn up the radio as loud as I can stand it, letting the song pound in my head and push away the anger. I have a bad feeling that Matthew is cheating on Hermione. All these excuses, all the cancellations. It all fits and this revelation makes my anger bubble to the surface all over again.

Is the man stupid? Is he blind, deaf, dumb? Well, he's not in love and that's a fact. How can he tell Hermione he loves her and then go with another woman?

I'm still seething as I swerve into the parking lot. I glance around but don't see Hermione's car anywhere. I get out and jog inside.

"May I help you?" The man at the counter asks as he looks at me disdainfully.

"Is a Dr. Hermione Granger here?" I ask in a rush, not caring that I'm standing in one of the most expensive restaurants in all London in jeans and an old shirt, dripping water all over the tile.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I cannot tell -" he begins, raising his nose in the air and glaring at me. I reach up a hand to my forehead nonchalantly and brush away the hair that's covering my infamous scar. I see the man's eyes travel up to my forehead and he suddenly pales.

"M - M- Mr. Potter! I'm so sorry, sir!" he stammers, not looking so high and mighty any more. "Miss Granger left about thirty-five minutes ago. She seemed to be crying," he tells me.

"Thank you," I say and walk away. I hadn't expected Hermione to be here anyway. I know where she could be however and with that I run back to my car and speed away.

There is a large park by our house that Hermione likes to go to when she's upset or just needs to think. It's not an actual park with a playground and all; it's just a big acre of small, grassy, rolling hills with tall trees that cover the ground with leaves. There are benches scattered about where you can sit and relax. It's very serene and calm; Hermione's favorite spot.

When I reach it, the rain seems to pound down harder and I curse at myself for not bringing an umbrella. I park next to her car and run towards the bench that I hope she's at, ignoring the fact that my clothes are soaked through and that the shower I took earlier had been a waste.

I see a lone figure and squint to be able to see through the drops of rain. I run closer and see Hermione sitting there without an umbrella also, seemingly lost in thought. I walk up to her and sit down, gently touching her hand so she would notice me.

She turns towards me and my heart seems to break in the instant our eyes meet. Her dress is soaked through and her curls have straightened out, sticking to her face. To any other wizard, she would look a mess but to me, she has never looked more beautiful. I can't explain it.

"Hey Harry," she says loudly enough for me to hear her above the rain. She tries to smile but fails and her eyes suddenly pool over with tears.

I lean forward and pull her into my arms, placing my cheek on the top of her head when she buries her face in between my neck and shoulder. Her body is suddenly racking with sobs and I do the best I can to comfort her, whispering soothing words in her ear. When her sobs turn into hiccups, she slowly slips away and looks at me.

"Sorry," she says, before turning away, ashamed.

I shake my head and stand up. "Let's go home, 'Mione." I reach out my hand to her and she takes it, much to my relief. We walk back to the car in a huddle. "Can you get home okay? Or do you want to come with me and I'll just come by and pick up your car later?" I ask, not sure if it's safe for her to drive in the condition she's in.

"I can, don't worry. "She turns to walk away but then stops. She turns back around and runs back into my arms, hugging me tightly.

"Thank you for always being there for me," she whispers then walks away before I can answer.

I watch her get into her car and only turn away when she looks at me and smiles. I whisper, "Your welcome," but the wind carries my words and slams them back in my face.

::::::

Oh, if you could read my mind

You'd know you're everything I need

You'd see yourself through my eyes

You may understand what I'm going through

And just how much I want you.

"How about we change into dry clothes and then I'll make us hot chocolate, start the fire, and we can warm up and talk?" I ask, as we enter the house. I notice Hermione is shivering and as much as I want to gather her in my arms and warm her up, I'm just as wet and cold as she is.

She gives me a small smile and nods. "Sounds like a good idea."

We head into our separate rooms and I reemerge a minute later in dry clothes. I point my wand at the fireplace and mutter "Incendio," and then set a blanket and pillows on the floor in front of the now blazing fire.

I enter the kitchen to find Hermione already there and making the hot chocolate. She smiles up at me and I notice her hands are shaking slightly. "Let me take care of that. You've had too much going on tonight," I tell her, gently taking the cups from her hands. She nods and watches quietly as I mutter a heating spell and levitate the two cups in the air. Heading into the living room, we sit down on the floor and get comfortable.

Silence between me and Hermione have always been the comfortable type, where we just sit and enjoy each other's company. Now, I don't know what to say or how to begin. I glance at her from the corner of my eye and I suddenly feel my heart aching.

She has never told either me or Ron about the boyfriends who use her and leave, she's never told us her feelings, but now, as she's hanging her head and staring sadly at the steam swirling up from the cup, I know how she feels and I'm not even looking directly into her eyes.

"Hermione?" I say softly, still unsure of how to begin.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she asks suddenly, looking up at me with a gaze I've never seen before.

"Stupid? You? Those are two words that should never be placed in the same sentence. Do you even have to ask?"

She lets out a bitter laugh. "No, Harry, not in intelligence, in love. I guess you can't have the brains and looks, love and happiness," she says, finally looking away. "Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me."

My own words are repeated back to me and she doesn't even know it. Hermione is intelligent, she surpasses so many people in that level yet she can't figure out why she can't find someone who will treat her the way she wants to be treated. Sometimes, we don't see what's right under our noses. Hermione might be smart but she hasn't even figured out that I have always been here. Or maybe she knows but doesn't want to act on anything.

"How can you say that?" I ask her.

"Oh please, Harry. Look at me, will you?" She looks up angrily though I know that anger isn't directed at me.

I want to laugh at her answer. She doesn't realize I have been looking at her. "I don't see anything wrong."

She lets out a sigh of frustration and runs a hand roughly through her hair, golden curls spilling down her back. I want to reach out and touch the soft mass so badly it hurts. I have to literally sit on my hands in order not to do so.

"Why can't I find that one man who will make everything clear for me? Who will show me that there is more to life than work and it is possible to have everything?"

I bite my tongue to keep from shouting out that I'm right here and just stare quietly at the fire.

"I guess you wouldn't understand," she continues, a small smile curving her lips. "Having girls throw themselves at you doesn't necessarily give you self-esteem problems."

This last statement is not something I can keep quiet to. I laugh harshly, turning my head to look her full in the face. "Why do you think girls want to be with me, Hermione?" I ask her, a bit angry that she hasn't figured out that I'm lonely too.

She seems a bit shocked at my question but answers anyway. "I guess they would say because you defeated Voldemort and, of course, because you're drop-dead gorgeous and have an amazing body."

I choke on the last two words she used to describe me but she continues before I can interrupt at the most shallow excuses I have ever heard.

"But that's what they would say. Those millions of girls out there who dream about you rescuing them on a shiny broom and sweeping them off their feet. But if someone were to come up to me, and I'm not talking about a cheesy reporter, and ask me how I would describe the famous Harry Potter for all his adoring fans do you know what I would say?"

I shake my head, not sure where this was leading to.

"'There isn't enough time in one day to describe Harry Potter to you.' That's what I would say because though everyone expects to hear how brave, courageous, and handsome you are, I would tell them how smart and kind you are. How fiercely loyal you are to your friends and family and how you would do anything for them, drop anything you were doing to be there when they needed you most. I would tell them that you're just human and that behind this macho bravado is a shy, normal, great twenty-five year old guy who only wants to be loved for who he is and not for what he's done. A guy who deserves to be loved for who he is because he's perfect in every way."

"Hermione ..." I try to interrupt, fidgeting uncomfortably. Who am I to be complimented so highly on?

"No, Harry, let me finish. You need to hear this because I know how you're feeling and you shouldn't be feeling this way. Yes, you have flaws, everyone does. But these flaws come from being the person you are. You think with your heart than with your head and though that may lead you in a wrong direction at times, that doesn't make you an awful person. It makes you better than all those fake men who say words they don't mean just to get a girl in bed. You only say what you feel and you only have the woman's best interest at heart. Why shouldn't you be loved for all that?"

I stare at her, wide-eyed. So Hermione knows me more than I thought she did. But I'm not the important thing here, Hermione is. "Why shouldn't you be loved for you?" I ask back.

"Maybe there isn't much to love," she responds. Though this may sound like it's coming from someone who has the confidence of a pea, that isn't the case. Hermione has plenty of confidence when she wants to and when the situation calls for it. But like any ordinary individual, she has moments when that confidence wavers and she has to be lifted from her self-doubt.

"Are you kidding? Do you want me to list all of your qualities?" I ask, but plunge on before she can answer. "You're a genius; you're courageous, compassionate, kind, loyal, generous, beautiful ..."

"Please, Harry. Maybe it's time to buy new glasses," she says this like a person who actually does believe she's nothing special, not like some other women who insult themselves just to get compliments from others.

"Hermione, I think you're the one who needs glasses, not me. How can you not realize how beautiful you are? Not only do you look beautiful but you are beautiful from the inside. Your confidence draws people to you and then they love you for everything you are."

She rolls her eyes. "Please."

This Hermione is beginning to annoy me; she sounds like she's twelve years old, not twenty-five. Before I can think about it, I grasp her shoulders and shake her lightly. "Will you stop! Why can't you see what I see, Hermione? Just because you always seem to go for the men who don't care for you when you have one right under your nose, that doesn't make you a horrible person!"

Oops. Right after my short outburst, I realize what I've just said and hope she didn't catch it.

"What?" she asks softly, her eyes moving across my face to try and find some sort of honest explanation that could solve all of this.

I stare at her, unable to unstick the words my throat. "W-well ...." I begin, trying frantically to cover up the secret I let slip. "I just meant that you're my best friend and I care for you more than all those men put together. I love you, of course, because you're my best friend," I say lamely.

She stares at me for a few seconds, apparently trying to decide whether to believe me and just let it go or to pursue the matter some more. "Right, of course you do," she finally says dejectedly.

I drop my hands from her shoulders, perplexed. Why does she seem more depressed now than she did a minute ago? Are those tears in her eyes?

"Hermione -"

"Look, I should go to bed. Representatives from an organization I've been trying to get to donate clothing for children in Africa are coming to inspect us tomorrow. I want to look presentable."

"But Hermione -"

"Good night, Harry. And thanks for everything." She says it softly but something is wrong and before I can comment on my misgivings, she's already closing the door to her room.

Sighing, I stand up, levitate the cups to the kitchen and pick up the pillows and blanket from the floor. As I'm about to distinguish the fire, the door opens and in comes Ron.

He shuts it softly behind him and begins to tiptoe toward his room as if he's missed his curfew by several hours and he doesn't want to wake up his mother.

I clear my throat and place my hands on my hips, imitating Mrs. Weasley. "Where have you been, young man?" I scold, making my voice high and firm.

Ron spins around, startled at the voice. When he sees it's just me, he relaxes and grins. "You nearly killed me, mate."

I snort. "You're lucky I wasn't your mum or else you'd be dead. Where were you?"

Ron scratches the back of his head and his cheeks turn slightly red. "Well, um, I was at Anna's. We were talking and I lost track of time ..." he lets the sentence drift, his ears now a bright red.

I grin, knowing full well they were doing more than just talking. I laugh at the guilty look on his face, as if he was with some unknown girl. Anna is his fiancée, who he's dated for almost five years now. I still have a hard time believing Ron is going to get married in a couple of months. Everyone believed he would be the last to marry out of the three of us.

"Uh huh ..." I reply. "And who exactly were you hiding from? You don't live with Mrs. Weasley anymore, mate," I say, laughing quietly.

"Yeah, well, you know Hermione. She's almost worst than mum! She'd give me a lecture a mile long if she found me sneaking in this late. What time is it anyway?"

My smile fades at the mention of Hermione, only because I know something was bothering her when she got up and left and it wasn't Matthew. "It's almost two in the morning," I answer. "Don't worry, Hermione probably wouldn't have even noticed if you came in while she was still awake," I add.

He cocks his head to the side. "Matthew?"

I nod, throwing the pillows I was holding throughout this conversation on the couch, wishing they could feel pain.

"What'd he do now?"

"Plans a date with Hermione and doesn't even show up, the bloody bastard ... if I could ..." I rant on, glad Hermione isn't awake to hear me swear like this. Then I would be the one getting a mile long lecture.

Ron shakes his head, but remains calm, unlike me. "How long is she going to let him do that?"

I shrug. "Don't know. If he continues it's not Hermione he'll have to worry about," I growl, cracking my knuckles.

He stares at me for a second then asks softly, "When are you going to tell her?"

I stop my ranting and look at him, suddenly all out of steam for my energy. I know what he means, of course, and I don't even have to ask how he knows my feelings for our best friend. Ron might not be so in tune at times but he notices things we don't want to see ourselves.

All I can do is shrug and look dejectedly away. "I almost let it leak when I was talking to her before but I covered it up. I don't think she suspects anything." Out of the corner of my eye I see his mouth open and cut in before any words can come out. "I know, I know ... I need to tell her and soon. I got it, okay? I will, but just not now."

He shakes his head again but doesn't bring up the subject. "I'm going to clean up then go to bed, you staying up?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm just going to catch up on my reading for the two Death Eaters we caught last week and then I'm going to bed."

He nods. "Okay, then. Good night." With that he moves away, peeks his head in Hermione's room, apparently satisfied that she's sleeping soundly, and heads into his bedroom.

Hermione thinks we're overprotective of her, Ron and I, and if she knew that one of us always check in on her at night, she would roll hers and let out an exasperated sigh.

I turn to the fire, which I forgot about when Ron came in, and it sputters before burning out. The flat is plunged in darkness and as I stretch out on couch, I realize that this darkness is heavy with tension and things that are dying to get out in the open, things that need to be exposed to each of us, as corny as it might seem.

My eyes begin to get heavy and as they slowly close, I laugh bitterly to myself, finding it amazing that in fairy tales the hero always gets his princess.

Real life is nothing like a fairy tale.

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