Unofficial Portkey Archive

Harry Potter was currently in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was half past one, and he was still trying to finish his Potions essay. In his hands was a book regarding Noxious Potions and Potions with Similar Effects, which Dean referred him to, containing many important key points for their essay.

But instead of diligently copying down the information onto a ten-foot long piece of parchment paper, his mind kept wandering to a certain someone. A certain someone who was lying peacefully in her comfortable four poster bed, sleeping. A certain someone who was probably dreaming and whom he hoped didn't know he was thinking of her. A certain someone who was clutching a thick, leather-bound book to her chest, sighing contentedly having reread Hogwarts, a History for the umpteenth time.

He sighed out loud.

He had already given up trying to finish the essay. He had already shut the book and tossed it into his book bag. He had already rolled up his parchment and kept his bottles of ink, but an eagle feather quill remained in his hand. The same quill she had given him more than four years ago.

It wasn't anything very special. It was an ordinary quill. Bland, even. The feather had varying shades of dull browns, and the tip was sharp, but plain. But he couldn't imagine going through a day without his quill. He used it to write letters, take down notes, write assignments, and loads more. It was slightly frizzy around the edges from use, but was still as useful as it was when it was brand new. It was a part of his everyday life. No matter how many times he would use it, it remained true to him. Its tip never broke, its grip never loosened, its durability never wavered.

Harry was sometimes very forgetful, and tended to leave things in his dorm. He always panicked whenever he was halfway to class and realized he had forgotten something. But never ever did he forget his quill. It had a special place in his book bag, in a little compartment at the side. Easily accessible. Whenever a Professor would tell them to take notes, he didn't even need to think. His hand would mechanically reach into the compartment and there it was. His brown eagle feather quill. After taking notes, he always placed it back into its compartment, because he knew it would always be there.

He knew every fiber of the quill and how it felt in his hand. He knew where he would hold it, where it would rest against his fingers, where it would sometimes scratch the bottom of his chin. He knew the quill from top to bottom and even though it was just as easy to buy a better, fancier, more expensive quill, he'd rather keep this one.

It was funny… but more than ever, the quill reminded him of the one who gave it to him.

She wasn't a great beauty, not like Cho Chang or Lavender Brown. She still had the bushy brown hair, although it had subsided into little curls, and the plain brown eyes, neither of which were particularly astounding. Unlike most of the people in their year, she still hadn't grown into her body. She was on the short side. Even Ginny Weasley looked older than she did now, towering over her by several inches.

Although she wasn't as uptight as she was in their earlier years, she was still adamant about following rules and regulations. She still hated being late, still sniffed at the mistreatment of the House Elves, still liked pumpkin pie better than treacle tart, still read Hogwarts, a History, still preferred not to wear makeup… she was still Hermione Granger.

Like the quill, she was plain, ordinary and boring. But she was also faithful, loyal, constant… always there. If ever he doubted everything else in the world, he could never doubt their friendship. She knew everything about him, and he about her. They thought alike, could finish each others' sentences, memorized each others' schedules, were almost always on the same wavelength.

She had a special place in his heart, just like his quill's special compartment.

At first he thought that their relationship was completely platonic and would never go beyond that.

But earlier that night, when he was bored out of his mind, he decided to sneak up to the girl's dorm to borrow something of Hermione's. It was either a book or a previous assignment, he couldn't remember anymore. He had knocked three times and, finding no answer, decided to push the door open anyway.

The lights were off and the room was quiet. Idiot, he had told himself. They're asleep! As he was about to shut the door, he caught sight of Hermione through a gap in the velvet curtains. Against his better judgement, he stepped into the room, closed the door quietly, and made his way to her bedside.

The way she looked asleep was imprinted in his memory. She was a picture of innocence in her cotton pajamas. Her hair was soft and slightly damp, probably from a shower she took just before she went to bed. It smelled lightly of jasmine, light brown curls splayed on the sheets. Her nose nuzzled into a pillow, and a sweet, contented little smile was on her face. She hugged her book to herself. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breaths escaped from them, even and steady.

The comforter lay near her feet, and he realized with amusement that she must have kicked it in her sleep. Quietly, he picked it up and tucked her in. She murmured softly and he froze, thinking he would get caught. But instead, she just snuggled into the blanket's warm embrace and fell deeper asleep.

And all he could think about was… how he wanted to be the blanket.

The thought shocked him. Frightened him. Surprised him. But he realized… it was true. He wanted to be her blanket, the one who would protect her, who would keep her warm, to be the one she went to for comfort. It was all he could do to keep from wrapping his arms around her right then and whispering into her ear…

What?

That he cared about her. That he would protect her. That he loved her.

And there he stood, in the shadows of the girl's dormitories, late at night, standing over his supposed best friend's sleeping form, suddenly realizing that he wanted more than just friendship.

It was too much for him to take.

Like a zombie, he turned and walked out of the room, soundlessly, closing the door behind him as he made his way to the Common Room, looking for something to distract him. He couldn't very well sleep now.

He had been battling with himself for the past half-hour already, before trying to immerse himself in his Potions homework to help him forget. But how on earth could you forget something like that?

Finally, he decided to call it a night. He tucked the quill into the special compartment, and prepared to hoist the bag onto his shoulders. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't know how he would look at her now. He didn't know how he would act around her now. But he would save all of that for tomorrow…

"Harry?" said a familiar voice. A voice he knew all too well. It was drowsy with sleep, but it was her.

The book bag tumbled off his shoulders and he nearly fell from complete surprise. And fear.

A groggy giggle erupted from her throat. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

He turned and saw her in those cotton pajamas, with a maroon bathrobe thrown hastily over it. Two hairpins had been used to restrain her bushy hair. She was looking at him curiously, although he knew that a laugh threatened to escape her.

He sighed and plopped onto the floor. "Go on then, have a laugh."

A smile broke out on Hermione's face and she chuckled. She walked over to him and sat next to him primly. Harry gulped unconsciously. She was looking at him directly. How could he have ever said her eyes were boring? They were the color of rich chocolate, with flecks of gold from the fire in the hearth reflected in them.

"Parvati said you were in the girl's dorm awhile ago."

Harry's heart stopped. Parvati was awake?

She continued, "She said you were there for quite awhile."

He didn't know what to say. He just sat there, staring at the book bag that fell from his shoulder. Books and bits of paper scattered the floor, but the quill remained safe in its little compartment. Through Heaven and Hell, it would always be by his side. Always there.

"Did you want anything, Harry?"

He did. He wanted to stare into those lovely eyes of hers forever. He wanted to run his hands through her hair and stick his nose into it and smell the jasmine. He wanted to hold her in his arms every night, and tell her he would let nothing hurt her. He wanted to protect her. Care for her. Watch over her. He wanted to be able to tuck her in every night, to be the one to smile and pry away the books from her arms.

"Harry?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to face her. She had the most curious expression on her face. Her skin had a yellowish glow, from the fire in the hearth. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her brow was furrowed slightly, her head tilted in question and her lips were set in a soft line.

He wanted to kiss her.

"Are you all right?" Her hand slid from his shoulder to his own hand. Tingles ran down his spine at the contact. The skin on her palm was so soft. She had held his hand many times before but he only paid attention to it now.

Slowly, he grasped her hand in his and linked their fingers together. He looked down at their locked hands. "I never realized your hand was so small."

She looked at him strangely. "What are you going on about?" But she was flushing, that much he could tell.

"Hermione, I'm sorry."

"What ever for?"

"For not realizing this sooner."

She bit her lip and unconsciously shuffled closer to him. They were shoulder to shoulder now. "Harry, I don't understand."

He knew this was his chance. "I want to be your blanket," he blurted out.

There was a moment of silence, before Hermione quietly said, "I beg your pardon?"

He hit himself inwardly. "No! That wasn't what I meant. You see, Hermione… I'm… I'm…" He didn't know how to tell her. He looked down at their linked hands.

Hermione looked curious and worried at the same time. "Harry," she said. She lifted his chin with her hand and looked him straight in the eye. "Just tell me."

Her eyes, which were usually crinkled in annoyance or bleary because she read too much, were now kind and comforting and filled with love. For him? Did he have a chance after all?

He lifted his other hand. It was shaking. Nevertheless, he cupped her chin and moved closer. The skin was smooth and soft. He licked his lips and saw that she did the same. Did she know? He watched her close her eyes, and he did the same a millisecond before their lips met.

There were no more words, no more explanations to be said. The whole world melted away. It was just him and Hermione, and this incredible feeling in his chest. Her lips were warm underneath his, and he could feel her smile as she pressed back. It was a slow, sweet kiss, unhurried and gentle. Their hands let go of each other to find better places. Her hands snaked to the back of his neck to pull him closer. His ran through her hair, snagging on the hairpins, but he didn't care. The scent of jasmine wafted towards his nose and he breathed in deeply.

They pulled away for a breath of air, and Hermione leaned her forehead against his. Her breath was hot against his skin and something in him flared as he felt it. He moved his mouth to her neck and began raining feather-light kisses all over the pale column. She embraced him tighter and whispered into his ear, "You were always my blanket, Harry Potter. Always and will be forever."

He looked her straight in the eyes. They were smoky and dazed, but looked back at him unwavering. Her lips were parted slightly. Her cheeks were pink. Her hair was a mess, and her bathrobe was rumpled. Yet she never looked lovelier.

His special quill.

Always there.

"I love you Hermione Granger." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again and again. "My quill…"

She smiled at him, with a bewildered look in her eyes. "And I love you, Harry Potter."

"Now while I would love to question you as to why you suddenly had this realization, and all this talk about quills and blankets, I would rather you kiss me first."

Harry chuckled, "Snogs over studies, Granger?"

"Oh yes, definitely." She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes again, as his lips met hers for another kiss.

* * * * *

They fell asleep in a Common Room sofa, Hermione wrapped in Harry's embrace.

Her blanket. His quill.