Author's Note: Fluff to make up for the angst of the last post.
Inspired by one line in Goldy's 'The Virtue of Patience'.
No Words Necessary
Hermione was careful to be quiet as she entered the Gryffindor Common Room. It was late, nearly 1 am, and she didn't want to wake anyone up as she made her way to her own room.
And then she nearly dropped all her books as her precautions for silence were shattered to bits in the next moment.
"Where the hell have you been?" Harry's voice sounded like an explosion in the late night quiet.
She whirled around, startled, not having seen him as he practically leaped up from where he'd been half-dozing, it appeared, in one of the armchairs before the fire.
He took a few quick steps toward her, looking as if he couldn't quite decide whether to hug her or to strangle her and then the anger seemed to win out.
He repeated his question, in a slightly softer tone but still much louder than his normal speaking voice. "Where the bloody hell have you been until now? Do you have any idea what time it is?" he demanded furiously.
She stared at him, not quite understanding why he seemed so worked up. And he was upset, very upset. He was flushed and breathing hard, his eyes flashing angrily.
"I- I was in the library, Harry," she said calmly, trying to placate him.
"The library closed three hours ago!" he snapped. "I was expecting you to be back hours ago!"
"Madam Pince let me stay late to finish up some research after I finished going on my rounds," she explained. "Harry, I don't understand. I haven't done anything wrong! You're not my keeper, you know," she said, feeling some annoyance stir within her at this unjust upbraiding on his part.
He didn't look at all appeased, looked even more irritated truth be told. "In future, don't. If you need to finish research, just ask Madam Pince to let you bring the books back to your own room; she should let you do it since she trusts you."
The cool command in his words angered her and now it was her turn to raise her voice. "I won't! Since when do you think you have the right to tell me what to do, Harry! You're my friend, not my father! If I want to stay late at the library to finish research, I'll stay late at the library! I'll stay at the library all night if I want to!"
"You shouldn't be walking around alone so late at night!" he said in something approaching a shout. And then he seemed to deflate, his anger gone suddenly to be replaced with a look of weariness and something else. "You shouldn't walk around alone late at night," he repeated more softly this time. "It- it isn't safe anymore. Not even Hogwarts is safe anymore, you know that."
Her own anger died as well as she began to get a glimmer of understanding into why he was so upset. He- he'd been worried about her. That was why he'd stayed up late, waiting for her in the Common Room, instead of going to sleep. Harry was worried about her. And that explained, too, his otherwise almost irrational anger at her coming back to Gryffindor Tower so late, much later than she usually returned.
"I know," she finally answered, her tone gentle. "I'm sorry. I'll try not to be so late again."
He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again, before finally seeming to make up his mind. "Next time if you're not back here at 10, I'll meet you at the library and go on your rounds with you." He paused before continuing, "I- I don't want you to be walking around alone so much at night."
She studied his face, the faint shadows under his eyes, the tired lines around his mouth, that all spoke of sleepless nights, but his concern for her over-rode any other considerations of his own weariness. And her instinctive protest that she could take care of herself and was certainly capable of going on her rounds on her own, died on her lips. She couldn't protest, couldn't and wouldn't deny him this when it was only motivated by concern for her.
"Okay," she agreed. "And thanks, Harry. I'll feel better myself if you're with me," she added, stretching the truth without a shred of guilt. It was the least she could do to repay him for the sacrifice of time he was making. And if accompanying her on her rounds relieved his worries even a little, then she'd be satisfied. He had so many other things to be worrying about and the fact that he cared enough to worry so much about her touched her more than anything else could.
"We should go to bed," he said softly and then stopped, coloring. "That is, you should go to sleep in your room and I should go to sleep in mine."
She laughed softly, exchanging grins with him, suddenly profoundly glad that even now with the threat of Voldemort drawing ever closer, they could laugh together over something like this. Because they were friends… It wasn't only about his being in danger; it was simply because they were friends, best friends who could laugh together, could still enjoy life and take pleasure out of simple things like an unintentional innuendo.
They were friends…
"Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well," she smiled at him.
He returned the smile with one of his own. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."
She was smiling as she entered her own room.
Yes, they were friends, best friends… And he cared about her, loved her even. She knew it with a certainty that admitted no doubt, even though he never said anything to that effect in characteristic reluctance to talk about his feelings. He didn't need to say anything; his actions spoke more clearly than any words could. He did love her… And she loved him… And someday, they would become more than simply best friends… Someday…
~~~~~
What It Means to Be a Hero
Silence was a funny thing.
It could be so different depending on the situation and the company. Could feel awkward or tense or expectant or sad or calm and comforting.
The silence of friendship, as it was now, walking through the empty corridors of Hogwarts with Hermione on her rounds as Head Girl.
The silence of death- as it had been for Sirius, for Cedric. Dying had been so quiet; it seemed strange as if the end of a life should happen with a burst of noise, something to mark the passing of a person, but it didn't happen like that. It had been so sudden, so quiet really. Silent as the grave was really true in more ways than one.
He shuddered slightly, involuntarily, at his morbid thoughts. He thought of death and dying often these days, couldn't help it with this waiting, the growing apprehension. The end would come soon, he knew it; he just didn't know when or how or if he was ready.
He was most likely going to die before the year was out.
He sighed heavily, feeling the familiar coldness grip his heart at the thought.
And then felt the warmth of her hand slipping into his.
She didn't say anything, didn't ask what was wrong or why he had sighed. She knew, somehow, even without his saying a word. And that was more comforting than any words could have been, just the touch of her hand.
He relied on her little touches, small gestures individually but taken together, so important, he suddenly realized, more important than he had really thought before, taking them for granted as he had. But they were… Those touches showed that she cared for him, cared about him. They always had. She didn't say much about her feelings; it didn't quite suit her logical mind but she did understand and she did care. And she showed it through her touch, the touch of her hand on his arm or shoulder, her occasional hugs, her even less frequent kisses on the cheek and this, slipping her hand into his. She cared…
She loved him… The thought came and went through his mind with a startling speed and somehow he knew it was true.
And he-well, he cared about her too… Cared about her, trusted her, respected her judgment, worried about her, wanted to keep her safe… Yes, he loved her too.
He could talk to her, tell her things he couldn't tell anyone else.
"I'm so scared," he admitted, his words so quiet they were barely audible and yet with a thread of shame running through his voice. "I'm scared when I think about facing him, when I think about what's to come. And I shouldn't be, can't be scared. I have to do it; I know I do; it's my task, my fate. I have to be brave, have to be heroic. But I'm not. I'm scared, terrified." He stopped, keeping his gaze averted.
She tightened her grip on his hand and when she spoke, her voice was confident, admitted no doubts. "You are brave and you are a hero." She paused and he shook his head in automatic denial of her words before she continued. " 'The brave man is not he who feels no fear but he whose noble soul his fear subdues.' You're still brave even if you're afraid. You'd be stupid if you weren't afraid." He couldn't help a flicker of amusement, despite the seriousness of the moment, at this oh-so-Hermione-like statement. "What makes you brave is that, no matter how afraid you are, you're going to face him, never even think about not facing him, of running away or hiding. You're brave because you'll face your fears. And that's what makes you a hero, that and the fact that you're doing this for the right reasons, to help others, to protect others, not because you want fame."
She stopped walking, turning to face him, and making him meet her eyes. "You are brave, Harry, and you are a hero. Never doubt it." She finished with a hint of her old bossiness but now, he didn't mind it. It was just part of her and he loved it about her if only because it made her who she was. Plus, she was usually right and he trusted her opinion probably more than anyone else's.
He let out his breath in a sigh. And looking into her eyes, he didn't doubt, did believe her. She understood.
He moved closer to her, just the one small step, and his lips touched hers for the first time. A soft kiss, a gentle one, a kiss that said, thank you. I love you. A kiss that somehow offered infinite promise for more, later…
They didn't say anything, only smiled slightly, before continuing to walk. But he kept his hand in hers and knew she understood what he felt.