Chapter 4
The rest of the summer went by quickly. Drake and I split our time between dueling on the Quidditch pitch and working in Graves' office. I was surprised at enjoying myself so much with someone who wasn't Harry. Not that he was ever far from my thoughts. But thinking about Harry meant thinking about Voldemort which meant thinking about the curse which led to all sorts of broody and unhealthy thoughts…
Although my repression had some rather interesting ramifications.
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Hermione woke up curled against a very-masculine chest. She gently stirred and pushed away, wondering if this was some part of Dolohov's botched Crucio curse. Waking up next to Voldemort wasn't exactly a day-dreamy ending to her Saturday night fever.
How does one chew one's arm off? She thought as she slowly opened her eyes.
She tilted her head, and found herself staring at a sleeping Harry. Oh…it's Harry. Well, that makes even less sense…
"…'is nice though," she muttered sleepily as she dozed. Hardly the first time she dreamed about Harry, although usually he was awake and more, um, enthusiastic about seeing her. But hey, she was a love-starved, young witch with a curse hanging over her head. Beggars…choosers.
Harry stirred against her and gathered her in his arms. She murmured her assent and cuddled closer before opening her eyes. "That's strange," she thought, looking around. They were in the attic at the Burrow, lying on a sleeping bag and a Spiderman pillow. The sky was still dark and moonlight poured through the cloudy, stained glass windows. Well, not exactly romantic, she thought. And he's asleep. Wow, I'm getting complacent with my fantasies…
She watched Harry sleep awhile, smiling as he hummed a bit and rested his hand on her hip. She reached out and gently ruffled his hair. His eyes slowly opened, and he smiled back at her.
"Hello Mione," he sighed, apparently not surprised in the least to see her.
Gods I love his voice, she thought, a lovely tenor. Never realized how much I missed it…
"Hello Harry," she said softly as she scooted up til they were eye level, Spiderman's web now a halo for each. She ran a hand along his arm until it settled on his shoulders.
"Harry?" She asked softly as their eyes drifted shut.
"Yes love?"
"Why are you sleeping in the attic?"
He gave a weak laugh. "Ron snores," he answered with a sizable yawn.
"Really?" She listened to the soft hum coming from beneath them. "That's Ron? Goodness, I thought it was that flying Volkswagen."
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No. The car didn't sound like it was dying."
"Poor thing." She ran her hand through his hair again. Not so much for his comfort as her own. After all, it was her dream and, dammit, she deserved a little reward after such a rough summer. Mmmmm. Rough. Yes, nice and rough. Utterly wicked and up to no good and gods he smells good, like clover and rain and ink and…
'Miss you love," he said as his eyes closed.
"Miss you too." She rested her head on his chest and drifted off to sleep.
She felt an unfamiliar pull and heard a faint crack and opened her eyes to find herself back in her dorm. She sat up, staring at the empty space beside her. Funny, she thought as she wrapped the blankets around her and fell back against the pillow, I can still smell him. She spent the rest of the night, curled up in Harry smelling blankets, hoping such sweet dreams would find her again.
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Yes, I remember waking up and wishing, not for the first time, that I were a sounder sleeper.
Still, it was a strange dream. Strange but sweet. Sleeping in the attic, really only something Harry would do. I wondered if he'd actually tried it during the summer, and suddenly I felt guilty for not writing him. Will do it today, I reminded myself as I climbed out of my warm, Harry-smelling bed. Then I realized it wasn't the bed that smelled like Harry, it was me. Gods that was strange.