XX.
Harry had promised to take care of Hermione and he had meant it. For the next several days he was as solicitous as he could be. He offered to carry her books, even though she gave him an odd look every time he did it. He offered to bring her tea in the evenings, or to run to the kitchens and get her a snack. He made sure she had everything she needed, quills, parchment, books, before he left her for Quidditch practice, and he pulled her chair out for her in every class they had together. After a few days Ron was back in classes, his recovery finally progressing at the pace it should. They were delighted to have him back, but Harry found his delight short lived when Ron fell off his chair laughing the first time he caught Harry offering to clean Hermione's cauldron at the end of a Potions lesson.
Harry had turned red, and had been in a foul mood the rest of the lesson, but he still offered to carry Hermione's bag after class, sending Ron off into another gale of laughter. Ron leaned against the wall, doubled over with hysterics, until a group of sixth year Ravenclaws was spotted coming up the hall. Amazingly, Ron immediately found his dignity, stood up straight, and gave Luna a sophisticated smile. She gave him a dreamy smile back and crossed the hall to talk to him. Ron forgot about Harry carrying Hermione's bag and turned his back on them to talk to Luna.
"It's a good thing we like her so much," Hermione commented. "We might get annoyed at having him ignore us like that." Harry laughed, very glad that Luna had come along to distract Ron, and ran ahead of Hermione to open the door at the end of the hall. Hermione sighed and gave Harry a gentle smile and walked on ahead of him.
Harry looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. He had noticed her doing that a lot recently, that sigh and that smile. They always went together, and usually when he was trying to do something for her. He didn't know what she meant by it, but she always allowed him to do whatever it was he was doing for her. Well, usually. She refused to send him off to the kitchens for tea, and she absolutely would not let him fly his broom around to her dormitory window to retrieve her Arithmancy book.
Even when Ron wasn't laughing himself sick over Harry's awkward attempts to take care of Hermione, Harry still had to put up with Ginny's amused pity. She would walk through the common room and pat him kindly on the head as though he were a spaniel, giving him a look that said plainly she thought he was a rather sweet moron. The worst was Quidditch practice, though, when he had to contend with both Ginny and Ron, who showed absolutely no respect for the fact that he was the Captain, for Merlin's sake! Ginny would call out, "Oh, Harry, could you please carry the Quaffle for me?" Or she'd fake a swoon and lie in a pretend faint across her broomstick and moan, "If you could just go to the kitchens and get me a cup of tea, I'm sure I could score another goal…" He didn't know what they were getting at. He was taking care of Hermione the best he knew how; but their teasing made him feel stupid.
But worse than the stupid feeling he got every time he was around the Weasleys, if that was possible, was another, growing feeling that he was doing his best to suppress. He did want to take care of Hermione, he really liked doing things for her, which was a new thing for him. But he found himself doing his best to ignore some of the other things he found himself wanting increasingly these days. When she would smile and sigh like that, he would imagine her sighing after he had kissed her. When he remembered that night when Malfoy had attacked her, a part of him that he did not want to acknowledge remembered seeing her undressed, and he wanted more than he could stand to see her like that again. He didn't know what to do, and the confusion and frustration were going to kill him or drive him crazy, he was sure of it. He loved her, for Merlin's sake, so there was no way he was going to treat her like Malfoy had. And if that meant not touching her, sacrificing his sanity so that she would be okay, then that's just what it would have to mean.
He wasn't entirely stupid about sex, he thought in irritation. He knew that what he wanted with Hermione and what Malfoy had wanted weren't exactly the same thing. And, he knew that if he got really frustrated, there were a couple of fifth and sixth year girls who had made it more than clear that they'd be willing to help him work out some of that frustration. But the problem was he didn't just want sex, he wanted Hermione. The thought of doing those things with another girl was just not appealing anymore, but the thought of doing them with Hermione…Harry groaned and threw his broom roughly into the broomshed in the locker room.
"Watch it, mate!" said Ron in horror. "That's a Firebolt, remember? You got to treat it right!"
"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Sorry." He knew better than to work out his feelings on a world-class racing broom, especially the one that his godfather had given him, but somehow he thought Sirius would understand. Or maybe not, as he didn't know if Sirius had ever even had a girlfriend. Not that he, Harry had one, either…he kicked the shed door closed.
Ron gave him a long look, and then decided to take pity on him. "You know, mate, you're being a bit of an idiot."
Harry scowled. "Excuse me?"
Ron threw a friendly arm around his shoulder and began to talk to him as though he were a younger brother. He led them outside, away from the rest of the team, and began to walk very slowly toward the castle. "You see, young Harry," Ron began, sounding for all the world like Percy. Harry laughed in spite of himself. "You see, if you fancy a girl, you can't go around treating her like she's made of glass."
"Oh," Harry said. "Er…why not?"
Ron gave a great sigh and shook his head. "Because that is not what the ladies want, my friend," he said, as though that explained it all.
"And you're suddenly an expert on what women want?" Harry asked incredulously. "Tell me, oh wise one, have you even asked Luna out yet?"
Ron gave him a disdainful look and glared down his long nose at him. "We were discussing you, mate, not me." Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "Whatever!"
"If you fancy her, Harry," Ron said much more seriously, "you've got to tell her, and you've got to stop treating her like she might break. You're going to drive her crazy. Trust me."
"Did she say something to you?" Harry asked quickly.
"No, but she doesn't have to. I suggest you try sneaking her off for some passionate snogging; I happen to know girls like that," he finished, looking extremely smug.
"Do you really?" Harry asked, interested. "You and Luna?"
"Yep," Ron said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Passionate snogging sounds great," Harry said glumly. "But after what Malfoy tried to do to her…" he trailed off, not sure he could explain this even to Ron. "I don't want to be trying to get the same thing from her Malfoy was trying to get. I don't want her to think I'm like him!"
Ron looked shocked. He stopped walking and dropped the brotherly arm from around Harry's shoulders so he could face him straight on. "Oh, Merlin!" he breathed. "That's what's been going on in your pointed head all this time?"
Harry nodded, disconcerted. What was wrong with that?
"Let me get this straight," Ron said slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. "You want to kiss her and all that guy-girl stuff, don't you?"
Harry nodded.
"But you're afraid to because you think she might think you're no better than Malfoy?"
Harry shrugged.
Ron suddenly looked livid. "Malfoy tried to rape her, Harry! Is that what you want to do to her?"
Hearing Ron say that word, the word that they had never used to describe what Malfoy had tried to do to Hermione, pushed Harry over the edge. "NO!!!!!! I don't! I want to take care of her and be close to her and treat her right. I NEVER want to hurt her, you moron! Don't you get it? That's the problem!!!"
Ron glared at him a moment longer. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, his temper fading as quickly as it had come. "Yeah, you know, that actually makes a twisted sort of sense. C'mon." He grabbed Harry's arm and led him off toward the castle.
XXI.
Hermione stood looking out of the common room window. Far below she could see Harry's dark head and Ron's bright red one bent low next to each other's as though they were in an intense conversation. They both still wore their red Quidditch robes. He was so sweet, she thought, remembering Harry's solicitous treatment of her the past several days and letting out a discouraged sigh. And if he didn't knock it off, she was going to kill him. He was trying to take care of her, she knew that, to make up for letting her get attacked by Malfoy. Which was stupid, because it was all her fault, not his. Well, it was Malfoy's fault, really, but she was the one who had been careless enough to let Malfoy sneak up on her.
She was beginning to think that Harry really did care for her, as more than a friend. That thought made her happy, to be sure, but when she had thought about how it would be when he finally returned her feelings, it was never like this. He was treating her like she would break, like she wasn't strong enough to deal with life after what had happened that night. He should bloody well know better, she thought irritably. She had taken on nearly as much as he had in the last several years, she had fought, she had been injured, she had faced down Death Eaters and giants and that awful Narcissa Malfoy just two weeks ago. Harry had been nowhere to be found, and she, Hermione, had saved Ron and Ginny, so a little run-in with Malfoy Junior wasn't that big a deal.
Well, yes, it was a big deal, she admitted to herself. She did try to be honest about things, at least in her head. The fact was that Malfoy had tried to rape her, and she wasn't sure she would have been able to stop him, and that still gave her shivers. It still made her feel rather unclean, to tell the truth. A terrible thought struck her. Could that be why Harry didn't seem interested in her that way? Could that be why he was so nice to her but kept his distance? Tears sprang to her eyes, and she wiped them away before anyone could see them. Did he think she had been…what would it be?…contaminated by Malfoy?
Well, if that was it, then he could just go make tea for some other girl, she thought, because that would be stupid. Even if she occasionally believed it herself. The thing was, she had always dreamed of being together with Harry in ways that involved them kissing and touching, learning about each other's bodies and hearts, and maybe someday, being so in love that they would make love in some perfect, candlelit setting, and they would know that they belonged to each other forever. She knew she was silly and way too romantic deep down, but if Malfoy had ruined that dream for her, she thought grimly, she'd march right up to Azkaban and beat him to death herself.
She heard the portrait hole open on the other side of the room, but didn't move from in front of the window. The Quidditch players all seemed to have cleared off the grounds, because Harry and Ron were now nowhere to be seen. She sighed and crossed her arms in front of her. Maybe if she stood here quietly nobody would bother her.
"Hermione?" Ron called loudly from across the room. She jumped and looked over her shoulder. Both men stood in the middle of the common room, still in their Quidditch things (she didn't even like Quidditch! Why did her heart jump every time she saw Harry dressed like that?). Ron was holding Harry's arm in a firm grip; that was curious. Hermione raised her eyebrow at it, but Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Er…Hermione," Ron said, going a little pink in the ears, but looking very determined just the same. "You need to come with me. Right now."
Hermione stared at them in surprise. Harry was red, but didn't say anything, and it didn't escape her notice that Ron refused to let go of Harry's arm, even though Harry kept tugging at it. "All right," she said, and turned to follow them. Ron led them out the portrait hole, down endless corridors, down several staircases and up several more, until Hermione was fairly certain where they were going but had no idea why they would be going there. He never let go of Harry's arm, but dragged him along with him, leaving Hermione to follow along behind.
Just as she had suspected, Ron led them to the Room of Requirement. What was going on? Ron paced in front of it three times, muttering to himself. "You can let go of my arm now," Harry said coolly, and Ron dropped his arm. The door appeared in the wall as they were used to it doing, and Ron opened it, standing aside to allow them to enter ahead of them.
The room was small today, with a comfortable looking couch, a fire blazing in a fireplace along one wall, and, oddly, a steaming teapot and a plate of scones. Why did they need those, Hermione wondered. Ron shoved Harry down onto the couch, earning himself a livid glare from Harry. Somewhat more gently, he took Hermione's hand and escorted her to the couch and placed her next to Harry. Then he stood there, towering over the two of them, with his arms folded and his foot tapping.
"Can you handle it from here?" he asked brusquely, "Or do I need to stay and make sure you don't continue being idiots?"
Hermione found herself somewhat affronted by that. She didn't know what she was supposed to be handling, but she didn't appreciate Ron, of all people, calling her an idiot for no apparent reason. She opened her mouth to say as much, but just then Harry spoke.
"We can handle it from here," he said quietly, looking up into Ron's eyes. Ron stared at him a moment longer, then gave a nod and turned to go.
"Oy, Ron?" Harry called. Ron looked back. "Thanks, mate." Ron grinned at them both and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
XXII.
Now what was he supposed to do, he thought in panic. They were alone in a dark room, sitting together on a couch in the firelight. He looked everywhere but at Hermione, which didn't leave him much to look at. He knew Ron expected him to talk this out with Hermione, but he didn't know what to say. It had been hard enough to tell Ron.
"Harry?" Hermione said, obviously puzzled. "What are we doing here? What was Ron talking about?"
"I didn't know he was bringing us here," Harry said, wanting her to know that he hadn't set this up. "But I guess it's okay, `cause…well, Ron thinks we should talk about some stuff…" God, that sounded idiotic. He groaned inwardly. This was the first time it had ever been really hard to talk to Hermione; he figured it was because of all the pressure. If he messed this up, he could ruin everything.
"Ron does, does he?" Hermione said, apparently amused. Harry relaxed. Amused was okay; at least she wasn't mad.
"Well, yeah, but only because I was telling him some stuff, and he thought I should be telling you…"
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. For a moment he was distracted by the play of the firelight on her pretty face, reflected in her deep brown eyes, glittering in her shiny hair…he shook his head to clear it. He needed to concentrate.
"Okay, well," he began, knowing this was the moment of truth. He swallowed hard; his Adam's apple felt as big as a tennis ball. But Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, right? And his dad must have had to have this conversation with his mum at some point, and they got through it…That thought bolstered his courage some, so he took a deep breath and went on.
"Okay, remember last Saturday night up in the hospital wing?"
Hermione nodded. She was looking curious, but didn't say anything, for which Harry was incredibly glad. It would be easier to continue if he could just keep talking. "Right. Well, I felt so bad about what happened to you, Hermione, and I couldn't stand the thought of it ever happening again…" The rage and fear of that night rose up in him again, and he got up off the couch and started pacing in the small room, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "And, I don't know if you heard me, but right before you went to sleep I said…I mean, I promised…"
"That you'd take care of me," Hermione finished for him. She was smiling softly.
"Er…right," Harry said, a little nonplussed. He had figured she hadn't heard. "Er, yeah, so I really meant it, Hermione." It was very important that she understood that part.
"I know you did, Harry," she answered. He looked at her for a moment; she seemed to really believe him.
"Right, then, well, that's all I was trying to do this week, you know. And then Ron said I was being an idiot and treating you like you were made of glass and that it was going to drive you crazy-" He stopped, stood still. "Was it driving you crazy?"
"Just a little," she said kindly.
He resumed his pacing. Here was the hard part. Deep breath. "Okay, right. Well, I really wanted to take care of you. I really do want to take care of you, I mean, all the time…" He stopped and looked away from her, into the fire. He could feel her watching him closely, and wished she wouldn't, but he didn't know what else she would look at in this room.
"But I also wanted to kiss you and-other stuff, and I didn't want you to know." Harry mumbled this very fast into his collar. He had gotten that out and now his mind was blank. Behind him Hermione was being very still and quiet. Finally he heard her stir a little.
"I don't mind being taken care of a little bit," she said thoughtfully. "But why didn't you want me to know that other stuff? About-about kissing and all?" Harry turned back halfway, leaned against the wall next to the fire, and looked at her. She was still looking up at him with that quizzical expression, like he was an Arithmancy problem she was trying to solve. His feelings for her threatened to overwhelm him as they had that night in the hospital when he had held her to him and cried. He looked away again so she wouldn't see his eyes glittering.
"Well, I..." he looked down, embarrassed. "Because I didn't want you to think I was like him."
"You didn't want me to think you were like whom?" Hermione asked, apparently completely confused.
"Like Malfoy," Harry muttered. Hermione gasped, and Harry looked up, alarmed. Hermione had clapped her hand over her mouth and was looking at him with wide shocked eyes. Then to his horror, she buried her face in her hands and started to cry.
"Hermione! Don't cry!" he ran over to her and sat next to her on the couch. Without thinking about it he pulled her into his arms, but she continued to sob. "I'm sorry! Whatever I said, I'm sorry! Please don't cry!" He rocked her back and forth while she kept crying, feeling terrible, feeling like he was doing everything wrong. What had he done to cause this, anyway?
After several minutes she sat up and pulled a handkerchief out of her robe pocket. Pulling away from him she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. For a moment, she made quite a production of folding her handkerchief back up and pocketing it again. Then she turned to him, took a deep breath, and reached out and took his hands.
"I'm sorry about that, really," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "It's just that I had no idea that you were thinking that, and I was afraid---" she broke off, unsure, and looked away.
Harry reached out and turned her face back toward him. "What, Hermione? What were you thinking?"
"I thought maybe you didn't want to touch me because-because of what Malfoy did, that he had---I don't know---made me dirty." She didn't look at him, even though he was holding her face. She turned her eyes away.
"What?" Harry whispered, shocked to the core. "Oh, Hermione, how could you think that? You're not dirty, no matter what he did. HE did it, not you. You're beautiful and good and-"
"You're not dirty, either, Harry. Malfoy's the one who's filthy and you're NOT like him." Now she looked him squarely in the eyes and grabbed his shoulders. Her faced flamed, but she continued. "Even if you want to kiss me or get my clothes off, or-" She broke off, clearly not knowing how to go on with that train of thought. "Erm…you did say you wanted to do those things, didn't you?"
Harry felt himself turning red. "Er…I…well, yeah," he grinned sheepishly. "Is that okay, then? I mean, I didn't know if you-" He looked at her anxiously.
"You didn't know if I liked you like that?"" Hermione supplied, a smile spreading across her face. He nodded, immensely relieved that she was smiling and not looking guilty or disgusted or something. Of course, she wasn't exactly answering the question. She was just gazing at him, her brown eyes sparkling.
"Erm, before I answer that," she said, sounding as though she were making a speech, "I want to take care of something else, all right?" Harry nodded blankly. "All right then. I am sick and tired of talking about Malfoy, and I don't want to do it any more. He tried to hurt me, and I was scared for a while, but he didn't manage it. I'm not saying I'll never think about it again, but he's not worth there being any more misunderstandings between us, Harry, okay?" She looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something. He nodded again. She seemed satisfied, to his relief.
"Now," she continued in her very Hermione way, "what Malfoy tried to do, and what I would really like to do with you someday, are two entirely different things. He wanted to hurt me, and you and I want to take care of each other, right?"
Nod. Did she just say what he thought she just said?
"So, that's done," she said happily. Harry grinned to himself; Hermione was never more pleased with herself than when she was talking care of business. "Now, to return to the question that we were discussing before-"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "I love you."
"I-what?" Now it was she who stared blankly. Then tears started welling in her eyes again. Harry groaned and took out his own handkerchief and handed it to her. Absently she took it. "You do?"
Nod. He was doing a lot of that today.
"Really?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I'm lying," he said sarcastically.
Hermione frowned at him. "Stop that," she chided. "This is serious."
With a small sigh, Harry took Hermione's face in both of his hands. She was so pretty, his stomach gave a familiar lurch, and he could feel his heart speeding up. Pulling her close to him, he kissed her lips softly, almost reverently, trying to show her how serious he was. When he pulled back and opened his eyes, hers were still closed. When she opened them, she looked dazed.
"Hermione," he said again, looking into her wide brown eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Harry," she said, as though she were amazed to be saying it. "I've loved you for a long time, and all that stuff we were talking about, kissing and stuff," --she turned pink-"I think about that a lot, and I would-"
Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, stopping her words for the moment. He kissed her the way he had been aching to kiss her for a week, probably longer. She gasped in surprise, then seemed to melt, and wrapping her arms around his neck returned his kiss. He pulled her closer, feeling that hunger to touch her come over him again. He couldn't get her close enough now, and he leaned back across the couch so that he was practically lying down, braced by one foot on the floor, with Hermione on top of him. His and Hermione's legs intertwined and she got tangled among his Quidditch robes, but he wouldn't let her get up, because that would mean he would have to stop kissing her, and he couldn't do that. He pulled her back down to him and kissed her some more
.
XXIII.
Hermione was trying not to moan out loud, it felt so good. She couldn't remember ever feeling better than this. Harry loved her. And he had said it first! And he was a really good kisser, because she could not get enough. Even though she was lying across his body, she was hungry to get closer to him. She ran the palms of her hands up and down his chest; oh God he had a great chest. He had gotten so muscular and broad-shouldered this past year, and it thrilled her. He reached up and buried his hands in her hair and drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Hermione looked into his face. Had he been wanting to do that, she thought in wonder.
She realized as she felt his hands in her hair that he was still wearing those gloves. His leather Quidditch gloves. The ones that had made her lightheaded with desire for him on the Quidditch field a week ago. With a smile she sat up and straddled him, pushing him away when he tried to pull her back. His hands fell and landed on her thighs as she moved back out of his reach. Without a word she picked up one of his hands and pulled the leather strap of the glove, slowly, until the buckle came loose. Then she pulled the glove off his hand and tossed it onto the floor. She brought his bare hand to her face and kissed the open palm, and was very pleased when he gave a stifled groan and shifted beneath her. She let that hand drop back to her leg, and accidentally-on-purpose let it graze the side of her breast as it fell. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and she picked up his other hand and repeated her motions, very, very slowly. Harry was breathing much more quickly now, and so was she. She held the black leather glove up and looked at it for a moment.
Hermione dropped the second glove on the floor, then leaned forward so that she was on top of Harry again, with her hands on the cushion on either side of his head. She kissed his lips, then, feeling incredibly happy, stretched out fully on top of him and laid her head on his chest. His heart was beating very fast. His arms came around her and they lay holding each other.
"I love you, Harry," she murmured after awhile.
He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too."
"Did I ever tell you, Harry," she said, "that I really love those Quidditch gloves?"
"Er, no," Harry said. "You didn't mention it."
She grinned against his chest. "Yes, I certainly do."
The End.
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