A/N: Thanks for the feedback, guys. I'm still trying to respond to everyone who reviewed chapter 2. I'm working on it, I promise. *grin* No Dashboard songs this time around, though it wasn't for lack of trying. And I don't feel like this chapter is quite R-rated, but it is rather *strong* PG-13. Just as a warning.
Harry Potter was afraid that he was becoming claustrophobic.
At some point, he'd discovered that he hated large crowds, he hated small spaces, he hated the feeling of being boxed in without any escape… lungs burning, no way out, trapped…
It's probably all because of the Dursley's, he reflected grimly.
With a flash, he remembered the walls of that cupboard under the stairs. The way that dust cascaded down every time Dudley ran up or down the stairs. The way Uncle Vernon used to lock him in there for days at a time…
Harry repressed a shudder.
Whatever, he figured. I just hate being closed in.
Harry sucked in a breath of the cool, night air, reveling in the way that it flowed freely through his lungs. Open space, open air, freedom…
The roof of Grimmauld Place. Ever since that kiss he'd shared with Hermione on the rooftop, it had become somewhat of a haven for him. A place to go when he felt too boxed in.
Grimmauld Place was almost always empty. Headquarters of the Order of Phoenix it might be, but very few actually spent any length of time there. With good reason-the house exuded an aura of death and bleakness.
Sometimes he wondered how Sirius had been able to stand it for as long as he did. Harry was already counting down the days until he'd be allowed to return to Hogwarts.
Dumbledore should have never left him cooped up in here.
Ah. And there was his anger with the Headmaster again. Burning, persistent, Harry felt a sharp pang go through him at the thought of Dumbledore. Yes, he realized, it was easier blaming Dumbledore for Sirius' death.
Easier than blaming himself.
Easier than remembering the fight he'd had with Hermione before rushing off to the Department of Mysteries. Every time he looked at her he wondered why he didn't see the accusation in her eyes. He'd nearly gotten her killed, nearly gotten them all killed… he'd really gotten Sirius killed…
So he expected to see some kind of disappointment in her eyes. Some kind of vindication that she had been right and he had been wrong.
But not once, not once has he ever looked into her eyes and seen blame.
Harry instinctively flinched as the door to the roof swung open.
Alone, I want to be left alone. Can't deal with people and enclosed space and, Oh God, I really am claustrophobic… all Voldemort has to do is lock me in a box for a few hours and that'll be the end...
Harry snorted at his own internal joke, not caring if he was thought to be going mad.
It was Hermione.
Which he probably should have expected. She was the only one who knew where he went when he wanted to be left alone. She was the only one that ever dared approach him when he was "in a mood."
"Hi," she said quietly. She was carrying two small plates.
Harry squinted at her, surprised to see that there was a piece of cake on each plate. Chocolate cake with vanilla icing, one of the pieces had a the very bottom of a golden letter inscribed on it, though it was impossible to know what letter it had once been…
Happy Birthday Harry!
One step closer to fulfilling your destiny, Harry.
Could be your very last birthday.
Better enjoy it.
"I brought you some cake," Hermione continued softly when she didn't get a response out of him.
Harry finally roused himself from his internal musings. "Thanks," he muttered, accepting the piece of cake. He jabbed his fork at it a few times, not feeling in the least bit hungry.
"Everyone's wondering where you got to," Hermione said.
Harry shrugged. "Are they?"
Hermione peered at him shrewdly. "Is everything alright, Harry?"
Harry jabbed at his slice of cake with more force than was necessary.
Things are just bloody perfect, Hermione.
"Fine," he said mechanically, continuing to jab at the cake. Jab, jab, jab.
Hermione sighed and settled down silently next to him. She didn't say anything else, just sat there, looking out over the rooftop of Grimmauld Place and into the street beyond it.
"Why don't you hate me?"
The words slipped out, Harry barely aware of what he was saying. He almost opened his mouth to take them back, but then decided that he didn't want to. He stared straight ahead of him, suddenly curious to know her answer, know the truth.
Hermione was silent for a very long time. "Well-" she finally said hesitatingly. "I don't really-I don't have much reason to hate you, do I?"
"Yes, you do," Harry said again, back to jabbing at his cake. It was beginning to crumble now. Little balls of chocolate cake sticking to his plate and icing smeared around the corners. "You have loads of reasons to hate me."
Hermione actually smiled. "Harry…" she said gently. "This is ridiculous, you know I could never-"
"I'm not being ridiculous," he snapped angrily, furious that she wasn't taking him seriously. "Hermione, you nearly died. You were right. You were right, Voldemort hadn't taken Sirius-he was just trying to lure me there because I have a fucking saving-people's thing! And you know what? It worked. And now he's DEAD! And you nearly died! And you've never once blamed me-not once-not ever-and I just don't understand… why."
Hermione stared at him for a moment before placing her half eaten piece of cake on the floor and nudging it off to the side. She heaved a great sigh. "I could explain," she said quietly. "I could give you a hundred reasons for why I don't blame you, for why I could never blame you, for why I can't hate you, Harry. But you won't ever accept any of them, so what's the point?"
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "But…" he rasped. "I just don't understand."
"I know," she whispered, shifting a little closer to him. "You don't have to understand, you just need to accept it."
Harry blinked at that. "I-I don't know if-"
"Stop," she said, her voice still a quiet whisper. She curled up against him, placing her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. "Just accept, Harry. Just accept it."
Just accept it.
"Hermione…" he said softly, his hand stroking through her hair. "Hermione… I…"
I what?
I need you so badly that it scares me.
"Did you know?" she asked inquisitively, as if he hadn't spoken. "You make me feel safe? Safer than… anything else. You always have."
"I… really?"
Hermione's head bobbed up and down. "Yes, really."
He so badly wanted to know why, why she felt safe with him, why she didn't blame him.
"Do you trust me?"
Hermione turned her head so that she could peruse his face. "Of course I do," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Why?
Seeing the look on his face, Hermione smiled comfortingly. "C'mon, Harry," she said softly. "We should go back. Everyone's come here to see you."
"Not everyone."
Hermione's eyes darkened. "Yes," she said. "Not everyone." Standing up, she held a hand to him, which he reluctantly grasped. "He wouldn't want you to wallow in self-pity, you know."
"I don't think you have any idea what he'd want."
Hermione met his challenging stare, her gaze unblinking. "I don't want to see you wallow in self-pity, neither does anyone else."
"I'm sorry, then," he snapped, feeling furry rising. "Next time and I'll try and not grieve around you."
She sucked in a breath. "That's not what I said and you know it."
"Stop acting like you understand when you don't understand anything!"
For a moment, Harry was sure Hermione was going to hit him. Either that or she was going to turn on her heel and walk away. Instead she did neither, just stared at him for a long moment, as if lost in her thoughts.
"Fine," she said, resigned. "We're back here, I see. Very well. Happy birthday, Harry."
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before turning away. "I think it'd be decent of you to come in and at least say hello to everyone."
"Yeah, well… maybe all I want is to be left alone…"
Though Hermione's back was to him, Harry could sense her annoyance. "You've made that quite clear."
Harry clenched his jaw. "I didn't ask you to come up here, Hermione!"
Hermione let out a long sigh and began walking back towards the house. Then, so softly that Harry was sure she hadn't intended him to hear it, she said, "Maybe I should have chosen Ron, after all…"
Something inside of Harry snapped. He charged after her, catching her just before she opened the door to go back inside. Gripping both her arms, he spun her around so that her back was pressed up against the door. She gasped in surprise and Harry registered a small flicker of fear pass through her eyes. He loosened his grip on her arms, but didn't back away.
"Harry…" she said faintly. "What are you-"
"Did you mean it?" he said sharply, moving closer to her still until he had her trapped against the door, his body pushing against hers.
She let out a harsh breath. "Mean what?"
"I'm not stupid, Hermione," he snapped.
She met his eyes. "And what if I did?" she said softly. "What would you do, then?"
Her gaze was defiant as it bore into his. Harry could scarcely think properly and the pounding of his heart echoed in his ears. "Tell me you didn't mean it."
She swallowed with difficulty. "I most certainly will not!"
He was lost-so very lost and he couldn't do anything but push closer to her, so close that their noses nearly brushed. "You didn't mean what you said, I know you didn't."
Her breath was coming out in short gasps. "You don't know anything."
Her control was weakening and his entire foundation was rocking underneath him. Blood was roaring in his ears. He was beginning to tremble. He could feel her pressed up against him, touching all the right places…
He felt a clawing desperation to hear her take back those words. To know that she belonged to him and him alone…
They were so close now that they were breathing into each other's faces. Hermione had gone absolutely still, all the breath seemed to have gone out of her lungs as she watched him. She was challenging him, he knew…
He let go of her arms, hands going to her hips. He nuzzled the side of her neck, pressing his lips into delicate kisses to the skin just under her ear, sliding up and peppering kisses along her jaw line. Hermione let out a low moan, tilting her neck backwards in pleasure. Her arms entwined themselves around his neck, her fingers sliding into his messy hair.
"Tell me you didn't mean it," he breathed, just under her ear.
He received no reply but Hermione's harsh breathing. He kept pressing his lips up against her skin, her scent, the feel of her, driving him crazy…
"Tell me that you didn't mean it," he repeated again.
"Oh…" she moaned. "I didn't… I didn't mean it…"
She turned her head and their lips met, clashing together in a kiss that was almost painful. Harry pushed more insistently against her and she leaned heavily backwards against the door, her fingers tightening in his hair.
He pulled away to hover just over her lips. "Tell me you're mine," he whispered.
Instead of answering, Hermione urged him forward again until they kissed, tongues clashing and hearts pounding.
"Say it," Harry hissed, pulling slightly away from her.
Hermione closed her eyes. "I'm yours," she finally said hoarsely.
They kissed again, desperate and so full of want… need…
"I'm yours," Hermione whispered again, against his mouth. "I'm yours…"
Mine.
He moved away from her mouth, letting his lips lingers over the corner of her lips before sliding down. His hands slid under the material of her t-shirt, rubbing against the smooth skin of her stomach. He kissed his way down her neck, taking his time and enjoying the low noises she was emitting.
"And you're mine," she gasped out. "You're mine, Harry."
He pulled away from her, staring intently into her eyes and listening to the sounds of their harsh breathing. Finally, he nodded.
"I'm yours," he said.
Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She pulled him forward again and crushed his lips to hers.
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