Lakeside Musings by Siriusly Potty

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 02/12/2004
Last Updated: 02/12/2004
Status: Completed

An evening by the lake brings a little comfort to Harry's otherwise pain-filled life.




1. Comfort
----------

**Disclaimer:** Right, well, I think it's painfully obvious that I own nothing to do with
Harry Potter, unfortunately. He and all of his universe is entirely the genius of Joanne
Rowling.







Comfort

A lonely young man sits; staring silently at the calm, cool waters of the lake. An icy breeze
blows over him, through him. He can’t feel it. At this point he thought he couldn’t really feel
anything. Everything is his fault. Everyone he loves, they are all being hurt or killed. Everyone
who gets close to him, are taken away.

His parents were killed when he was fifteen months old. His best friend’s sister was taken
hostage in her first year at Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory was killed right in front of him for no other
reason, in Harry’s eyes, than being a good person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Harry was sure that it should have been him that time.




*'Every time, it should have been me.'*




Just a few months ago he, Harry Potter, had led five of his closest friends into an obvious
trap, almost getting them killed.




*'Well, at least it was obvious to someone.'*




If only he had listened to Her, his two best friends wouldn’t have been hurt. Better yet, Sirius
would still be alive.




*'Don't think about him.'*




Another life spent that should have been his own. What had he done that was so horrible, to
deserve such a fate? Why would anyone want to know him at all, let alone become his best
friend?

But somehow he had managed to find someone, two someones to be precise. And how did he repay
them? By leading them blindly into danger.

Ron still had faint scars from the Brain that attacked him. Madam Pomfrey assured him that the
scars were continuing to fade and would soon be completely gone. Unfortunately, not everything
fades as easily. Ron occasionally woke in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat from the
nightmares, and he sometimes suffered flashes of someone else's memory; Harry knew all too well
what both felt like.

Hermione said she was fully recovered, but Harry didn’t believe her. He wasn't sure if she
would ever fully recover. They still had no idea what spell had hit her. He could remember vividly,
though, the moment she fell. He could never forget it, no matter how hard he tried. And he did try.
It was etched coldly amongst the darkest of his thoughts and played back randomly in his
nightmares, haunting him.

He closed his eyes and the images immediately came to the front of his mind, like a horror movie
waiting to start. A purple jet of light had come out of nowhere and struck her chest. Time seemed
to slow and the rest of the world disappeared. He saw her lips form a perfect ‘o’ as she slid to
the floor. He screamed her name and fell to his knees by her side. He panicked. They were
surrounded by Death Eaters, who were quite obviously still capable of inflicting pain or death, but
he didn't care. He just sat there, silently praying to whatever powers were controlling this
world. Praying she wasn't dead. Begging for her to be alright, and too scared to look at her in
case she wasn't.




*'Some defender of wizard-kind I turned out to be.'*




He could face a fully-grown Mountain Troll, a Basilisk, hoards of Dementors, dragons, dozens of
Death Eaters, and Lord Voldemort himself time and time again, all the while keeping a cool head.
But place a possibly dead Hermione in front of him and........... He freezes. If Neville hadn’t of
been there to tell him she still had a pulse, he probably would have given up and let Voldemort
kill him right there and then. She had almost died and it was all because of him, all of it.




*'No! Everyone keeps telling me not to blame myself. But who else is there to
blame?'*




Voldemort.




*'He-Who-Makes-My-Life-A-Living-Hell!'*




*Him* and that stupid Prophecy. That small orb *He* just *had* to have but
wasn't quite man enough to go and take it himself. The stupid echo that caused all this pain in
the first place. It’s not like the bloody thing was helpful in any way. All it said was someone,
all signs point to Harry, had 'the power to vanquish the Dark lord', so what? It didn’t
tell him what it was, or how to use it. On the other hand, he was quite positive that someone as
evil as Voldemort, did *not* need help thinking of a few choice ways to kill a sixteen
year-old boy. It was all for nothing. He had put everyone's lives in danger for a useless
riddle.

Everybody who followed him 'That Night' (as he had come to call it) was hurt. Some even
dead.




*'Sirius.'*




The memory of his Godfather falling through the mysterious veil was like a dagger through his
heart. Sirius was the closest thing to family Harry had ever known. And now ...

Now Harry was out here, all alone, on this cold November evening, thinking about everything.
Life, death, pain. He found it hard to be around people since 'That Night' in the
Department of Mysteries. Everyone, even his friends, give him a look of pity. He hated that look.
So, he avoided them whenever he could. For the last three months, he had come up with excuses to
leave conversations early. Other places he had to be. So far it had worked without them getting too
suspicious, after all, they knew he had been through a lot. He couldn’t stand the feeling of guilt
he got when he looked at them and the thought of all the danger they were in, just for being his
friends.

His sorrowful and self-depreciating musings were broken off by the soft sound of footsteps
approaching him from across the frosty grounds.

They were coming closer, towards his little hollow in the bushes by the lake. This was his
private place. He had discovered it years ago on one of his walks, and he told no-one. The only
other person who knew, happened to be with him when he found it.

He stole a quick glance in the direction of the noise, and sure enough, She was coming his
way.

He couldn't see her face, with only starlight to guide his eyes. The stars were not
particularly bright tonight, it was like they sensed his mood. Besides, the lack of lighting was
part of the reason he came here. The dark soothed him. It made it easier to disappear, to fade into
the background and avoid people's pity. He couldn't see her face, but he knew it was her.
He always knew her.

She was carrying something, both of her hands full. He turned back to the lake and pretended
that he hadn’t seen. Maybe if he ignored her, she would sense that he wanted to be alone. Her
footsteps stopped; He continued to stare into space. He could feel her presence beside him as she
spread a blanket on the ground and settled on it.




*'Then again, maybe not.'*




She was close. He could feel warmth radiating off her body. He could smell her scent, a
combination of chocolate and Butterbeer. Soothing. He found the source as she handed him a warm
mug. He looked blankly at the caramel-coloured peace-offering and then slowly raised his eyes to
hers. She smiled, small and gentle. He searched carefully for any ulterior motives, there must be a
reason for her to be out here. Finding nothing but the kind look of a sharing friend, he took the
mug with a shadow of a smile and turned back to the lake.

She rearranged herself into a comfortable position and sipped quietly at her Butterbeer. After a
moment's pause, he brought his own mug to his lips and let the smooth, warm liquid slide down
his throat. The warmth spread through him quickly, and he realized that he must have been cold
after all. Of course, she was always there to provide him with whatever he needed, whether he knew
he needed it or not. This was part of the reason he had taken to avoiding spending time with her.
He couldn't stand to see her get hurt again because of him.

They sat together and for a long time, no words were spoken other than the breathy sighs that
escaped her lips as she enjoyed her drink. Words weren't always necessary between these two
friends. No-one could explain why, it just ... was. If he wanted to talk, he would do it when he
was ready, she wouldn’t push him; he knew what she was waiting for and appreciated her
patience.

Time passed, as it is known to do. He finished his drink and eventually broke the silence. “Why
did you come here, Hermione?” he asked as he placed his now empty mug on the ground beside him. His
eyes never left the smooth surface of the lake.

“You looked like you wanted to be alone,” she answered in a quiet voice as she, too, stared at
the glassy water.

Hermione’s usually sound logic could, at times, be remarkably like Luna’s.




*'Perhaps it's a girl thing.'*




A genuine smile spread across Harry’s face as he asked, “So, you followed me out here so I could
be alone?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “Well,” she started, then she cocked her head to the side so she
could see his face, “I find that the moments when I want to be alone, are usually at the times when
I need someone the most.”




*'Bugger ...'*




“You know me too well, Hermione,” he sighed, shaking his head. She looked at him with a mixture
of humour and disbelief. “You know me better than I do sometimes,” he elaborated, while running his
hand through his already messy hair.

“Well then, you can’t argue with the fact that I know you well enough to realise something is
bothering you.” He said nothing, so she continued. “I know you're hiding something from me. I
know you have secrets, Harry. I know that there are some things you keep all to yourself, things
that you’ll never tell anyone, even me and Ron, and I understand that. But sometimes ..... Harry,
sometimes you just *need* to talk about them.”

Silence.

“This one, the one that's been bothering you since the end of last term, maybe it would help
to share it.”

“Hermione, I *want* to tell you *all* my secrets ,” he mumbled softly, “But I
can't. I can't risk your life. I have very dangerous secrets, Hermione. Ones that could get
you killed.” He hoped she would understand. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about the
Prophecy, but if he told anyone, even one of his best friends, it would only result in that person
being in even more danger than they already were. Images from ‘That Night’ flashed through his head
again.

His friends were too much at risk already. He would have to keep it to himself, if only for a
little while longer. He knew he would have to tell them eventually, but for now, he would just have
to carry the burden alone.




*'If it keeps my friends safe, so be it*.'




What would they think of him if they knew what he had to do? *Kill or be killed.* What
would *she* think? What would she do? Would she still want to know his secrets? Would she
still look at him the way she was looking at him now?




*'Wait, she's looking at me?*'




“Harry?” He must have been quiet for longer than he thought, Hermione had reached out her hand
to cover his. “Harry?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. She was starting to worry, he
could tell, yet his mouth couldn't form any words.

He stared down at their hands where they rested on his thigh, a look of curiosity on his face.
Her hand was so warm and gentle. So small. Hermione blushed when she noticed his gaze. She made to
retrieve her hand but surprisingly found he didn’t want to let it go. He slowly turned his wrist
and carefully laced his fingers with hers.

So soft and smooth, it was in complete contrast to his, which was large and rough from playing
Quidditch and all the other scrapes he had gotten into just by being The-Boy-Who-Lived. He studied
them closely, like he had never seen them before. On closer inspection he could see ink stains on
her slender fingers from her long, arduous hours of homework and note taking, and tiny little
paper-cuts, probably from one of her new books that she had eagerly read without caution. It came
as quite a shock to him, that the simple act of holding her hand could warm him, even more so, than
the hot Butterbeer that this same hand had given him.

Hermione was bemused by his actions, but made no further attempt to remove her hand from his. It
made her feel wanted, needed ... complete. He looked so fascinated by the sight of their linked
fingers; she wondered if this was the first time he had really held someone’s hand. Not in a moment
of fear or urgency, but just ... because. If so, she was glad he shared the moment with her. She
had no intention of going back to the castle yet; she would stay as long as he needed her.

Harry felt her head fall onto his shoulder. “Sleepy?” his voice croaked.

“No,” she replied. “Just getting comfortable.” They both smiled to themselves and Harry lowered
his head to rest on top of hers as he continued to stroke her palm and thumb with his own.

Minutes passed in an easy silence until Harry spoke once again. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “For what?” she asked in a confused tone.

“Nothing ..... and everything,” he paused, “For being you.” He didn't know what made him do
it but he suddenly had the urge to do something he had never done before, to anyone. He leaned over
and placed a light kiss on her temple. He knew she would understand the significance of this simple
gesture. Harry wasn’t normally one to show affection, and she gently squeezed his hand in response,
her eyes sparkling with emotion.

He sat back without taking his eyes off hers, momentarily lost in chocolate pools. He shook his
head to clear it. “I know I don’t say it enough,” he added lamely.

“You don’t have to say it, Harry, I know you appreciate me,” she said with a smile. “What kind
of friend would I be if I demanded you tell me all the time?”

“Hermione, you go *above and beyond* the call of a friend,” he said with surprise in his
voice. “Nobody has stuck by me and believed in me like you have. Everyone, and I mean
*everyone*, has doubted me at some point, the Weasleys, Dumbledore, hell even Ron and he’s
*supposed* to be my best friend too! They *all* found some reason to lose faith in me,
but not you. You always supported me, even when I was doing something dangerous and stupid because
of my ‘Saving people thing’.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but he wasn't
finished yet so he quickly ploughed on before she got a chance. ”You know when to tell me what I
want to hear, and even better, what I *need* to hear. You always try to do what's best for
me even when you know I'll probably be a right prat about it if it's not what I want. You
do it because you care, I understand that now,” he looked at the ground then and he didn't see
her as she wiped the tear from her cheek.

“Everyone looks to me to save them, like I’m some kind of Superhero. The truth of it is, I
wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You’ve saved me too many times to count. Without you, I’d be
dead.” Then in a whisper, “I need you.” He stopped for second and added in a voice so quiet she
could only have heard if she was either listening very hard, or sitting extremely close, “More then
you'll ever know.” She wasn't sure if she heard correctly but before she could ask he
looked up at her again with a toothy grin. “You know, Hermione, I think maybe you’re my hero.”

Her face broke into a smile as she pulled her hand from his and playfully slapped his arm.

“You are a prat!” she giggled through the tears, “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever
said to me, and you had to ruin the moment with that cheesy line.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I couldn’t resist.”

They giggled together for what seemed like forever. He could hardly believe that only an hour or
so earlier he was by himself looking morose and thinking he had lost the ability to feel, and now
he was rolling around and laughing till his stomach hurt. Somehow when it was just the two of them
together, Hermione made all the pain go away.




*'How does she do that?'*




After they had both calmed down, Hermione spoke again. “I’ll always be here for you, Harry,” she
said, suddenly serious. “You know that, right?” He realised now that whether or not he shared the
Prophecy with her, no matter how hard he tried to push her away, she wasn’t going anywhere unless
she was dragged away kicking and screaming.




*'Actually, even then it would take a lot of powerful wizards to do it, she can certainly
put up a good fight. All that research and studying has taught her some damn nasty curses. Like
that one where.....'*




His internal ramblings were interrupted again as Hermione continued to speak. “Whenever you need
help, or just a friend to listen to you, I’ll be by your side for as long as you need me here, as
long as you want me here.”




*'Now there's a question......'*




“How’s forever? Does forever work for you?” he said in a small voice. The corners of her mouth
lifted in the smallest of smiles before she lowered her head back to his shoulder. He wrapped his
arm around her and pulled her close.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I think I can handle that.”