I'll Take Care of You

Elessar1201

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/09/2004
Last Updated: 07/09/2004
Status: completed

Disturbing events at Hogwarts force Harry to come to terms with his feelings for Hermione. Warning: there is an attempted sexual assault in this story. It's not graphic, but it's there.

Chapters

1. Sections I-III

2. Sections IV-VI

3. Sections VII-IX

4. Sections X-XII

5. Sections XIII-XV

6. Sections XVI-XIX

7. Sections XX-XXII

1. Sections I-III

I.

He had no idea what a picture he made. It was ridiculous. She had to admit that the fact that he was so completely lacking in vanity was one of the things that made him so attractive to her, and to just about every other girl in Hogwarts Castle, but how fair was that? Here he stood, in the middle of the field, strapping on one of those leather glove things that the Quidditch players wore-- the kind that left their fingers sticking out--not having any clue that teenaged witches as far as the eye could see were nearly swooning to see him strapping on his Quidditch gear like some knight preparing for battle. The swish of his red robes, the flash of his green eyes, the blur they would see as he sped by on the broom that was his most treasured possession- all those things would set their hearts pounding as they crowded into the stands, and it wouldn't matter what house they lived in; every girl there was secretly hoping for Harry Potter to win again.

Hermione had to wonder what they wanted from him. She knew he had money, she knew he was good-looking, she knew he was a hero, but was that all they saw in him? Probably. She doubted there was a single person in the stands today who knew him the way she knew him. Even Ron, who was still out with his injuries, didn't understand him like she did. She sighed, then put her thoughts aside as she brought her binoculars up to her eyes and began to cheer with the rest of the Gryffindor team.

II.

Harry tightened the strap of his glove and strode forward to where Madam Hooch stood next to the trunk of Quidditch balls. Instinctively he searched the stands for a curly brown head as the other six red-robed Gryffindors fell into step behind him. They approached the midfield line, never taking their eyes off the green-clad Slytherins who walked up from the opposite direction. The problem with this team, Harry thought grimly, was that you just couldn't trust them not to cheat. He hoped it wouldn't be a problem for his rather inexperienced reserve Keeper, who was thrilled to get a chance to play with Ron out, but Harry knew that when you played the Slytherins, anything that could go wrong, would.

“Now,” said Madam Hooch, “I want a nice, clean game. Captains, shake hands.”

It was a tribute to his love for Quidditch that Harry was able to shake hands with Malfoy. Malfoy's light eyes glittered with hatred, and Harry's green ones reflected it back.

“Too bad your parents couldn't be here today, Malfoy,” Harry remarked quietly as he shook Malfoy's hand and released it as quickly as sportsmanship would allow. Malfoy's face went white, then flushed red.

“You'll pay for that, Potter,” Malfoy growled, offering his usual quick comeback.

“No, Malfoy, you'll pay for it, since your parents aren't available any time soon. Nobody hurts friends of mine and gets away with it.” Harry spoke calmly, he didn't threaten, and he didn't give reign to the fierce rage that shook him whenever he thought of Ron and Ginny being attacked by Narcissa Malfoy. Ginny had recovered and was playing today, he could feel her behind him sending razor sharp looks of hatred at Malfoy as well, but Ron was still out, and nobody knew when he'd be playing again. It could have been worse, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath to help him focus. If it hadn't been for Hermione, they'd have both died.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the Quidditch balls, and the two teams kicked into the air. As Slytherin Captain, Malfoy could have changed the position he played, but he continued to play Seeker, which Harry thought was stupid. It always pitted him against Harry and he always lost. Harry wasn't conceited about his Quidditch ability, but he knew that he was simply a better Seeker than anyone else in the school, and Malfoy had never beaten him, not once in the six years they'd been playing against each other.

The game continued on, while Harry flew around the borders of the pitch, keeping his sharp eyes out for the Snitch and keeping an eye on his teammates. They were playing very well, but Slytherin was scoring more points than Ron would have let in. Fortunately, Ginny and the other Chasers were making up for it by scoring with the Quaffle. Those three were world-class, Harry thought, watching from above as they passed the Quaffle back and forth with deliberate force and lightning speed. He was going to recommend that McGonagall make Ginny Quidditch Captain next year.

The crowd booed as a Slytherin fouled Ginny, intercepted the Quaffle, and scored. Madam Hooch hadn't seen the foul, so Slytherin got the points, and the Quaffle went back to Ginny, who scored again for Gryffindor before the Slytherins even realized the ball was back in play.

The game continued on, but the Snitch did not make an appearance. Just for fun, Harry tried out his recently perfected Wronski Feint, and as he had hoped, Malfoy tracked him, thinking he had seen the Snitch. He zoomed straight down, nearly ninety degrees to the ground, and pulled the Firebolt up at the last minute, causing Malfoy to plow. Madam Hooch had to stop the game for five minutes while Malfoy's bloody nose was cleaned up, and during that time the Gryffindors took a break and Harry scoped out the pitch for the Snitch. As he was looking around, he saw Hermione waving at him from the stands where she sat with the other Gryffindors, and he smiled and waved at her. Knowing she was there made him feel good, for some reason.

The next thirty seconds happened so fast nobody knew what was going on. The whistle blew, Harry kicked off and flew high above the pitch, Malfoy followed, and Harry dived again, as though he were doing the Wronski Feint, but this time he really had seen the Snitch far below. “Nice try, Potter,” Malfoy sneered, apparently refusing to be fooled again, but Harry just kept going. He heard Hermione scream and Malfoy curse as he came within inches of the ground, but he grabbed the Snitch and pulled out of the dive, skidding to a halt in the center of the field, and holding the Snitch above his head. The whistle blew again, and Madam Hooch declared Gryffindor the winners, again, 310 to 110. Harry's eyes searched the stands until he saw Hermione, who was cheering herself hoarse and jumping up and down. It was a rare sight to see the Head Girl lose her cool like that, and Harry grinned up at her.

III.

She hated that Ron wasn't up to playing yet, but at least he was alive. He'd have loved to have been allowed to at least come and watch, because he and Harry shared both their love of Quidditch and their hatred of Malfoy. Hermione knew that even if Ron couldn't play, he'd at least have cheered Malfoy's defeat. So, she did her best to cheer loudly enough for two of them. With the adrenaline still pumping through her, Hermione forced her way down through the stands and let herself be carried along with the crowd that was surging onto the field. She was still cheering, but rolled her eyes to see that the crowd surrounding Harry was made up almost entirely of girls, even some first and second years who hero-worshiped Harry like they would a movie star. Since he was considerably taller than they were, she was able to catch his eye over their heads, and he smiled with relief and fought his way through them and over to her. His hair looked even wilder than usual and his cheeks were pink from the crisp late-winter air. She wanted to run and throw her arms around his neck, she was feeling so good from the game and so proud of him, but she didn't. They were friends, at least as far as Harry was concerned. They didn't do things like that. Harry slung a friendly arm around her shoulder and bent down to speak into her ear, “Please save me! I can't get away. What do they want from me?”

“I've wondered that myself,” Hermione told him, shaking her head. “Come on, let's get out of here.” She pulled him away from the group of girls and toward the locker rooms, earning glares from nearly every feminine eye on the field. She allowed herself a moment of smugness- they might just be friends, but she was the only girl he'd allow to pull him away with her.

Finally they reached the comparative quiet of the locker rooms. “Let me shower, then I'll come up with you,” Harry said to Hermione. She nodded and he ran off into the shower room, unbuttoning his red robes as he went. Ginny came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hi, there!” she said, with a huge grin on her face.

“Hi, Ginny!” Hermione said, grinning back. “Great game! I don't think I've ever seen such a high final score!”

“Thanks,” Ginny said, trying and failing to look modest. “Well, we have a good team this year.”

“Yes, but you scored even more points than Harry this game,” Hermione told her.

Ginny grinned again. “Yeah, I did, didn't I?” Both girls laughed. Harry came out of the shower room at that moment, dressed in his regular school robes, rubbing his black hair with a towel. “You going up to see Ron?” Ginny asked Harry and Hermione.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “He'll want to know how badly we beat Malfoy.”

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2. Sections IV-VI

IV.

They had seen Ron earlier that morning, and he had been chafing at being kept in bed. “I feel all right, really,” he said about a dozen times, until Harry began to suspect it wasn't really them Ron was trying to convince but himself. He was still pale and weak, and Harry and Hermione could tell that their visits tired him out, even though he said that they were the only thing keeping him going. Harry had spent enough time in the hospital wing to know how that was, so twice a day they braved Madam Pomfrey's wrath (“This boy needs rest!”) and came and sat with Ron for awhile, until they could see that it was getting to be too much for him. Today, they came as promised after the Quidditch match, thrilled to have good news to share with Ron, hoping that it would perk him up some. The fact was, Ron wasn't recovering as well as Ginny had, even though they had been hit by the same spell. Harry tried not to let his anxiety show, but underneath the casual, chatty front he presented to Ron, he was worried.

“Hi, mate,” Harry said, as he and Hermione pulled up chairs close to the bed. “We beat them again, but I couldn't believe how many points they scored! You never would have let that many goals in!”

Ron smiled. “Well, go on then, tell me all about it…”

Harry and Hermione took turns filling him in on what had happened. As Hermione described every goal Ginny had scored in great detail, Harry took the opportunity to watch her. She was so animated, and Harry knew it was for Ron's sake. He knew that while Hermione didn't really care one way or the other for Quidditch, she did care about him and Ron and Ginny, and so she'd be involved in Quidditch. She had learned the names of at least the basic plays so that she could talk with them about them, but only because she wanted to be part of something that meant so much to them. Nothing in Harry's difficult childhood had prepared him for friends like this. He hadn't even known before coming here that people ever acted like this to each other. There wasn't a day that went by that he wasn't grateful for the circumstances that had brought the three of them together.

Hermione started to tell Ron about the crowd of girls that had rushed Harry after the match. Harry wished she wouldn't, he could feel himself turning red while he sat there. Ron noticed it, too, and smirked weakly. “It was awful,” Hermione was saying, “they just wouldn't leave him alone. It wasn't even that bad when I went to visit Viktor. I mean, he got recognized, but they didn't treat him like that!”

“Yeah, but you rescued me,” Harry said quietly. She'd rescued him. It suddenly occurred to him just how often she had done that, saved him or helped him or guided him. For some reason the realization annoyed him. Maybe she only hung around him because she didn't trust him not to get himself into trouble. Maybe she thought he needed to be tended all the time, like a misbehaving child.

Hermione seemed to read the conflicted expression on his face. “Does that bother you?” she asked, one eyebrow arching. “Did you want me to leave you to your adoring fans?”

“No,” Harry said rather sullenly. “I just don't want you to think you have to save me all the time.”

Ron's head was turning back and forth watching them both as though he were watching a tennis match. Hermione gave Harry an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? You've saved me loads more times than I've ever saved you! Remember the troll? Remember the dementors? Remember the Death Eaters? Honestly, Harry!”

“She's right, mate,” Ron said, his voice sounding fainter than it had a few moments ago. “We've all saved each other too many times to count. Don't start keeping score now.”

Harry breathed out, his breath ruffling his bangs and exposing his scar for a moment. They were right, of course. What had gotten into him? He had no reason for being annoyed that Hermione had helped him out. It was just…he didn't know. It was just that he couldn't stand the thought of Hermione being his friend just because she felt like she had to take care of him. “Yeah, you're right,” he said, and gave them a crooked grin.

V.

Oh, God, Hermione thought, there's that grin again. She wished fervently for a wall to bang her head against, because every time he flashed that crooked smile longing and frustration welled up in her, and none of it had any outlet. She knew that he hated to accept help from anyone, but only because he still, after nearly seven years, wasn't used to having anyone he could count on. He knew he could count on her, and Ron, and Lupin, and the whole Order of the Phoenix, really, but it didn't come naturally to him. She knew he sincerely tried to remember that he wasn't alone, so she never said anything, even when his little moments of forgetfulness hurt her feelings. One of these days he'd stop questioning the undisputable truth that there were a lot of people who loved him.

They said goodbye to Ron, making excuses about homework they had left undone, and left him to return to sleep. They walked through the castle together quietly, each lost in thought. Their arms brushed up against each other, and Hermione wished she had the nerve to reach out and hold his hand.

“Harry,” she said instead. He looked over at her. “I'm worried about Ron. Why isn't he recovering the way he should?”

“I don't know,” Harry said. “I can't get Madam Pomfrey to tell me anything. But I'm starting to think something else is going on.”

Hermione was alarmed. “Like what?” she asked. “Nobody can be getting to him, can they?”

“Well, it's possible,” Harry shrugged. “What if Malfoy snuck up in the middle of the night and put a hex on him, or put a weakness potion in his pumpkin juice or something?”

“Do you think we should go to Dumbledore?” Hermione asked him. She could not stand the thought of any of them suffering at that filthy Malfoy's hands. But she also knew that since she had managed to save Ron and Ginny last time, Draco would want revenge. And Harry had denied it to him on the Quidditch field today.

“I don't know,” Harry said. “We don't have any proof, really. We can't even prove that Draco was involved last time, that he told his dear old mum where Ron and Ginny would be.”

“No, but he did it, Harry,” Hermione said firmly, “I know he did. You didn't see the look he gave me when he thought they were dead. He was positively thrilled. It was disgusting.”

“I know he did,” Harry sighed, “and I think Dumbledore knows it, too, but he's so big on wanting his students to have the chance to make the right choices, you know? I don't think he'll punish Malfoy.”

“Well, shall we stand guard, then? You and I?” Hermione suggested.

Just then Ginny came up to them from the opposite end of the hall. “Stand guard over what?” she asked.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione decided they'd have to tell Ginny; this was her brother they were talking about, after all. “Well, does it seem to you like Ron's not recovering as fast as he should? I mean, you were hit by the same spell and you're already back to Quidditch, and he's not even out of bed…”

Ginny nodded, looking grim. “Yeah, I noticed that. And I also noticed that Malfoy gives me a hateful smirk every time he sees me. I don't know what's up with that, but it makes me nervous.”

Harry nodded. “Us, too. We were just talking about keeping a guard over Ron at night, in case Malfoy or someone else is doing something to hurt him, a spell or a potion or something.”

Ginny nodded. “Good idea. How shall we split it up? Shall we ask any of the other DA members to take a shift?”

In the end they decided to ask the other student members of the Order to keep watch over Ron, which meant finding Luna and Neville, and after a quick discussion of the schedule, Ginny continued on her way up to the hospital wing to see Ron.

“That was a good idea, Hermione,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled. She couldn't help it. It made her feel good any time Harry complimented her. She casually linked her arm in his and they continued down the hall to Gryffindor Tower.

VI.

Harry smiled back at her. She had such a pretty smile; he had noticed it since their fourth year when she had had her teeth magically repaired by Madam Pomfrey. He was a little surprised when she took his arm, but he didn't stop her. In fact, it felt nice. Really nice. Suddenly he was aware of how lonely he got sometimes, and how very little he actually touched other people. He shook his head; why that should bother him at this moment he had no idea, but he was very glad Hermione didn't let go of his arm until they were climbing through the portrait hole. He wondered what it would be like to have someone he could touch all the time.

He followed Hermione into the common room, and sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't know what he should do now; he had so much work to do that he could barely keep track of it all. There was always studying to do; NEWTs were coming up in just four months. But there was also DA tonight, and he had Potions and Transfigurations homework due Monday and an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts due Tuesday that still needed a lot of research done. On top of that, Ron was still sick, the Death Eaters were waging open war all over the country, and the Order was gearing up for the final confrontation, in which he, Harry, would necessarily be very involved. All in all, his life was pretty stressful these days. He sighed deeply again and came to a halt in the middle of the room, not entirely sure what he was going to do next.

Hermione had headed toward the girls' staircase, but she stopped and turned back when Harry sighed. Harry's head was down, but he looked up at her through his bangs, suddenly feeling very tired and a little lost. Hermione retraced her steps and returned to him, and without a word wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. A few of the other students looked at them curiously, but Harry was too used to being stared at to pay any attention to them. That hunger to be touched he had felt a few minutes ago rose up in him again, and he clung to Hermione without being fully aware of how tightly he was holding on to her. He was surprised and confused to need this so badly, but he put those feelings aside for the moment. For now it was enough to be held for the first time since he could remember. He didn't need to understand it.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but it felt like a long time. He didn't want to move; the longer he held Hermione to him like that the more he relaxed inside, the more the knots in his stomach and the secret fears in the back of his mind began to loosen. Eventually he even began to feel happy. He almost didn't recognize it; he wasn't usually depressed or anything, but so much had happened in the last few years, and it had been a long time since he had felt free to feel happy.

After awhile Harry stepped back and released Hermione. He was suddenly flustered, he didn't know what to say now, but she smiled at him and turned away. Without looking back she walked through the archway and disappeared up the girls' stairs. Harry stood watching after her for a long time.

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3. Sections VII-IX

VII.

Hermione took a very deep breath as she walked up the stairs toward her dorm room. She didn't know what that had been about, she just knew that she had never seen Harry looking so lost and tired as he had looked at that moment when she heard him sigh. She knew how he felt—she felt that way, too. People their age weren't supposed to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, but they did. It couldn't be helped. They helped each other through it, but it still got heavy sometimes. It had felt so good to be held by him, like she could rest against him for a little while. She hoped she had done that for him, too. Grabbing her Arithmancy book and a sheaf of parchment, she headed back down to the common room to study until dinner time.

At dinner Luna joined them at the Gryffindor table and the five students in the Order discussed their suspicions about Ron and planned a schedule for guard duty for the next several nights. Hermione felt more at ease once that was done; it really felt like the right thing to do, and none of them could stand the thought of Ron getting worse. This should help. Maybe if they were lucky they could catch Malfoy, or whoever it was, doing whatever was being done, and that would stop it. She hoped it was just Malfoy; otherwise it could mean that there was a Death Eater at Hogwarts. It had happened before, but she knew the Order was fairly certain Hogwarts was safe. Hermione volunteered for the first shift, at eleven o'clock, and Harry said he'd relieve her at two o'clock. Luna agreed to come up at four o'clock, and Ginny, Neville, and Hermione again would cover the following night. Hopefully, Hermione thought, meeting Harry's eyes, they wouldn't have to do it for more than two nights. He looked determined, his jaw clenched, his green eyes blazing. At that moment, Hermione was very glad she was Harry's friend, and not, say, Malfoy. There was more power inside this man than he knew, and he would use it to protect his friends. Or if he failed at that, to avenge them. He had always been that way. At the moment, he looked so adult, so strong, and just a little scary. Since she knew she was safe with him, she felt a little thrill run through her. And she also knew that she would never, never let him down. Right now, that meant keeping Ron safe.

The night passed slowly, because Hermione was impatient to get up to the hospital wing. She had decided she would hide herself, because if someone came up she wanted to be able to Stun him from behind, right there at Ron's bedside, as proof that someone was trifling with Ron. She couldn't concentrate on her Potions or Arithmancy, and Arithmancy was usually her favorite subject. At a quarter to eleven, she finally turned to Harry, who was studying next to her at the table, and whispered, “I'm getting tired of waiting. I think I'm going to go. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has gone to bed by now. Didn't you say she gets up really early?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “She always was up to give people early potions. Why don't I walk you up there under the invisibility cloak, then I'll come back and get a few hours sleep and come back at two?” Hermione agreed, and they put their books away. There were still students in the common room, but they managed to get out without drawing too much attention to themselves, and once outside the portrait hole Harry flung the cloak around both their shoulders.

VIII.

He was starting to get annoyed with himself. What was going on with him? It was like the day's events had flipped some sort of switch in him, and it left him feeling confused and unsure of himself. And the only way he knew how to deal with that was to get annoyed and irritable. He had been able to push it away while they studied, side by side, all evening long (really, how many thousands of nights had he spent studying with Hermione? It would be entirely idiotic to let anything be different tonight…). But now they were here together again, under the cloak like they were in their own dark and secret world. And she was so close to him. They could no longer fit three of them under the cloak like they used to be able to do, and they had all gotten so much taller that even two of them had to walk close together. As he and Hermione were doing now. So, maybe he didn't strictly have to put his arm around her shoulders-- Merlin knew he never did that when he was under the cloak with Ron—but he suddenly found that it was easier to hold the cloak out of their faces if he did that. That had to be why he was doing it. It certainly could not have anything to do with this new and strange need to touch Hermione, to be close to her, because he was not acknowledging that to himself. And if she happened to fit just right under his arm, well, that didn't mean anything.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered. “What's the matter? Are you mad about something?” Harry rolled his eyes. Trust Hermione to pick up on his feelings, even when he was trying to hide them. How did she do that?

“No,” he said, rather more shortly than he intended to. “No, nothing's the matter. I'm fine.”

He felt, rather than saw, Hermione purse her lips, but she didn't say anything. He felt bad that he had snapped at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. She nodded, but didn't pursue it. They continued on in silence all the way up to the hospital wing, Harry trying to think of anything but the confusing emotions churning around inside of him. Hermione pulled out her wand and did the “Alohomora” spell. Harry was glad to see that the basic unlocking charm wasn't sufficient, and that Hermione had to perform a few other countercharms to persuade the door to unlock. He was sure Malfoy couldn't figure those others out on his own, which meant that if Malfoy was doing anything, he had help. Of course, he reminded himself, maybe Malfoy wasn't doing anything. Maybe nobody was. It was possible. But he found he really didn't believe it.

“Will I be able to get back in?” Harry whispered to Hermione.

“Yes, just use Alohomora. It'll be okay,” she answered him quietly. He nodded, and let her duck out from under the cloak. He wanted to stay with her, and Ron, too, but knew he'd better get some sleep if he was to keep awake for his watch later.

“All right then, Hermione?”

“All right, Harry. See you in a few hours.” She gave him a smile and since he had no real reason to stay, he left, closing and charming the door behind him.

IX.

Hermione stood in the shadows and huffed, her breath blowing her bangs straight up. She loved him, but he sure could be moody sometimes. What was that weird bad mood all about, anyway? It seemed to come out of nowhere. She couldn't think of anything that would have triggered it. Well, fine. Maybe he just needed some time to work out whatever it was that was irritating him. Quietly Hermione looked for a place to sit that would keep her concealed but close to Ron's bed. It was easier said than done, since the hospital wing was empty except for Ron right now. Eventually she sat on the floor between two beds across from Ron's. She was sure she couldn't be seen from the door, but if she looked under the bed she would be able to see approaching feet. That should do.

With a deep but silent sigh, Hermione settled against the cold stone wall. She hadn't dared to risk bringing a book along, so she kept her eyes fixed in Ron's direction, pulled out her wand and let it sit loosely in her grip, and let her mind wander. There was a lot to think about: The war, NEWTs, her plans after Hogwarts… Right now she decided to indulge herself in thinking about herself and Harry under the cloak, alone in a warm, dark world, so close that their bodies touched with every step. She wondered if he had noticed. She wished at the moment with all her heart that they lived normal lives, as normal teenagers, so that being in close proximity with the girl who liked you would actually be an event worthy of attention. But when things like death and destruction and prophecies were part of daily life, maybe little things like sharing a cloak got pushed to the side. That thought was very depressing.

She was distracted from her depression a bit when Ron moaned in his sleep. He sounded like he was in pain, and Hermione quickly got to her feet. She hesitated, but Ron's moaning and tossing continued. Quietly she pocketed her wand and walked very softly over to him. He wasn't awake, but he was pale and sweaty. Hermione seethed in frustration; why wasn't he getting better? She looked around for something, anything that might help, a potion or—she didn't really know what. For the lack of anything better to do, she stood beside his head and softly swept the red hair back from his forehead. It seemed to soothe him and he relaxed some. She looked down at him fondly. She had had a crush on him their fourth year, but nothing had ever come of it, and now they were the best of friends, and she held him in deep affection. Ron had helped her learn not to take herself too seriously. Come to think of it, he had done the same thing for Harry.

Later she would curse herself for having done everything wrong. Harry had trained her better than this. She stood by Ron's bed, where she could be seen, with her back to the door, with her wand in her back pocket where it couldn't easily be reached, and was so distracted by her thoughts of Harry and Ron that she didn't hear the soft -snick- of the hospital door opening. So she was utterly taken by surprise when she felt a hand reach around her head and clamp over her mouth, pulling her roughly backward and pinning her against the body behind her.

“What are you doing here, you filthy little Mudblood?” hissed the voice in her ear.

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4. Sections X-XII

X.

It was midnight, and he knew he should at least get a nap, but he couldn't sleep. He tossed around for a while, but his confused emotions kept his mind running, and he just couldn't settle down. Ron's bed was empty, of course, and the other three of his roommates had gotten in not long ago and fallen directly asleep, so Harry eventually gave up and reached down to pull on his jeans and t-shirt. He was intending to grab Flying with the Cannons out of the trunk at the end of his bed and go sit by the common room fire to kill some time, but as he rummaged through the trunk he noticed the Marauders' Map sitting off to one side. On an impulse he grabbed it along with the invisibility cloak, figuring they would both come in handy later, and slipping into his trainers, he set off down the tower stairs, quietly closing the door behind him.

He sat down in his favorite chair directly next to the fire, which had burned down quite a bit and was giving out a dim golden light. On an impulse that he stubbornly refused to examine, instead of opening his Quidditch book, he unrolled the map, just to check on Hermione, he told himself. He found the hospital wing, saw the dot labeled “Ron Weasley” on one side of the room, and the dot labeled “Hermione Granger” on the other side, nearly directly across from Ron's dot. Good, he thought, she had found a good place to watch from. A moment later he frowned as he saw the Hermione dot cross the width of the hospital wing and come to a stop next to the Ron dot. He wasn't sure it was a good idea for her to leave her hiding place; he wondered what could have happened to make her do that. Well, he reassured himself, Hermione was the best in the school at Defense, next to him; she wouldn't do anything dangerous. She must have a good reason.

A moment later, though, any reassurance he might have felt left abruptly. Another dot appeared outside the door to the hospital wing, and was slowly making its way through the door. This dot was labeled Draco Malfoy in tiny writing. Harry could see that Hermione had her back to the door- what was she thinking? She knew better than that! She was even expecting Malfoy to turn up at some point. Harry felt a powerful surge of anger and fear- anger at Hermione for being so careless, and fear for her safety. Grabbing the invisibility cloak he tore off at a sprint, crashing through the portrait hole door and tearing off down the steps of Gryffindor Tower. After several minutes of running flat out through twists and turns, made only slightly shorter by his use of a few secret passages, he came up to the hospital wing. Without thinking he tried to open the door, but it was locked.

XI.

Hermione froze, both out of fear and out of fury with herself. Her analytical mind was tempted to give her a list of everything she had done wrong, as though they were analyzing battles in their Advanced Defense class, but the practical side of her told her analytical mind to shut up. There were more serious issues to deal with at the moment. She recognized the drawling whisper breathing in her ear, and Merlin knew she had been called “filthy little Mudblood” by that voice enough times to know it. She had allowed herself to be snuck up on by Malfoy.

“You're such a whore, Granger,” Malfoy hissed quietly in her ear, causing shivers of fear and revulsion to go through her. He had been offensive to her before, but even Malfoy had never used language like that. “Can't get enough, can you? You spend all night getting it on with Potter, now you have to have it from Weasley as well? I've heard about you Muggle girls…no brains, no looks, but hot for all you can get.”

Hermione felt nauseated but stood still, trying to figure out what to do. Her wand was in her back pocket, but she didn't think that was what was pressing against her backside. If she couldn't get to her wand, or wake Ron up, she was going to be in real trouble. She was starting to get a very clear idea of what Malfoy's intentions were.

Malfoy kept his left hand over her mouth, but loosened his grip on her with his right hand. Carefully he slid his right hand down to his pocket and pulled out his wand. In a soft and somehow more threatening whisper, he got even closer to her ear and said, “Did you catch on, Granger? Did you finally figure out that I had a job to do for the Dark Lord?” And without further explanation, he waved his wand over Ron and muttered an incantation that Hermione didn't recognize. Hermione gasped against Malfoy's sweaty palm. Ron's body glowed faintly with a greenish light, and he gasped and shuddered, but did not wake up. “The Weaslette didn't matter- at least not yet. Right now, my job is to quietly get rid of this one, because nothing would hurt Potter more, would it?”

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew Ron wouldn't wake up now. The best thing she could do was to wait until Malfoy let her turn around, then she could grab her wand. Then he'd be sorry, that filthy evil slimy ferret. But she realized a moment later that Malfoy did not intend to turn her around. He was still talking, though now he was leading her across the aisle to the bed she had been hiding against a moment ago. “Do you know what my reward will be for killing Weasley?” he asked her. “I get to put you in your place. But since Weasley's nearly dead now, and you're so conveniently here, I don't think the Dark Lord will mind if I show you the only thing Muggle girls are good for.”

Roughly Malfoy shoved her over the bed, so that she was lying across it and he was standing behind her. She struggled desperately to grab for her wand, but Malfoy grabbed her arm and twisted it violently, making her cry out. He slipped her wand out of her pocket and threw it across the room. Hermione was truly terrified now, but angry as well. There was no way she was going to let him do this. Just then she heard Malfoy mutter, “Diffindo,” and felt her jeans and shirt split apart at the seams.

XII.

The door was locked, and Harry quickly said “Alohomora!” expecting it to open up right way, but it didn't. He swore, and then unrolled the Marauder's Map, and saw that the Hermione and Malfoy dots had now moved away from the Ron dot and were nearly on top of each other on the other side of the room. What were they doing? He pressed his ear to the door but didn't hear anything, though he wouldn't be surprised if Madam Pomfrey had put Impervious Charms on the door, her being so big on her patients getting rest. At least he could undo that one, he thought, and he whipped out his wand and did just that. Pressing his hear to the door again, he could hear low-level whispering, but couldn't make out any words. He tried to remember the counter-charms Hermione had used on the door earlier, but he couldn't. He was starting to panic, he had to get himself under control.

Throwing caution to the wind, he started to bang on the door. “Hermione! Hermione! What are the countercharms? Hurry! I need to get in there! Hermione!”

He heard Hermione's voice shriek, but couldn't make out any words before it was abruptly cut off. Malfoy had better not be hurting her, he thought, but somehow he knew that was exactly what was going on. He pressed against the door again, but it stayed firmly locked. There was only one thing left to do. Taking a deep breath he stepped back away from the door.

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5. Sections XIII-XV

XIII.

Hermione heard Harry's voice outside the door, and felt relief for a moment. He had come! She didn't know how he knew she needed him, but he was there. Oh, Malfoy was going to be sorry now. She felt Malfoy strip her jeans off her, which was easily done since they were split in half, and tried to scream when she felt him fall on top of her half-naked body. But she went utterly still when she heard him laugh again.

“He can't get in, Mudblood,” Malfoy sneered quietly. “He's not smart enough to unlock the door unless you tell him the spells, and I don't think that's going to happen. Now that he's had you, he won't bother with you.” Malfoy pinned her wrists over her head with one hand and began to tug off her shirt with the other. Hermione went limp, and then laughed as she realized something. Outside the door, Harry was not shouting any more. Malfoy thought it meant he had left. Malfoy was an idiot. Harry wouldn't leave her. Knowing what was coming, she ducked her head, just as she heard Harry's deep voice bellow “REDUCTO!!!” The door to the hospital wing exploded into a thousand pieces.

Malfoy was thrown back over the bed behind him and landed in a heap between the two beds. Like lightning he was on his feet again, wand raised, but Harry's second “Reducto!” threw him backwards again. Malfoy was a bit slower getting up this time, and Harry was across the room in a flash.

XIV.

Harry ran across the room, past Hermione, who was struggling to sit up and cover herself. Cover herself? White fury flashed in his brain, what had Malfoy done to her? Without thinking he switched his wand from his right hand to his left and reached Malfoy just as he was picking himself up from the floor the second time. Forgetting magic, he hurled himself into Malfoy, who crashed into the stone wall behind him, his wand flying out of his hand. Harry took a primitive satisfaction in seeing the panic in Malfoy's eyes when his wand spun across the room. He drew back his fist and hit Malfoy square in the face, pleased to hear a low echoing thud when Malfoy's head snapped back and hit the wall. He sagged for a moment, but then straightened himself up. Harry stepped back, standing facing Malfoy in an aggressively challenging stance, giving Malfoy room to make the next move.

“Matter, Potter?” Malfoy sneered, though he spoke rather thickly due to his rapidly swelling lip and bleeding nose. “Don't like to share? Thought you'd be used to Granger spreading it around…”

Harry launched himself at Malfoy again, but Malfoy got in a solid punch to Harry's gut. Choking, Harry doubled over and stepped back into the aisle. As he caught his breath he noticed two things in the space of a split second. Hermione was wrapped in a sheet, surrounded by her torn clothes and crying. And Ron was still asleep. Malfoy followed him into the aisle and prepared for another assault, but Harry bellowed like a wounded lion and jumped onto Malfoy, knocking him down to the floor and falling on top of him. He landed punch after punch on Malfoy's face, not thinking of what he was doing, not thinking of the damage he was inflicting, not really even hearing Hermione's screams. All he knew was that Malfoy had a lot to pay for, and he hadn't even started paying for it.

XV.

She was so relieved to see Harry come exploding into the room, so relieved to feel Malfoy's body thrown back off hers, that she burst into the tears that had been threatening for the past several minutes. While the attention of both boys was away from her, she sat up and pulled a sheet around herself. Her clothes were ruined, so she was naked under the sheet, and she curled up into a ball, felling terribly dirty and vulnerable. She was shaking, and it took a few minutes to calm herself, and when she did she realized that the reason she had been left alone during those minutes was because Harry was beating the living daylights out of Malfoy. She watched with a fierce satisfaction for a few minutes—she could have told Malfoy he would regret messing with Harry's friends—but after a bit she started to get concerned. Malfoy landed a hard punch to Harry's gut, and Harry staggered out into the aisle. In that split second he met her eyes and she knew he saw her crying. The roar of fury he gave at that moment scared her, and she shrieked as he flew at Malfoy again.

A few minutes later she knew she had to stop him, or he'd be lucky if he didn't kill Malfoy. He was beating him around the face, and while Malfoy was struggling, he didn't have the rage powering him that Harry had, and he was losing badly.

“Harry!” she shouted. “Harry! Harry! Stop! Stop! It's enough! Stop!” Soon her shouts were screams, but the two boys kept fighting. She could see that Harry had some cuts and bruises, but Malfoy was seriously hurt and bleeding profusely. She climbed off the bed, hoping to find her wand, but couldn't see it in the dark. Giving up she ran over to the boys and tried to pull Harry off Malfoy, but he resisted her, and since her interference only allowed Malfoy to get in a punch to Harry's eye, she stopped. Running in the opposite direction she screamed, “Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey! Help me! Help!”

She didn't wait to see if anyone had come, because just then her foot kicked a wand. Snatching it up she ran over to where Harry and Malfoy were wrestling in the aisle, Malfoy now on top, but Harry still getting in solid punches to his face and stomach. Harry flipped Malfoy over and drew back for another punch when Hermione shouted, “Stupefy!” at Malfoy, causing him to go limp. Harry glared up at her, where she stood over them with her wand out.

“Stop, Harry, please,” she pleaded. “It's enough.” Breathing heavily, Harry dropped his arm and climbed off Malfoy. He moved carefully, aware of bruises he hadn't noticed a moment ago. He stood by Hermione and looked down at Malfoy, whose face was so bruised and bloody it was hard to recognize. Hermione was watching his face and saw the slightly sick look pass across it. She hitched up her sheet and laid a hand on his arm.

“Harry?” she said, a quiet sob making her voice catch.

Harry turned his gaze to her, took in her fearful face and that sheet. She was wrapped in a sheet, for Merlin's sake, and her face was every bit as white as the sheet was. “Oh, God, Hermione,” he choked. He turned to her and fell to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “He—he scared me,” she said shakily. “And he would have hurt me, if you hadn't come. But he didn't.” She held him as she felt his shoulders shake, felt him bury his face in the sheet covering her chest. He didn't make a sound, but she could feel him crying, too, for what could have happened to her.

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6. Sections XVI-XIX

XVI.

At that moment a commotion at the door caught their attention, and Harry leapt to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore stood there, taking in the scene. Harry realized that it must look completely bizarre. He was bloody and bruised, Hermione was standing in the middle of the room in a sheet, which now had his blood on it, Ron was fast asleep in his bed, and Malfoy was beaten to a pulp and unconscious on the floor.

“Heavens to Merlin!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. “What has been going on in here?”

“A question I would like to know the answer to myself,” said Dumbledore, and while Harry noticed that he was using his I'm-about-to-be-disappointed-in-you voice, Harry refused to be intimidated. It took some courage to face off with Dumbledore, but a lot of things had happened here tonight that shouldn't have happened, and he would stick up for Ron and Hermione.

“Sir, I'll tell you about it, but can we find some clothes for Hermione and a place for her to sit down? She's…well, she's had a rough time of it.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and then bowed to them both. He turned to Madam Pomfrey who bustled over to Hermione and led her back to a screen at the far end of the room. The men waited silently, and a few minutes later the women came out, Hermione dressed in flannel pajamas and a dressing gown. Madam Pomfrey wordlessly escorted the three of them to her office and shut the door.

Together Harry and Hermione told them what had happened. When Hermione tried to tell them about Malfoy's attack, her voice trembled and she had to take a break before she could finish. Harry's fury surged again, his hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white, but then he realized he shouldn't be holding his chair at all. Hermione looked lost and still a little scared, so he took a breath and put his anger aside for the moment, and reached out and took her hand.

“I called for you, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said, a slightly accusing tone in her voice. “I needed help getting Harry and Malfoy to stop fighting. But nobody came.”

“I am so sorry, my dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, and Harry had to acknowledge that she truly looked it. “You see, I had come to the same conclusions as you did regarding young Mr. Weasley, and I was discussing them with the Headmaster as these events were happening. It is most distressing, Albus, I must say!” She turned toward Dumbledore with the same accusation in her voice that Hermione had given to her a moment ago.

“Yes, Poppy, it is,” Dumbledore sighed, and he turned and looked out of the window for several minutes. Eventually, his head came up and his shoulders straightened. “Well,” he said, “that is that, then. I have given young Mr. Malfoy every chance to walk a different path from his parents, but I will not have Hogwarts girls subjected to assault. I will escort him to Azkaban myself immediately.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock. They hadn't expected that, though Harry was intensely glad about it. Hermione's head came up a little, too, and Harry realized she had been feeling responsible about what had happened, and that Dumbledore's unconditionally taking her side somehow made her feel better.

“Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I'd like you to stay here tonight, all right? I am sure the Headmaster will see to it that guards are posted over you and Mr. Weasley while he is away at Azkaban.”

Hermione nodded. Harry looked up at Dumbledore and said, “Sir, may I stay, too? I would…I don't know, I'd just feel better…” he mumbled, not sure why he was asking this.

Dumbledore looked at Harry and Hermione consideringly. He nodded. “Yes, Harry, you may stay. I expect Madam Pomfrey will want to treat those cuts, in any case.” He looked at Hermione. “I must apologize again, Miss Granger. I expect students to be safe in my school, and nobody should have to go through what you went through tonight. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hermione shook her head, and Dumbledore took his leave. Through the office window, Harry saw him levitate Malfoy's inert body and float it down the aisle, blood dripping from Malfoy's face onto the hospital floor. Madam Pomfrey found more pajamas for Harry and as soon as he had changed and gotten several strange potions applied to his wounds, and they had found their wands, both of them climbed into beds that were next to each other. The lights were dim, which was good, because Harry was discovering that his black eye was becoming sensitive to light.

It had to be very late, Harry thought, looking at his watch. Half past one. He turned to look at Hermione, who saw him move and turned over on her side to look back at him.

“Are you really all right, Hermione?” he asked her quietly, feeling like crying again for some reason. He cleared his throat and concentrated on not letting the tears fall again.

“I think I'm better than you,” Hermione said wryly. “You're a mess. But at least Malfoy's worse.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, though he didn't smile. “I didn't mean to scare you, you know. It was just…when I saw you wrapped in that sheet, I knew what he must have done, or tried to do, and I lost it, Hermione. I've never been so angry in my life…”

“I know,” Hermione answered softly. “It was a little scary, to tell you the truth. But mostly I didn't want you to kill him and end up in Azkaban because of me.”

Harry was quiet. He didn't tell her that it would have given him great satisfaction have killed Malfoy in those moments. The only thing he could imagine regretting if he were sent to prison was being separated from her.

“I'm really okay, Harry,” she said, her face hidden by shadow. “I just…I felt so dirty after he got my clothes off…” she broke off on a shudder. “But you know, that thing that Dumbledore said, about how no girl should have to go through that…that made me feel better.”

“I'm glad,” Harry said, simply. “Because it's not your fault. You'd better go to sleep, you know. Ron's going to wake up and see us both here and want to know what happened.”

“Yes, you're right” Hermione agreed sleepily. “Good night, then, Harry.”

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm…?”

“I won't let anything else happen to you. I'll take care of you,” he vowed into the darkness. But Hermione didn't answer; apparently she was already asleep.

Harry lay awake a long time, staring up at the ceiling. He had figured it out, and he was trying to get his mind wrapped around it. When she had Stunned Malfoy and stood there in that sheet, and he realized what could have happened to her—in that moment, it was all so clear, like someone had whispered the truth in his ear. All he could do was to fall to his knees and hold on to her. He knew now why he found himself looking for Hermione's face in the crowd at every Quidditch match. He knew why he had found himself hungry to touch her, just to feel her skin against his. He knew why he could tell her anything, or not tell her but know that she understood anyway. He wondered what he had been afraid of. His parents had been his and Hermione's age when they had fallen in love. So had the Weasleys. Now that he realized it, it seemed so obvious, and so right. In place of the panic and rage that had been simmering inside him the past few hours, new feelings started to seep in to replace them. Peace. Joy. Hope. Suddenly he knew that he would do anything, anything, to make sure that he and Hermione had some kind of future, because he knew from watching his parents and the Weasleys, there was a lot to live for.

Once more he rolled over to face Hermione, gazing possessively at her sleeping face. She was so pretty. In his quietest whisper he tried out the words he had never spoken to anyone before in his life. “I love you.”

He figured he could get used to saying that.

XVII.

I'll take care of you…What did that mean? Right now, she was so tired and still so upset, she decided just to accept it. Harry would take care of her. With that thought she drifted off to sleep.

Low conversation awoke her the next morning, though for a while she seemed to have worked it into her dreams until her mind finally realized it was real, and she opened her eyes. Since she was lying on her side, the first thing she saw was Harry's green eyes looking at her. Behind his glasses, she could see that one of them was black and nearly swollen shut. His words of the night before came back to her. I'll take care of you…She smiled. He smiled back, then winced at the pain in his split lip. Quickly he put a finger to his lips and jerked his head over toward Ron's bed.

Luna sat at his bedside, and they seemed to be engaged in a very engrossing conversation. At first Hermione wasn't sure what it was about, but then she realized it didn't matter. Ron was gazing at Luna as though he had never seen her before. And Luna looked quite lovely for an early Sunday morning; had she dressed up to take her shift on watch? Harry and Hermione met each other's eyes, and Hermione put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Well, Daddy wants me to help him run the paper after I graduate, because he's tired of all the traveling. I'm not, though. I'd love to travel after we leave, but I don't like to travel alone. I've always been with Daddy. Do you like to travel?”

“Er…yeah,” said Ron. “Well, I haven't done much, really. We never had much money, you know. But we did go to Egypt a few years ago, that was cool.”

“Mmmmm…” said Luna. “Well, the paper pays for our traveling, so it wouldn't cost us anything, and we could go together, if you wanted…” She trailed off, but met Ron's eyes directly and didn't blush.

“Er…okay,” Ron said, grinning, and he did blush, a bright red that nearly matched his hair.

Hermione smiled, rather mistily. It had never occurred to her before, but she thought Ron and Luna might just be a good couple. They were both a little unusual, and they were both wise in ways that only their closest friends really understood. From across the room she saw Ron reach out and take hold of Luna's hand. Oh, that was really lovely, she thought, and for some reason she found herself getting teary.

Harry was looking at her quizzically, so she looked away. He looked at her for a minute and then shrugged and looked away as well. Then he turned back to her. “All right this morning, Hermione?”

She nodded. “Yes, I'm all right,” she said. “I even had good dreams.” She didn't mention that her dreams were filled with him, and his deep voice that she loved so much, making that promise that was starting to mean so much to her…I'll take care of you…

“That's good, then,” Harry said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but at that moment Ron and Luna noticed they were awake. They released each other's hands quickly.

“Oy, mate!” Ron called. “You going to tell us what happened to the pair of you?”

They got out of their beds and put their dressing gowns on. Hermione noticed that Harry was moving rather gingerly, probably because of his bruises from the night before. But he didn't say anything as they walked over to Ron and Luna. Taking turns they told the story from the beginning, from their visit after yesterday's Quidditch match to waking up just now. By the time they were finished, Luna looked grim, a very unusual expression for her, and Ron looked livid.

“I slept through that?” he asked incredulously. “Malfoy was attacking you right here and I slept?”

“It wasn't your fault, Ron,” Hermione said firmly. “He had cursed you, with this pale green charm I'd never seen before. I think it was a dilution of Avada Kedavra.” Ron looked slightly sick at this.

“Anyway, mate, he's off to Azkaban,” Harry said with satisfaction.

“And probably not feeling too well this morning,” Hermione added, “since Harry beat the stuffing out of him last night. He was really wonderful!” She gazed at him with such pride and admiration that he blushed.

XVIII.

It was all he could do not to thrust out his chest when she gave him that look. He knew he wasn't really a hero, but when she looked at him like that, it made him think, secretly, deep down, that maybe he could be. He shook his head, wondering why it had taken him so long to figure out what he was feeling about Hermione; after all, he had always felt absurdly proud when she complimented him. No other girl, even ones he had fancied, had made him feel like that.

Madam Pomfrey came up to them at that moment and insisted on checking each of them over, and led Hermione off behind the screen at the far end of the room. Luna took her leave and promised Ron she'd be back sometime between mid-afternoon and sunset, which puzzled Harry- why didn't she just use normal times like everyone else? But when he looked at Ron, he saw it didn't bother Ron at all, so he didn't say anything. Leaning back in his chair, Harry stretched out his legs and propped them up on Ron's bed. Ron turned his attention from gazing after Luna to Harry.

“So, what's up with you and Hermione?” he asked bluntly.

“You do realize that you are opening yourself up to all sorts of questions about you and Luna by asking me that,” Harry said nonchalantly, examining the bruises on his knuckles.

“Yeah, I do realize,” Ron said, “but I decided to take the risk. I'll tell you what's with me and Luna and you won't even have to ask. But we'd better wait for Hermione, `cause she'll want to be in on it, too, and in the meantime, why don't you tell me about you and her?” Ron said this all in one breath, and by the time Harry caught up to it all he had figured out that he really couldn't keep this from Ron.

“Fine,” Harry said, blowing out a breath. “The thing is, I have no idea what's with us. I guess nothing. But I'll tell you mate, I just—when I saw that Malfoy had gotten her clothes off—I…” he broke off, the rage of that moment flooding through him again. “It's a good thing she Stunned him Ron, or I would have killed him.” He said this last quietly but grimly. “Don't tell her, though, okay? I mean, it all scared her enough, you know?”

Ron nodded. “Don't apologize on my account, Harry,” he said, looking equally as grim. “If I hadn't been cursed right then, I'd have gotten out of bed and held him down for you. And I don't even fancy her like you do.”

“How d'you know I fancy her?” Harry said, raising a dark eyebrow.

Ron snorted. “Come on, Harry! You've fancied her for ages, haven't you? At least since fifth year when she was always yelling at you, and then she got you to teach the DA. I know you went out with Cho that year, but everybody knew that wouldn't last.”

“Nice of you to tell me now!” Harry said wryly.

“Hey, that's what friends are for, mate!” Ron grinned, leaning back against the pillow. Harry noticed that Ron was starting to look pale and tired again. They'd have to leave him to get some rest if he was going to recover now. “Anyway,” Ron went on, “I think she might fancy you, too. She hasn't said anything to me, but…well…I don't know. She didn't date Viktor long, did she?”

“No, she didn't,” Harry said, and was cheered by the memory. “About as long as I dated Cho, which was almost none. But how do I…I mean…” Harry broke off in embarrassment.

“How do you get her to be your girlfriend without risking ruining your friendship?” Ron asked with unusual perceptiveness.

“Er…yeah…something like that.”

“Dunno, mate,” Ron said, shrugging. “Want me to talk to her for you?”

“No!” Harry answered emphatically. “I mean, geez, Ron, we're seventeen! We're grownups, remember?”

Ron chuckled. “All right then,” he said, “but the offer's open if you can't figure it out for yourself.”

At that moment, Hermione came out from behind the screen and Madam Pomfrey beckoned for Harry to come back. With a look over his shoulder at Ron, who was wearing a completely innocent expression on his face, Harry followed her back. He groaned inwardly. Any time a Weasley looked that innocent, you could bet that they were planning to cause trouble.

XIX.

Hermione smiled at Harry, who was on his way to have his cuts and bruises checked out by Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey had done more than check Hermione's physical condition; she had talked gently and firmly to her about what Malfoy had done—or, rather, tried to do—and how she might find herself feeling in the next few days. Hermione was impressed that the nurse knew so much about it, but when she said as much, Madam Pomfrey just looked businesslike and said that unfortunately, things like this happened every now and then, even at a respectable school like Hogwarts.

But, as Hermione had insisted to Madam Pomfrey, she felt all right. It was a terrible memory, but she didn't think she was going to go around blaming herself—even if she had been careless. And she had a secret that most girls didn't have when they went through something like this. She had the memory of being rescued by her true love, of seeing him avenge her honor. She could feel herself turning pink as she thought of it—and of course she would never say those words out loud to anyone, not even Ginny. It just sounded too old fashioned, too silly. But she could treasure it in the deepest part of her heart, where nobody would ever know, and nobody could tell her she was being overly sentimental or romantic. Or unrealistic. She knew all that, but she would treasure it anyway.

With a sigh she plopped down in one of the chairs next to Ron's bed. Ron had had his eyes closed, but when she sat he opened them and looked at her. His face was very serious. “Are you all right, then, Hermione?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” she answered truthfully. “Thanks to Harry, really.”

Ron stared at her, as though making sure she was telling him the truth, then smiled and rolled his eyes. She frowned. What was that about? Then Ron said in a very casual tone of voice, “So, you fancy him, then, don't you, Hermione?”

She could feel her face burning; she knew she must be beet red. “Wh—why do you say that, Ron?” she sputtered. Ron laughed weakly and she could tell he was getting tired.

“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “Just that you act like he's some kind of bleeding hero all the time…”

“Well,” she said quietly, looking down at her knees, “he is. He really saved me last night, Ron.”

“I know,” Ron said. “And it's a good thing, too.”

“Why's that?” she frowned.

“Because he fancies you, too, Hermione, only he's just figured it out, and he doesn't know what to do about it. I reckon that if he hadn't stopped Mafloy from—well, from what he was trying to do—he wouldn't have been able to live with himself,” Ron explained, and for once he was the one sounding like an adult speaking to a child. “Don't tell him I told you, though, okay?”

Hermione continued to look down. “I think you must have it wrong, Ron,” she said quietly. “He would have done that for any of his friends. It doesn't mean he fancies me.”

Ron gave a deep, longsuffering sigh. “Yeah, he would have done it for any of his friends, Hermione. So would you have, or me or any of us. But none of us would have nearly beaten Malfoy to death afterwards, would we? None of us would have promised to take care of the person, would they?”

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and she looked up. “How…? I mean, who told you…?”

“Hey, my timing may be bad, but I didn't sleep through everything, did I?” Ron smirked.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—but just then Harry came out from behind the screen, fully clothed. He grinned at her, and even though it was distorted by his swollen lip, it made her catch her breath. Ron coughed very unsubtly and rolled his eyes again. Without taking her eyes off Harry she reached over and pinched Ron until he yelled. Fortunately, Harry hadn't seen that, so she didn't have to explain it.

“I'm cleared to go,” Harry told them. “Are you?” He looked at Hermione.

She nodded. “Yes. I didn't really even have any injuries.” She looked into those green eyes trying to read what he was thinking. How could Ron possibly be right?

“Good,” Harry said. “Now, there's just one more thing.” He took the chair and turned it backward and sat straddling it. “What's up with you and Luna, mate?”

Ron's ears turned pink, but he gave them a sheepish smile. “Well, I don't know, but I…I held her hand today,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself.

Harry gave him an evil grin. “Yeah, we saw that. We were awake over there longer than you thought.”

Ron gave him a scowl. “So, did you hear her invite me to travel with her after graduation?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, feeling sentimental again. She didn't know what was wrong with her. “But she's only in sixth year, like Ginny, you know.”

“I know,” said Ron. “But she's so…look, I know that people think she's a bit barmy. I used to think that, too. But she's not. She's just…different. She's really smart, and she knows about people. I mean, she knew how I was feeling about…stuff…” This last was said in a mumble, and Hermione met Harry's eyes. They shrugged, having no idea what that “stuff” was, but figuring Ron would tell them if he wanted them to know. “And then this morning, she showed up for her watch, and she was there when I woke up, and it was really…I don't know…nice.”

“So, is she your girlfriend?” Hermione asked curiously. Ron had had a few dates in the past year or so, but he'd never really had a girlfriend.

“I don't know,” Ron said. “She told me flat out that she fancies me, and she let me hold her hand, and she invited me to go on her trip with her this summer. Does that make her my girlfriend?” He looked at them uncertainly.

“Well, you great prat,” Harry said, “Do you want it to mean she's your girlfriend?”

“Er…yeah, I guess so,” said Ron, turning pink again.

“Then you'd better ask her to be,” Hermione said. “She told you her feelings, you can't just assume that she knows yours, or that she'll be your girlfriend without being asked.”

Ron looked annoyed. “Advice on my love-life coming from the pair of you. Right.”

Hermione could feel her face burning again, and she gave Ron a glare. But as she turned way from him, she caught sight of Harry's face, which was also bright red. Now, that was interesting…She stood up with as much dignity as she could muster with her face glowing like the Olympic Torch.

“Harry, I believe this idiot needs his rest. Shall we go?”

Harry smirked. “Yeah, let's leave him to his dreams of Luna, who is not his girlfriend.”

Ron reached over and threw a bedpan at them, and they left, laughing as they ducked out of the way.

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7. Sections XX-XXII

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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