Need

Bingblot

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/01/2005
Last Updated: 08/01/2005
Status: completed

Harry is made to face one of his deepest fears and realizes just how much he needs Hermione. One-shot.

Chapters

1. Need

1. Need

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter related belong to JK Rowling and are being used without permission, etc. etc. etc.

Author’s Note: For Kaze. *hugs*

Need

~*~*~*~

The silence was intense. Ron found he was afraid to breathe, for fear it would somehow disturb the quiet.

Harry and Hermione were facing off against each other, their last words somehow echoing through the silence just as they were obviously echoing through their thoughts.

It had started out as just another evening. They were in the Room of Requirement practicing new curses and hexes and protective spells which Hermione had looked up in those books of hers. They had stopped their practice for the night and were simply talking, exchanging thoughts and ideas on what they’d practiced earlier that night, when Harry got one of his dark, brooding looks as he fell silent, staring absently at the Sneakoscope in the room.

He and Hermione exchanged glances seeing this and it was a few minutes before Hermione finally said, tentatively, “Harry?”

He started a little and blinked as if just realizing there were other people in the room. “Sorry. I just- I started wondering whether any of this would really be of much use when I go face Voldemort for good.” He finished quietly, his voice so soft it was almost to himself, his eyes darkening as they always did whenever he mentioned You-Know-Who.

“You mean, when we go face Voldemort.” Hermione’s tone was quiet, but firm.

Harry’s response, on the other hand, was explosive. Startling in the sudden quiet of the room. “You are not coming!”

“I am,” Hermione answered, still quietly and in an even more implacable tone.

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione as they faced off, recognizing the danger signs in Hermione’s flushed cheeks and the sparks kindling in her eyes, and in Harry’s sudden pallor making the dark green of his eyes and the black of his hair even more stark of a contrast.

Quietly, he backed out of the room, not wanting to be around when the explosion finally happened and knowing too that neither Harry nor Hermione was aware of his leaving.

It was always like this on the rare occasions when Harry and Hermione disagreed. Oddly, he never thought of it as Harry and Hermione ‘fighting’. ‘Fighting was what he and Hermione did, the usual sharp bickering over minor things that didn’t really matter. Harry and Hermione didn’t do that. No, they disagreed over big things. And when they did, the argument was always the same sort- intense, passionate, feelings and emotions and fears from the deepest part of their hearts… All-consuming.

And he never liked being a witness to it. So he left, trusting that Harry and Hermione would be able to work through this difference of opinion, as they always had. It was, unconsciously, one of the things that he depended on…

Harry was breathing hard, as he stared into Hermione’s eyes, some odd portion of his mind that was somehow managing to stay detached noting the flecks of gold in her eyes which he’d never noticed before.

He could hear her voice in his mind, the certainty in it, as she shattered his world with her declaration that she was coming with him. Immediately he had seen it, heard it, felt it… All the horror of it…

He saw her, lying cold on the ground. Heard her last anguished scream. Heard Voldemort say, “Avada Kedavra” and saw the flash of green light… And felt himself die at that moment too. His breath caught in his chest, his throat closed… And he finally faced what his life, his world, would be like without Hermione: a void. It wouldn’t be a life at all, without her… He needed her. He needed her to be safe. He needed to know she was safe when he finally faced Voldemort. He realized all this in the moment just after hearing her declare that she intended to face Voldemort as well.

He shook his head, feeling his hands tremble. His voice when he spoke was hard and yet trembled with a mixture of anger and raw fear. “No, you can’t!”

Hermione’s eyes flashed sparks of defiance. “You can’t expect me to leave you to face him alone!”

“I expect you to do just that! You can’t help me! It’s my task and my destiny, mine, not yours!” His voice rose until it was nearly a shout.

“That is possibly the most egotistical thing I’ve ever heard you say, Harry James Potter! You can’t do everything alone just because you happen to have a scar that makes everyone else think you can! And I am coming with you, whatever you say!”

Harry’s face was white to the lips and there was a terrible expression in his eyes, desperation, anger and something else—fear, fear that went beyond rational thought, fear caused not by a fear for one’s own life but fear for something dearer than life itself. He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and shook her, hard and briefly. “It is my task! I am the ‘one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, born to those who have thrice defied him!’” He found himself quoting the Prophecy without realizing it, not even noticing the widening of Hermione’s eyes in his single-minded dread. All his mind was consumed by the one horror and agony of his vision, the soul-searing fear he felt. “I’m the one that has the ‘power the Dark Lord knows not’; I’m the one that needs to face Voldemort and somehow I’m the one who’s going to have to defeat him- or die trying!”

Harry’s voice rang out and dropped into the deathly silence. He paused, breathing hard, his fingers digging into Hermione’s shoulders nearly to the point of pain. “You are not coming. You can’t! I won’t let you!” His voice had dropped from a shout to an agonizingly raw whisper.

Hermione blinked, mentally shaking herself out of her shock, beginning to understand. She had known that this would be it; it wasn’t like Harry to argue like this over his ego. But now she needed to know more of the words Harry had inadvertently said, words that somehow she knew betrayed at least a large part of what had been bothering Harry so much this past year, the trouble he’d never yet told her or Ron about no matter how many times they entreated him to. She reached up to put her hands over his, feeling their grip gentle under her touch. Her voice was soft now, gentle. “Harry, who said that you were the one with the power? Where did that come from?”

He blinked and she saw the sudden realization at what he’d inadvertently told her. He shuddered slightly, closing his eyes as if against the memory of it. “It was Trelawney, her first real prophecy.”

Some understanding dawned in Hermione’s mind. “Was that the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries?”

He nodded once, shortly. “Dumbledore told me. It said that the one with the power to defeat Voldemort would be born at the end of July to people who had defied the Dark Lord three times. That neither Voldemort nor I could live while the other survived.” He spoke jerkily, not looking at her.

She felt herself turn cold at the mention that neither could live while the other survived, along with sorrow that Harry had had to deal with this knowledge for months now, had kept it inside him for so long. “Oh Harry…”

But she felt the same determination as before, only strengthened now. She kept her voice gentle, not wanting him to explode again. “Harry, nothing in that Prophecy said that you can’t have a friend with you by your side. Harry, I want to help you do this; I’m going to help you.”

Now he looked at her, his eyes burning into hers. And she was shocked to see that now there were tears in his eyes. “No, Hermione, you can’t! I can’t do it if I have to worry about you!”

Harry felt something inside him snap at the mere thought of something happening and he crushed her to him, smoothing his hand over her hair as he whispered fiercely, “Nothing can happen to you, Hermione! I couldn’t bear it! You need to stay out of danger; you have to! I- I need you. I- I just—couldn’t go on if anything happened to you.” His voice broke on an anguished note at that last confession.

Hermione disengaged herself from his arms gently, reaching up to flatten one palm against his cheek. “Harry, I couldn’t send you to face Voldemort and stay behind myself. Just like you couldn’t bear it if something happened to me, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

She rose up on her toes and kissed him, trying to make him understand through her kiss just how sincere she was. She felt him stiffen at first and then give in, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back.

It was a kiss of passion, fueled by all the fear and desperation both of them felt at the thought of losing the other. It was a kiss of promise. A kiss that spoke of a loyalty deeper and stronger than anything else, a love that was completely selfless. It was the first physical gesture of a bond strong enough to endure through any dangers and even beyond that.

And when it ended, they both understood. Understood and acknowledged the feelings between them that had been growing for years now, the connection of mind, heart and soul which made them necessary to each other.

Hermione smiled slightly into his eyes. “Now do you see, Harry? I can’t and I won’t leave you to face Voldemort alone. I care too much to do that. And besides, Harry, we’re stronger together. You know that.”

He sighed, giving her a small rueful smile. “I don’t suppose anything I say will dissuade you, will it?” And looking into her eyes, where all the intensity of her promise and the determination in her nature were plainly visible, he knew he would have to give in.

She shook her head. “No. I’m staying with you, Harry.”

His shoulders slumped as he gave in to the inevitable. “Just please don’t get hurt, Hermione. I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

“I’ll be careful, as long as you’re careful too.”

He sighed, holding her against him again, and spoke softly into her hair, “I wish I could keep you safe. I don’t want you to be in danger; I never wanted it…” He paused, before adding, a mixture of sadness, wry annoyance and affection in his tone, “Why couldn’t you leave me alone when I told you to?”

The faintest of smiles curved Hermione’s lips, though she knew Harry couldn’t see her expression as she didn’t move from her position in his arms. “The same reason I can’t let you face Voldemort alone. I love you, Harry. And if staying by your side means being in danger, then so be it.”

His arms tightened convulsively around her at her words and she looked up to search his eyes. They were clear now, the lingering shadows from earlier gone, she was glad to see. Clear and green and filled with an odd sort of inner light she couldn’t remember seeing in his eyes before. And it was because of what she’d said.

Hermione suddenly realized with an odd pang of sorrow for Harry’s sake, that he’d most likely never heard the words, I love you, before. His parents had died too soon for him to remember them; certainly his dastardly relatives, the Dursleys, would never have said it since they very obviously hated Harry. And there was no one else who would have said the words to him, not Sirius, not Remus, not Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, for all that she knew they did love Harry. Their love was shown through their actions not their words. But for Harry, always so unsure of himself and his friends, he would need to hear the words. And she was suddenly doubly glad that she’d told Harry how she felt. She hadn’t consciously meant to be the first person to tell Harry she loved him but she was so glad she had, so glad to know, for sure now, that Harry knew someone loved him.

He looked down at her, his throat working and when he spoke, his voice was oddly hoarse and sounded unlike him. “I- I- I need you.” He felt himself flush slightly. He had wanted to tell her he loved her too, because he did. Somehow though he found he couldn’t speak the words. The word, love, seemed to catch in his throat and he couldn’t say it, couldn’t say the words he’d never even thought of saying to another person before. He couldn’t say it. Not now, not yet.

But he looked into her eyes and saw the understanding in them and knew she did understand, somehow, what he’d meant to say. She understood and she could wait to hear the words.

She would wait. And she would stay by his side. He thought about what she’d said, that she cared too much to let him face Voldemort alone. He wasn’t happy about it, still hated the idea of her putting herself in harm’s way for his sake… And yet, for all his fear, some small part of him was relieved as well. Relieved because, in spite of everything, in defiance of the odds, he believed that with Hermione by his side, he could defeat Voldemort. And for the first time, he allowed himself to think of a future beyond the final confrontation, allowed himself to dream of a life when Voldemort was no longer a threat. Hermione had, he realized, given him something else tonight, as precious as her love. She had given him hope.