Worry

Hey all! It’s me! This is my first H/Hr fic, so please…be nice. Though flames are kind of fun, it a weird twisted sort of way. So, anyway, I hope you like it…and as always, don’t forget to REVIEW! I love them!

~Ljstagflower4e~
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Worry.

It was a feeling Hermione Granger was well associated with.

She worried about school, she worried about her family, she worried about her friends, but most importantly...she worried about him. Him. Harry Potter, her best friend of 5 years and, publicly, The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione had arrived at 12 Grimmuald Place, the home of Harry's late godfather, Sirius Black along with the entire Weasley clan exactly one week prior and had not yet seen her best friend. Not that Ron wasn't her best friend as well, but her friendship with Harry was...different. Ron, although he would have preferred a less sullen and tangible Harry, was perfectly content to leave Harry to mourn his godfather's death in the peace and solitude in the upstairs bedroom. Hermione, however, had decided upon her arrival, to give Harry a week to brood before taking matters into her own hands to try and get him to talk to her.

So, at the end of the week Hermione found herself standing outside the dully polished wooden door, studying the intricate carvings and steeling herself for the conversation she hoped would ensue. Hell, she’d even settle for a screaming match if it would make Harry come out of his self-imposed solitude. Just anything but this…silence, this nothingness from him.

Hermione took a deep breath and raised her hand preparing to knock on the wood. She closed her eyes and began a mental countdown...three...two...one.... Hermione knocked three times on the door and waited, alternating between holding her breath and biting her lip in her nervous state. After receiving no audible response from the room’s occupant, she grasped the doorknob tightly in her hand, her palms slick with sweat, and turned it once hearing the gears slide open. She stepped quietly into the darkened room and allowed her eyes a moment to adjust before moving slowly towards Harry's bed. Through the darkness she could just barely make out the huddled form twisting and turning in the sheets, kicking them onto the floor.

Her heart jumped and her mind raced as she realized Harry was in the throws of a nightmare. Hermione wrung her hands together helplessly as she watched him toss and moan in pain and obvious terror. She had never been present for any of Harry's nightmares; Ron was usually the one who dealt with them, having lived in the same dorm with Harry for 5 years. Harry gave one final jerk and rolled to the far side of the mattress where he lay still, breathing heavily. Hermione took advantage of Harry's stilled position and crawled onto the mattress settling down on her heels next to him. She peered down at his face, beads of sweat clung to his brow and his hair was matted to his forehead. Gently, Hermione brushed a few stray strands of hair away from his scar. The jagged pink line stood out vividly against his pale, clammy skin. She stared at it for a moment reflecting on the history behind it, before slowly touching her fingers to it.

Harry's eyes snapped open instantly and his hand flew up to grip her wrist tightly, his fingers cold and clammy. Hermione tumbled backwards onto the bed in shock, Harry's hand still wrapped firmly around her wrist. Hermione froze in place; not wanting to startle Harry with any sudden movements as he slowly struggled to sit up. She watched him carefully as he blinked a few times and glanced around the room cautiously, his gaze finally coming to rest on her still form sprawled on the bed.

"Hermione?" Harry’s eyes narrowed.

"Harry!" Hermione’s voice came out in a high breathless squeak, "I was just…just…um…," She halfway considered backing out of her plan and pretending that she had been looking for something in his room when the Gryffindor inside of her took control of her vocal chords and spilled the whole, albeit short, truth for her.

"I’m worried, Harry."

Harry’s gaze slid to where his hand was still gripping her wrist. He gave a gentle tug pulling her back up into a kneeling position next to him. His head drooped and his shoulders sagged, his hands coming together in his lap, picking idly at stray threads in the worn blanket.
"I’m sorry, ‘Mione" he mumbled, the beginning of her name lost to the scratchiness of his throat. Any doubts about confronting Harry that Hermione had when she’d first opened the door dissipated at the sound of self-loathing and guilt in Harry’s voice.

"It’s not your fault, Harry." Hermione whispered firmly, grabbing Harry’s hands between her own, desperate to make him believe her. She knew it was unlikely that Harry would listen to her; he was just as stubborn as she, and she knew it would take more than a simple statement, especially one that he’d heard many times before, to get him to open up.

"Oh really?" Harry sneered viciously, grabbing his hands back from her. "Then tell me, Hermione, who was responsible for Siri- -," his voice choked at the mention of his godfather, but he quickly cleared his throat and brushed a hand across his eyes before continuing, "for his death? Who was a big enough prat to put his friends in danger because of some bloody dream he had? Who was stupid enough to go chasing after a vision? Who was blind enough to almost get you killed? Who was dumb enough to get his godfather killed because of some bleeding saving-people thing he has? Who, Hermione? Who was it, then, if it wasn’t me?" Harry stared right into her eyes as he finished his rant; his own green eyes showing the multitude of emotion he was feeling, despite his hardened facial expressions. Realizing everything he had just revealed, he dropped his head back to his chest and continued pulling stray threads from his blanket.

"Voldemort." Harry’s head snapped up again at the certainty of her tone. Hermione took a deep breath and plunged on before he could rebut her statement, "Honestly, Harry! Don’t give me that look! Voldemort and his Death Eaters are responsible. Not you. Never you. Blame Bellatrix, blame Malfoy, Blame Pettigrew, blame Kreacher even, I promise I won’t S.P.E.W on you if you do." Hermione winced at her lame attempt at humor. Joke-making was really more of Ron’s department, but if she could just get Harry to show some sort of emotion, some sign that the old Harry was in there somewhere, she’d be satisfied. To her relief, the shadows of a smile found their way onto Harry’s stoic features. Her relief was short lived, however, as Harry’s slight grin was replaced by a look Hermione could only remember seeing once before in her life, and hoped never to see again. It was the same expression Harry wore when he finally caught up to Sirius in the Shrieking Shack in their 3^rd year. It was the same expression Harry wore when he was feeling particularly murderous.

"Harry?" Hermione asked timidly, slightly surprised by Harry’s sudden mood swing, "Do you…do you want to talk about…" she paused, realizing she didn’t quite know what to call the information she wanted, "…it?"

Harry’s response was to stare silently at some point in the distance. Hermione glanced up at Harry, who had leaned back against a pillow at the head of the bed, his gaze travelling upwards to rest on the ceiling, before looking down at her hands, twisting and turning the hem of her skirt in her hands.

Harry had been silent for at least ten minutes, nine of which Hermione had spent blinking back hot tears of frustration and self-presumed failure, when he crept his hand across the sheets to where Hermione’s lay next to her knee. Grasping her small hand firmly in his own larger one, Harry began to speak, his voice harsh and detached as he explained everything that had happened after she’d been knocked out by Dolohov’s spell in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione remained dutifully silent throughout the story, biting back comments and gasps, so as not to distract Harry. By the time he had finished, the clock read ‘so late it’s early’, and silent tears were streaming down Hermione’s face.

Knowing of Harry’s past history with and his discomfort around crying females, she sniffled quietly, trying to stem the flow of tears. Harry sighed, and fell silent, letting Hermione absorb everything he had just told her. He squeezed her hand awkwardly, not knowing what to say to comfort her, having never had much practice with it growing up. Hermione’s shoulders shook in violent sobs when she realized that Harry was trying to comfort her in his own unique way. He was always doing that…thinking of others before himself. It was what made him such an amazing person and a loyal friend.

Panicking at the sight of Hermione’s shaking frame, Harry’s thoughts raced, trying to figure out what to do. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, forcing himself to concentrate, Harry focused as a memory floated to the surface of his conscience. It was the hug that Hermione had given him in their first year, right before he had gone off to fight Voldemort for the first time. It was the first real sign of affection from anyone that Harry could remember. Harry opened his eyes and tugged lightly on Hermione’s hand where it was still locked in a death-grip with his own. Hermione’s sobs quieted slightly, her shoulders still shaking. Not looking at him, she ran a hand across her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself enough to speak. Harry tugged on her hand again, harder than he had before, pulling her down next to him. Hermione fell limply onto the pillow, burying her face in Harry’s shoulder and stretching her legs out next to his. Harry shifted awkwardly, trying to get comfortable, finally settling his arm under Hermione’s head.

Hermione sniffled and placed her hand on top of Harry’s where it lay on his chest, just over his heart. "You’ll be okay. In the end, you’ll be okay. We’ll be okay." Harry looked down at the mass of bushy hair hiding his best friend, and raised an eyebrow even though he knew she couldn’t see it. "You’re a great wizard, Harry." It was a phrase that Hermione’s voice had often repeated in his head when he was feeling depressed. (Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice quite like Snape’s had once sneered that Harry sought comfort from it because of the ego boost. Harry had bashed his head into a wall trying to get Snape’s voice out of his mind, but all he ended up with was a nicely purpled bruise for his efforts.) Deep down, Harry knew he found comfort in those four little words because they brought back happy memories of the beginnings of the odd and unexpected friendship formed between a bossy know-it-all and a small skinny boy with broken glasses and knobby knees almost 6 years ago. A friendship that had saved his sorry arse more times than he could count. It was friendship that was more than just friendship, though he didn’t know quite what exactly to call it.

The next few moments passed in a comfortable brooding silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry wondered what Hermione would think of him, knowing the prophecy and his destiny. The rational Hermione-like voice reassured him that she would think no less of him, but there was still the ever-present worry that she would hate him forever. The latter, he supposed, was a bit dramatic, but still it troubled him. Hermione lay comfortable next to him, reviewing the entire story in her head, analyzing the words of the prophecy, turning them inside and out for any other possible meanings. Much to her dismay, she quickly realized that the words ‘and either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives’ can only be taken in so many ways, all of them meaning, Harry could die. Her hand tightened unconsciously around Harry’s at her morbid thoughts. Harry could die, Harry could die, Harry could die…it repeated in her head, a never-ending mantra of her worst fear.

"I’m going with you." Hermione said, her tone suggesting the end of a discussion that was never really started, but she knew would be inevitable. Harry needed no explanations further than that. Her meaning shone clearly in her eyes as she looked at him, her expression daring him to tell her no. Harry pushed himself up on his elbow and rolled onto his side facing Hermione, her head still resting on his arm.

Harry sighed in defeat looking down at the girl who had always been by his side, directly or indirectly, with him against everything he’d ever faced.

"’Mione…," his voice was pleading, "please don’t do this to me. Don’t make me promise anything I can’t keep."

"I’m not asking you to promise me anything. I’m telling you, Harry James Potter, that I will be with you in the end when, and I do mean when, you defeat Voldemort. And you can’t change my mind. I’ve been with you for 5 years, and I’m not about to back down now because some prophecy."

"You don’t care that I might have to murder someone?"

Harry waited with baited breath for Hermione’s response.

"The day I consider Voldemort a person is the day I enslave a house elf. Honestly, Harry, do you really expect me to tell you that I’d care if you murdered the most evil wizard in the world?"

Harry let out the breath he’d been holding, "Just making sure."

"In fact, I’ll be there every step of the way, helping you as much as possible. I’m sure the library has some fantastic books on defense in the restricted section!" Hermione’s eyes shone at the prospect of a visit to the library. Harry rolled his eyes at her, and received a swat on the arm for his impudence.

Bringing up the point of their discussion, Harry sighed again, "I can’t even try to change your mind?"

"No." Hermione’s voice was firm, "I’m going with you whether you like it or not." Harry’s brow creased in thought as he looked down at their joined hands.

"You know," Harry smiled grimly at her, emotion flooding his eyes, "If I could choose one person to go with me, I’m glad it’s you, Hermione."

"Me too, Harry, me too." Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse.

Harry didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next, but looking back on that moment, he was glad he did. He pulled Hermione close to him; his arm snaking it’s way from her hand to wrap tentatively around her waist, and then on her hip, then flitting back to her waist where it wrapped securely around her waist. Hermione giggled slightly at his awkwardness, prompting a frown from Harry, before leaning close enough to him that their noses touched. Harry looked into Hermione’s eyes, his expression unwavering as they leaned a fraction of an inch closer, their lips finally brushing together in a chaste kiss. Harry pulled back slightly, searching her face for direction. A slow grin spread across his face when Hermione blushed and nodded her head slightly. Elated, Harry dipped his head down a second time capturing her lips in a second, more passionate kiss.

Hermione felt her own slow smile start across her face as she looked at Harry, who had settled back on the pillow, his fingers entwined with hers. Harry made to pull her down next to him, but Hermione remained seated where she was, an apologetic smile plastered on her face.

"Sorry, Harry." Harry’s face fell in disappointment. "No cuddling until you shower." Hermione grinned at the look of obvious relief that spread across Harry’s face, "I would’ve told you earlier, but what with you being depressed and all, I figured telling you that you smell like a herd of sweaty hippogriffs wouldn’t have done you much good."

Harry shot her a look of mock anger, though he couldn’t wipe the loopy grin off his face, "Thanks for that bit of ego-bruising, ‘Mione."

Hermione flashed her most dazzling smile as she pushed Harry towards the bathroom, "Anytime! Now go get into that Shower!"

Harry rolled his eyes and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him only to pull it open again immediately to stick his head back out.

"’Hey…um…’Mione?" He asked shyly, "Will you be here when I get out?"

Hermione just smiled softly and nodded, her own loony grin plastered across her face, not trusting herself to speak coherently.

Harry walked out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing fresh pajamas; his dirty ones rolled up in his arms. He dropped the bundle unceremoniously on the floor before walking over to his bed where Hermione lay fast asleep. Harry smiled before pulling the covers over her and climbing onto the bed himself, making sure to stay above the covers…just in case Mrs. Weasley or any of the Weasleys Jr. happened upon them sleeping. Wrapping his arms tentatively around Hermione’s waist again, Harry buried his face in her hair, a small smile flitting across his face. Right before losing consciousness, and giving into sleep, one last thought flickered through Harry’s mind.

I think I’ve found the power he kno- - ooh…hmmm…Hermione smells nice…a combination of vanilla and library books.

And with that, he promptly fell asleep.

--fin.—

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~Ljstagflower4e~