Chapter 9 "Firelight Continued"
"Tell me about him?" Harry ignored the Hermione-sounding voice now muffled by his rising anger. "His hands were all over you. Since when would Draco Malfoy stoop to touch you?"
"Harry, he's…changed. He's not like that anymore." She shook her head. "You don't understand."
"What?" Harry spat. "He's changed? A new man? Good job Hermione. And all it took was a shag over summer break." He could hear Hermione's voice banging its imaginary forehead against an imaginary wall. Oh, good one Potter.
Hermione's eyes narrowed as she got to her feet. "Harry, you will apologize for that."
He took a step towards her, now an arm's length away from her. "What? It's not true? Isn't he the reason you've given up every bloody thing you've ever cared about. SPEW, being a prefect, and what about Ron and me?
"Harry, you're the one…
He didn't let her finish. "You lied to me all summer."
"No, Harry. I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you… things." You'd think you'd be used to that by now. She sighed and started again, "there were things I couldn't tell you Harry…" Gods I'm starting to sound like Dumbledore.
"You sure as hell could tell him."
"Harry," she said. She took a step towards him, her voice strangely even. "It wasn't a matter of
'could'…and it's not as though you haven't kept things from me." She started counting on her
fingers. "Umbridge, your nightmares, the Occlumency. In fact, the recurring theme of last year was 'gee, what
can I not tell Hermione today.'"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "And yes Harry, I'm willing to work with Draco, Fudge, and the Slytherin beaters if it'll keep you alive. I'll even knock you about if I have to. And you know I can. I'm more than match for you Harry."
He shook his head. "My match…" he trailed off, sighing defeatedly. Some match, he sighed as he took a step back. The Girl Who Had Everything and the Boy Going Off to Certain Doom.
He stared out over her shoulders. The soft light streamed behind her, affecting his ability to concentrate, what with all that fire making her robes transparent and her hair glowing-like. Focus Potter… he told himself. You're finally talking to her… don't blow this…
"Good gods Harry," she shook her head sadly. "And you're jealous of Draco! Do you honestly think anyone could mean as much to me as you do?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at the name "Draco," but went still at that last bit about how 'anyone could mean as much to me as you do.'
"What?" he whispered, stunned. Did she just…wait…what…
Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and went on. "Harry," she said matter-of-factly. "Caring about you is a horrible ghastly, gut-wrenching, stomach churning nightmare where I get to wake up everyday and pray that you'll not put yourself in avoidable danger, which, ha ha, during Quidditch season is every afternoon and twice on weekends."
She took a breath before continuing, ignoring Harry's 'huh-what' look.
"Feeling this much for someone is like tearing yourself in half. You can only do it the one time. And gods when it does happen to you, I just hope it's not the butt of some joke. Some sick, sick joke," she motioned towards the fireplace, "some hey-lets-pot-around-with-Hermione's-mind-because-we-can Dolohov joke, which, I might add is not funny…no matter what Snape says…"
Harry had no idea what Hermione was talking about, so he took that as his cue to step forward and enfold her in a hug.
"Gods I missed you Mione," he said as he gathered her to him, breathing in her lovely clover scent and nestling her honey locks. "I don't know what you're on about, but I missed you…"
Of course, it would take months of separation for him to initiate a bloody hug, she thought as she gave a muffled cry and clung to him. He left a few frantic kisses on her cheek until he relaxed against her, whispering about oh gods how sorry and so stupid such a stupid sod he was. She began her own trail of feathery kisses against his neck and said the three words she'd wanted to say all semester: "I know Harry."
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Er. Not exactly the three words I wanted, but yeah…
So, it wasn't my finest moment of Gryffindor bravery. What I should've said was "me too Harry ," or "marry me you handsome git." But hey, ours is not to reason why…
Even I can admit that the things got better, much better after that. Yes, I loved having Harry back in my life, and boy howdy was he back in. With couple Dune and couple Mauve out and about, Harry and I were left to ourselves and…no, wipe that sick grin off your face…we were friends. Sure, I wanted to tackle him into dark corners every time he looked at me or talked to me or touched me, and yes I did run my fingers through his hair more often than I used to, and sure the hugs were longer and there were countless lingering kisses on the face and forehead and… all right. Maybe if things were back to normal, well, OUR sort of normal, I would've been Mrs. Potter by now.
But they weren't. Harry had his recurrent problems with Voldemort, and I had that ridiculous Deatheater injury (honestly, the Marx brothers were filling in for the Powers that Be with that one).
Wait, they weren't were they? Oh, thank goodness. That gives me some semblance of self respect. I mean, mute henchman aside, a mysterious connection to a Deatheater is just plain… mean.
Anyhow, helping Harry proved easier now that we were on speaking terms. We even took Occlumency from Snape together. Not that I needed any more training, but Harry did. His connection to Voldemort was that much stronger. Apparently my nightmares were nothing compared to his; not that he'd ever find out about them. Or any of this Dolohov Deatheater nonsense. He had more important things to worry about, his own skin for example .