Chapter Nineteen: The Worst Nightmare and Best Dream
By the time Harry and Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place on the 21st of December, night was fast approaching. They had needed a large guard to bring them home, according to Dumbledore's orders, and they had had to wait for everyone else who was leaving Hogwarts for the holidays to go first.
As it was, Harry was feeling so thoroughly exhausted that he really didn't think he could face anyone right then, back in the house that his godfather had given him. One look to Hermione told her what he was feeling, and she motioned to the stairs before anyone could say anything to him. He smiled to her and climbed upstairs to his room.
He didn't even look at anything in his room before falling across the bed to allow sleep to take him.
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It was very dark when Harry opened his eyes again, and he realised with a start that he was no longer lying in his bed. He was breathing very heavily, and crouching in a small alcove in a very dark corridor. He sensed Hermione leaning close to him in a similar position, and looked across to find Neville, Lavender, Susan and Julia crouching there.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the thick brown hair of Terry hiding behind a decrypted statue of a rather ugly wizard, and he was sure there were others behind him. When a flash of lightning filled the sky, everyone started to move as fast and quietly as possible forward, catching him unaware.
Everyone had their wands drawn, and no one was saying anything. He heard a shout behind them and turned quickly. Ginny and Colin were holding off three men in black robes with their faces covered - Death Eaters. When he made to go help them, Hermione caught his arm and pulled him forward.
"They'll be fine. We have to find Ron and Luna, remember?" Even as she spoke, several other of the DA members broke off to go help the two fighters, and Harry and Hermione darted down another corridor, leaving Julia and Terry to go in the opposite direction.
He heard Hermione growl softly to him and he turned to her and purred in response. He wasn't entirely sure what she had said, but he got the impression that she had understood him completely, which was more than a little confusing.
Taking up a position on either side of the only door that they came across, Harry pointed his wand at the doorknob and whispered the unlocking charm. When it clicked and swung open, they looked inside cautiously.
"Ron!" he shouted in surprise when he found his best friend tied up in one corner of the room, badly beaten. He was still conscious, and looked up in surprise at the sound of Harry's voice. Looking around the room for traps, he saw Luna a short distance away on the floor. He knelt next to her quickly and checked for a pulse. It was there, but it was weak.
"We've got to get them out of here," Hermione whispered to him. "Send the signal to the others and we'll try to regroup." Harry nodded and pulled out the galleon from the pocket of the green cloak he hadn't even been aware that he was wearing.
He hefted Ron to his feet and threw an arm around him while Hermione held her wand over Luna, trying to repair some of the damage that had been inflicted upon the girl so they could escape without endangering her further. After a white flash, Hermione pulled her up and the four started out of the room carefully.
A group of eight DA members met them at the end of the hall. Neville and Ginny were at the back, watching the entrance to the corridor, while the others were rushing forward to relieve the two of their burdens.
"What now, Harry?" Terry whispered. "Any idea how to get out of here?"
"We've got to get outside first," Harry decided, not entirely sure where `here' was just yet. "From there, we can try to alert the Order and get as far away as possible before they realise that we've got Ron and Luna."
There were nods all around, and then a flash of light blinded Harry. When his vision returned, he found himself standing outside in a very wet field, rain pouring down all around him. Hermione was standing next to him, and he had his wand in one hand, his dagger in the other.
None of that made any sense to him, but he looked around quickly, trying to orient himself. The bodies of several Death Eaters were lying nearby, and he started when he saw two members of the DA - Cho and Dean - lying there as well. He was pleased to notice that one of the fallen Death Eaters had a silver hand. There was no sign of anyone else, but he felt an ominous presence in front of him.
Looking back quickly, he saw the red slits of light that were Voldemort's eyes, and then the dark wizard himself appeared, flanked by two Death Eaters. "So it comes to this, Potter," the Dark Lord said in his high, cold voice. "Just you and a mudblood against me and my most loyal followers."
Despite the fear that was building in the pit of his stomach, he took a step forward, lifting his wand. "No one calls `Mione a mudblood and gets away with it!" Bringing his dagger up as though to support his magics, he continued in a lower, more threatening voice. "Lever jilark kao!"
"Oh, ikle Potter's found a girlfriend!" the unmistakable insulting voice of Bellatrix Lestrange said from one side of the Dark Lord. "Can I, my lord?"
"I believe Lucius has more of a say to her than you do, Bella," Voldemort said coldly.
The wizard to his left stepped forward and raised his wand. "You will fall here today, Potter. Your mudblood will fall first!"
A spell of blackness shot from his wand suddenly, and he turned in fear, but found Hermione had put up the see through mirror shield. The spell struck it hard, and the Death eater looked surprised by the power. "Kotes!" she cried as she lowered her shield. A blast of white energy lashed out and hit the elder Malfoy in the chest, sending him flying backwards to land hard on the ground. Hermione took a step forward so she was right next to Harry, and he noticed right away that one of the arms to her robes was missing and there was blood on her hands. "You won't be taking either of us today!" she said loudly.
"Right," Voldemort sneered. "No mudblood is going to stand up to my power. Bella," he said, turning to her. "Take Potter, but do not kill him. I expect him to watch as I kill the girl, and then I will kill him. Understand?"
Harry growled deeply and held his wand before him. "Ardwer vekod dan shiecel taux!" he said fiercely. "Be gone from here, Voldemort!"
"Expelliarmus!" The voice came from behind them, and Harry turned just as the blast struck him, sending him flying forward into the mud and his wand and dagger flew from his hand to land at the feet of the Dark Lord.
Harry had no time to react before Voldemort stepped forward with his wand held high. "Avada Kedavra!" he cried, and Harry screamed as the blast struck Hermione clean in the chest, blowing her off her feet.
He sat up breathing hard a few seconds later, blinking back tears. He was in his room again, in the darkness that had fallen with the night. He patted himself down and found no injuries, and saw his wand sitting on his nightstand next to the dagger.
"Oh God, what was that?" he whispered, wiping the cold sweat from his face and taking in several ragged breaths before his eyes started to adjust to the dark. He looked around and found that he was alone in his room - just as he had expected.
Knowing there was no way for him to get back to sleep, he climbed out of bed slowly and opened the door. He recoiled instantly at the sight that met his eyes - Ron was hanging from the rafters by a thick cord around his neck, his eyes staring blankly before him.
Harry slammed the door, trying hard to convince himself that he must not be awake yet, and turned back to his bed. He screamed again when he saw the blood that was splattering his mattress, and looked down to find his dagger sticking out of his chest. He balked and fell to his knees, and then forward again, catching himself on his hands so he was on all fours.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed and he heard movement outside his door. Not even bothering to look for his glasses, wand, or dagger, he threw back the covers and ran to the door, wrenching it open quickly.
Hermione was walking passed, and jumped at the suddenness of the action. Before she could recover, Harry breached the distance between them and kissed her hard on the lips. He could feel her surprise at such an action, but then felt her arms go around him as she started to respond to the kiss.
He pulled away a bit to look into her eyes before he could feel her tongue on his lip again, and searched the pools of brown carefully. "Please tell me I'm not still dreaming," he whispered in a shaky voice.
"Unless I'm dreaming the same dream," she whispered back, looking concerned suddenly. "Is everything alright? What happened?" she asked, looking at him carefully. Without his glasses on, his eyes seemed even more expressive than usual, and she could see the cold sweat still clinging to his forehead and running down his cheeks. "What's wrong?"
Harry sighed in relief and held her tightly to him, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and replace the smell of death and blood that had affronted him with the lush smell of Hermione. After a few long minutes, he pulled back again and sighed. "Nothing," he whispered. "At least, not anymore."
"Did you have a nightmare, Harry?" she asked after a moment of silence passed between them. When he nodded, she gasped. "It wasn't V-Voldemort, was it?"
"No, my scar doesn't hurt," he said quickly to reassure her. "The dagger's doing its job still, don't worry." He then closed his eyes and looked away from his room. "But it was a nightmare, that's for sure."
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. "Everyone else is asleep, I just had to use the bathroom," she explained. Harry released her quickly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
She smiled and held out a hand to him. "I already went," she said. "It's fine."
Harry closed his eyes again, not wanting to meet her gaze as he told her what he had seen - at least, some of it. "I saw you die, `Mione. Voldemort killed you."
She gave his hand a squeeze and led him back into his room. "I'm fine, Harry," she reassured him. "I'm not going to leave you any time soon, don't worry."
"You can't know that!" Harry objected. "You can't! What if we went out tomorrow and he found us? How do you know that -"
She pressed a finger against his lips to silence him and then pushed him down so he was sitting on his bed, and she sat next to him. "How do you know that you won't choke of a piece of bacon at breakfast tomorrow and die?" she asked. Harry looked at her in confusion, and she smiled. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen tomorrow. I'll still be here, and we'll still be together. I can't promise forever, but I sure intend to try. I want to..."
Harry looked at her when she trailed off. "You want to... what?" he prodded her. When she shook her head and bit her lower lip, he put a hand on her knee and squeezed. "C'mon, you want to what?"
She looked up to him and smiled. "I want to grow old with you, Harry," she said in a voice so soft that he could barely hear it. "And that means I can't be killed first. You either, got it?" She leaned in then and kissed him gently before pulling back again. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Hermione holding Harry next to her until his breathing became more rhythmic. "You okay now?" she whispered.
"I don't see myself sleeping anytime soon," he replied, looking up to her again. "But I am feeling a bit better. Thanks," he said, kissing her on the nose.
"Honestly, what did you expect me to do?" she asked with a smile. "Say tough luck, deal with it? Doesn't sound much like me, does it?"
"Thanks anyway," Harry repeated. "Even if you would have done it anyway, I still appreciate it."
She looked to him for a minute before standing from the bed. "Look, it's almost morning now. What do you say to getting dressed early and heading down to the kitchen to cook everyone breakfast? I'll join you in a few minutes when I'm dressed, sound good?" she suggested.
It was only then that Harry noticed that she was in her pajamas - the blue camisole on top and a pair of satin pants on bottom. He swallowed carefully and made sure to keep his eyes on her face and not somewhere else that seemed to be begging for his gaze. "Sure," he said with a smile. "I'll change out of my smelly clothes, too."
"Good," Hermione said with a grin as she stopped by the door. "I wasn't going to say anything, but those clothes either need cleaning or burning, and I haven't decided just which yet. It smells like you've worn them for a few weeks of Quidditch."
Harry grinned back and shook his head. "Just yesterday and through a very bad dream. I'll burn them later." It didn't take him long to get dressed. He didn't really have many clothes that fit him very well, given how many hand-me-downs of Dudley's he had, so he decided just to pull on a set of school robes before heading downstairs to meet up with Hermione again.
He felt his wand in his pocket, and he made if halfway down the stairs before realising that he had left his very important dagger on his nightstand. At the startling thought that Voldemort could enter his mind again, he stumbled up the stairs and scrambled back to his room, grasping for the dagger before sinking to his bed in relief. He never wanted to be without his safeguard again.
When he got downstairs again, Hermione was dressed in muggle clothes and had several frying pans and a grill set up on the stove. Harry found himself wishing he ever had had clothes that fit so well - though he had no complaints about seeing how nicely Hermione's jeans hung around her hips, or how her t-shirt molded to her form.
When she turned to face him, he was very carefully not staring at her anymore, and was in fact moving towards the coldbox to pull out some eggs. He held them up and she smiled and nodded to him.
"I'll make some pancake batter," she suggested, rummaging around in the cupboards for a large bowl and a mixing spoon. "Can you cook eggs?"
"'Mione, I can cook almost any meal," he promised her. "I've had a lot of practice." It wasn't until he had cracked three eggs and poured the yolks expertly into one of the frying pans that he noticed she had stopped moving, and he turned to her in surprise. There were tears in her eyes. Disregarding his eggs - it was just as well the burner wasn't lit yet - he went to her quickly and put a hand on either shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked carefully.
She pulled him into a tight embrace and sighed into him. "You had it really bad there, didn't you?" she whispered. She knew she didn't have to say where she was talking about for him to understand.
He shrugged and turned back to the stove. "Some good things came out of it," he said, lighting the grill with a wave and a jab from his wand. "Like cooking skills."
Although Hermione spent most of the rest of the time they were in the kitchen cooking breakfast worrying about just what Harry had to go through growing up, they didn't speak of it again. In fact, very little was said as they worked together seamlessly to organise breakfast for six.
It was when Harry turned with the last frying pan of eggs and sent it crashing to the floor that everything went from an average morning to a terrible one. Hermione yelped in surprise, and turned to where he was facing and found Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway to the kitchen, still dressed from yesterday. There was soot on her cheek and parts of her robes were torn, and she was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet tightly in her hands.
In short, it looked like she had just come from a battlefield and picked up the morning paper on the way back. She looked from Hermione to Harry and back again slowly before sighing and closing her eyes as she held out the paper. "You'll want to see this, I'm afraid," she said softly. "But I must warn you that we know very little aside from what is said there."
Hermione took the paper and started to scan the headlines while Harry rushed over to his teacher and helped her to a chair. When he looked up again, Hermione had gone quite pale. He barely noticed her parents entering the room, and didn't even nod to his new godfather as he caught several of the top headlines of the paper as Hermione folded it back to read the bottom print.
The Dark Mark Sighted!
Dozens wounded in Attack on St. Mungo's - Many More Dead
Attacks on Muggle and Non-Muggle Alike
He blinked several times as he looked away from everyone and at the fire that was burning on the stove still. He was vaguely aware of smoke that was coming from one of the grills that had been left over the heat, and heard Hermione's father saying something before he realised that he had stopped breathing and took several large gasps of air.
When he closed his eyes tightly to try and regain his bearings, all he could see were words of blood. "I'm coming for you next, Potter." The words from his last encounter with Voldemort more than a month and a half ago - the image was burned into his brain.
He looked up again and saw that Hermione was saying something - he presumed that she was trying to say something to him the way she was looking at him, but he didn't hear what she said. All he could hear was a rushing of screams in his ears as he imagined the horror that had been laid down the night before. This was one of the times when he wished his imagination was much worse than it was.
By the time he found his feet moving towards the exit of the kitchen, he was aware that everyone was looking at him. He could see the worry on their faces, and it sickened him all over again. He didn't deserve their worry... it was because of him that they, too, could be killed any day now.
"I'm sorry, I failed you all," he whispered. He jerked off the hand that touched his shoulder and took another step before whirling around at another touch. "No!" he shouted in Hermione's face, barely even noticing that it was her. "No, stay away from me! You promised me that nothing would happen today! Just... all of you, stay away! You all know what happens when you get close to me!" Although a part of him registered the shocked look on Hermione's face, most of him disregarded it entirely. "I'm not killing any of you!"
Before any of them could move to react, he slammed the door to the kitchen and flew up the stairs three at a time. The door to his room was slammed and sealed shut before the kitchen door opened again.
Harry eventually become aware of voices outside his room, and someone trying the knob. He had been upstairs for almost an hour, he was sure. He turned away from the door and stood staring at the wall as they worked on destroying his charm. It wouldn't take long - not with Hermione, Remus, and McGonagall all working together, he knew - but it did prove a point, he was sure.
He didn't turn when the door opened, either. He heard a sniffle, and turned just a bit to see a red-eyed Hermione holding a tray in front of her. There were a few pancakes on it, and a goblet of a pink liquid.
"We... we thought you should eat something," she explained, trying to meet his eye. He looked away from her and heard her shudder as she tried to suppress a sob. "There's a dreamless sleeping drought here, too."
She set the tray down on his nightstand and then hurried from the room. The door hadn't even shut before he heard her burst into tears again. He remained staring at the wall for some time before taking a deep breath and turning around. The sight of the pancakes made him feel sick to his stomach - when they had made those together, everything seemed so much easier.
It was time to escape, even if it was for only a little while. He couldn't stand the thought of all those people dying because of him, and the idea of Hermione crying because she knew it was his fault didn't help matters. He picked up the goblet of pink potion and sat on his bed hard. After staring at it for a few minutes, he downed the entire contents and laid back, feeling the effects starting to grip him right away.
He was not aware of anything for quite some time. When a small groan escaped his lips as he tried to sit up, he knew right away he was still in his room, lying on his bed. That, at least, was a little comforting. He started when he heard paper rustling, and he drew his wand and pointed it to the corner in an instant.
Sitting in his desk chair was an older man with greying hair and small glasses. He was leaning back just a little and holding a paper in front of him open as he was scanning through it. His beard was still more brown than grey, so Harry assumed he must have been around 40. He had seen the man once before, by Gringotts in Diagon Alley.
"About time you woke up," he said gruffly, peering at Harry over the top of the paper. "She said it should have only lasted a few hours... you were under for about eight, though."
"Then why do I still feel tired?" Harry asked himself, looking away from Hermione's father as he lowered his wand slowly. "Look, what are you doing in here, anyway?" he asked when he looked back.
"I suppose I could ask you the same thing, Harry." It was only then that he folded the paper and set it on the desk next to him, turning his full attention to the wizard on the bed. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Look, Mr. Granger, I don't need some - "
"It's Mike, Harry," he said, sitting forward a bit. "And I think that you need someone to talk some sense into you right now, given that my daughter seems to feel you are worth it."
Harry shook his head and swung his feet over the edge of the bed so he could sit up and face him. "I don't need someone who doesn't understand what's going on trying to get me to talk, alright?"
"Then make me understand, Harry," Mike pressed him. "Tell me why my only daughter is in our room crying her eyes out. Tell me why she hasn't been able to talk since you blew up at her this morning." He stood up then and took a step towards Harry. "Tell me why you hurt her so badly."
"Simple," Harry replied, standing up to face him squarely. "She's crying for two reasons. One is because she knows how foolish it was to get close to me, seeing as I'm to blame for all those deaths. The second reason she's crying is probably because she feels sorry for all those people who died!" He shook his head and turned away. "It's all my fault."
"I agree, Harry," Mike said calmly, causing Harry to spin back to him. Everyone else he had spoken to about anything when he felt guilty was always telling him that it wasn't his fault. "At least, I agree that it is your fault she is in our room in her current state."
"Like I said - " Harry started, but Mike cut him off.
"She's in there crying because she feels so bad for you, knowing how much this whole thing is eating you up inside. She hates to think how this will only add to the weight on your shoulders, and you will refuse to put the blame where it rightfully belongs - on that dark wizard Voldeman," Mike said firmly.
"Voldemort," Harry corrected automatically, causing the older gentleman to smile slightly.
"Yes, that's the one," he said. "She is also crying because she is more worried about you than all the relatives who lost loved ones last night. She feels horrible about herself, worrying more about you than anything else." When Harry opened his mouth to reply, Mike shook his head and kept going. "Do you know why else she's crying, Harry? There is one more reason... the main reason, my wife seems to believe, and I agree. Hermione seems to think you understand her, so you tell me. You got it wrong so far, but I won't hold that against you. Why else is she crying?"
Harry frowned and looked away from his piercing gaze. "I don't know," he mumbled. "How would I? I haven't seen her since this morning when I yelled at her, and then I..." he trailed off as the sinking feeling rose in his stomach. "She's crying because of me. What I said to her."
Mike nodded and walked to the door. "She's crying because she thinks you hate her. If she's right, I'd prepare yourself for a very unpleasant holiday - I promise." He didn't say anything else as he opened the door quietly and slipped out, leaving Harry alone in his room all over again.
He sank to his bed slowly, letting out a slow breath, and held his head in his hands as things flew through his mind. He shook his head as he sat up again, forcing the thoughts of his own guilt out of his head. He could - and would - deal with what happened last night later. He could not leave Hermione crying because he had hurt her.
He reached for his mirror quickly and held it up before him before hesitating. "She probably hates me for this morning," he whispered to himself. "She... she's spent the whole day crying. How is seeing my face going to help anything?"
Standing up, Harry set the mirror down again and started pacing back and forth in his room before moving to the door and pressing his ear against it. Silence. There was no movement in the house. He pulled the door open slowly and peered into the hall carefully - it wouldn't do to be seen by anyone else right now. As he looked up and down the darkened corridor, he realised that he didn't know which room she would be in anyway - Mr. Granger had said she was in their room, implying her parents' room, not her own. Which room had Remus given them?
Sighing as he closed the door and retreated inside his room again, he picked up the mirror once more. "No choice now, is there?" he whispered to himself. Before he spoke her name into the shiny, reflective surface, he looked around his room carefully. He wanted her to come to his room so they could talk, but had to make sure there was space. He had left it in quite the mess at the end of summer, but it seemed that someone had cleaned it.
"Hermione," he breathed almost soundlessly into the surface of the mirror. Instantly, his face vanished from the surface, replaced with a murky blackness. "Hermione Granger," he whispered again, louder this time in the hopes that the mirror just hadn't caught the name the last time. No change, it was still just blackness. "Bugger," he said, setting the mirror aside. She really didn't want to speak to him after all. "Now what do I do?"
"Nothing rash, I hope." He grabbed his mirror quickly and looked into it to find Hermione looking back to him. Her father must have been right - by the redness of her eyes and nose and the way her hair was even worse than his usually was, there was no question about what she had spent her day doing. "Hi," she added quietly when he didn't reply.
"Oh, Hermione," he breathed a sigh of relief as he looked upon her. "You look terrible." As soon as he said the words, he wanted to take them back. It was not exactly what he had planned on saying, anyway. She didn't reply, but looked away from the mirror and sniffed a little, trying in vain to keep her nose from running too much. "Can... would you..."
When he didn't say anything else, she looked back. "What, Harry?" she asked quietly, as though afraid of what his answer might be.
"Could you come here? Would you mind, or would you rather stay as far away from me as humanly possible right now? I'd understand if you - "
"I'll be there in just a second," she promised, and the mirror shone for a moment before becoming reflective again, leaving Harry staring at himself. He didn't look much better off than Hermione, even though he hadn't been crying. He knew he looked broken, though, which was fitting, considering how he felt.
He set the mirror down as his door opened and Hermione slipped in closing it behind her. He stood up as she entered to greet her, but said nothing right away. She was still wearing the same light blue t-shirt and dark jeans that she had been wearing earlier, but she looked very tired, and very hurt.
She stood in the doorway for a few minutes before Harry took a step back towards the other side of the room and motioned to his bed for her to sit down. She gave a weak smile to him and proceeded to his bed, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes carefully. "I'm sorry, `Mione. I didn't mean to make you cry all day," he whispered, keeping his eyes shut tightly. He heard her breath catch, and he opened his eyes quickly to find her crying again, though not sobbing. "Oh, and now I did it again," he groaned, turning away from her.
"It's... it's okay," Hermione said quickly, her voice a little thick. "I just thought that you wouldn't ever talk to me again after... well, you know... and..."
Harry rolled up the sleeve on his left arm when it became obvious that she wasn't going to say anything else. "See this, `Mione?" he asked quietly, pointing to his bracelet that was still securely on his arm. "This is my promise to you, to always protect you, and I don't intend to break that. I'm torn right now, though," he admitted, looking to her slowly. When she didn't say anything, he went on. "Right now, I don't know how to protect you. Either you get hurt by staying with me and me yelling at you, or you get hurt by not staying with me and trying to salvage our friendship."
Hermione stood faster than he thought possible and pointed to her own wrist. "I want to be with you, Harry," she said softly. "But I hurt you, too. I broke my promise that I made last night after your nightmares. I told you that nothing bad would..."
"How would you possibly know that that was going to happen?" Harry cut her off. "If that's your fault, then... then it's my fault that Ron has no table manners." Neither of them could help but grin at that comment, for Hermione was almost constantly telling him not to talk with his mouthful, and Harry didn't care either way.
"Then it's not your fault either, Harry," she said, taking a step towards him. "You didn't make Voldemort attack all those people. You were here, in this house... with me. Remember?"
"But it is my fault, `Mione!" Harry insisted. "You read what Voldemort wrote in the Ministry of Magic, right? I told you that he was planning on coming after my friends first over the holidays!"
"But you didn't cause it!" Hermione countered. "If it's your fault, then it's my fault too," she added stubbornly, crossing her arms in front of her and squaring off against him. "Got that?"
"You didn't cause it," Harry pointed out.
"Then neither did you!" she said proudly. "Now we're getting somewhere!" she declared.
Harry stuttered for a moment before shaking his head. "You're impossible sometimes," he sighed. When she smiled weakly to him, he smiled back. "That's a much nicer thing to see than you crying," he said as he took a step towards her. He stopped when they were just a foot apart, and he looked carefully into her eyes. "Are you alright?" he whispered. "Are we?"
Hermione bridged the remaining gap between them by wrapping her arms around him and leaning up to press her lips into his. He put one hand on the small of her back and the other gently on her neck and pulled her even closer as their lips met, determined to pour as much of his feelings for her into the kiss as possible.
This time when he felt her tongue slid slowly across his lips, he opened them slowly, inviting her in carefully. The sensation of her tongue in his mouth, rubbing against his own and running along the inside caused him to moan softly as his own tongue responded almost with a will of its own.
As she slid her tongue along the roof of his mouth, he slipped his into her mouth as well, rubbing against the underside of hers before swirling it around to tangle itself with it. It was apparently having a similar effect of her, as she moaned into him as her tongue started moving faster and with more force.
All sense of thought - or even breathing - went right out the window as they stood there, lips locked together. A sudden rapping sound outside caused them to snap apart quickly and turn to the door, afraid of what they might find for them there.
When the door didn't open and the knocking didn't go repeated, Hermione pulled away from Harry just a little bit to look into his eyes. "I think we'll be fine," she whispered, smiling to him. "Good night, Harry. Just remember that it's not your fault, and that I'll be here in the morning."
"Would you be?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.
She frowned her confusion. "Would I be... what?"
"Would you be here in the morning? I mean... will you stay here tonight?" he whispered into her ear as he pulled her close again. "Can you do that, for me?"
"I think I can do that," she replied, shivering at his breath on her ear. "But I don't think I'm going to change into my pajamas first, and I don't think you should either."
He nodded and pulled her onto his bed slowly. When they sat there for a moment, not moving, Hermione turned to him and gave him a gentle shove towards the mattress. Once he was lying down on his back, she cuddled into him, putting her head on his chest right next to his shoulder. She felt him sigh and heard his heart start to slow down, even before she felt his arms coming up to hold her.
"Good night, Harry," she whispered. He was too tired to even reply.
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Harry opened his eyes as something landed on his chest, and he looked up to see a child, about four or five, sitting there peering down at him. "You awake yet, daddy?" she asked with a giggle. "You did say we'd go flying today, didn't you?"
She had long black hair and deep brown eyes, and Harry blinked when she did, making her giggle all over again. "I guess so, babe," he said with a smile, picked her up off him and setting her on the bed next to him. He found that the rest of the bed was empty. "Mom's up already?" he asked, looking to the child.
"Yup," she said. "Mommy said that she had to get things ready for later today when Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna come over to visit," she explained. "But she did say that we had time for about three hours, but I had to wake you up first. She said something about you getting a good workout last night... did you go flying without me?" she accused him, watching for his reaction carefully.
`Something like that,' he thought to himself as he smiled back to her. "My broom was downstairs right next to the one we got you all night, so don't worry. Let me get dressed, and then we'll go out."
The little girl stopped next to the doorway and looked back to him. "Today's a really special day, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "Mommy said that today's your day, right?"
"That's what a lot of people call it," Harry admitted. "But I think it's really called the Day of Reckoning," he explained. "Five years ago today, Voldemort was killed."
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In the middle of the night, the door to Harry's bedroom cracked open and a tall figure crept in carefully. He observed the scene in the room for a few minutes before raising his wand to conjure a blanket. He draped it over the two sleeping figures to keep them warm on the chilly night and left without a word, his blue eyes twinkling in the darkness.
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Thanks to everyone who left reviews for this so far. Always nice to open my email to see lists of reviews! And you should all know by now that I will always reply, too, so feel free to ask questions.
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Until the sun sets upon a broken world, The Shadows will be watching.
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