Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Notes: Sorry for how long it's taken to update this. RL got in the way a bit and then my muses stopped cooperating. Finals are coming so I can't promise when the next chapter will be out, unfortunately.
This is the most H/Hr-heavy and least plot-heavy of all the chapters so far, I think.
And happy Easter!
From My Soul
Part 10
The dream slipped into her consciousness with all the insidiousness of a thief in the night.
It was dark and she had to find Harry. Where was Harry? He was gone and she couldn't find him. He had gone into the Forbidden Forest to talk to the Centaurs but there was this crushing feeling in her chest, a sense of urgency and foreboding she couldn't explain urging her on to find him. She had to find Harry…
Where was he?
"Harry," she called out his name in something between a gasp and a sob, not daring to raise her voice too loud for fear of being heard by something else.
And then she saw a dark robed figure moving-it almost looked as if it were floating-swiftly away from her, deeper into the Forest, heard a chilling laugh and she could swear she saw a glimpse of red eyes…
And a voice that seemed to come from all around her, every different direction, the same cold, strangely hissing, voice, mocking her, "You foolish little Mudblood. Did you honestly think you could keep him from me? Did you honestly think he could survive against me? Fool… He can't survive; no one can win…"
She moved on and came to a little clearing among the trees-and in the center, there was a dark shape lying on the ground.
And she screamed.
"Harry!" Her scream was cut off as if it had been guillotined as she fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling so hard she could barely control them as she turned him over to see his blank, staring, sightless eyes.
Again she heard that chilling laugh-though whether it was real or just in the blank horror of her imagination she didn't know.
Harry was dead.
She clutched his still body with her hands, brushing her lips against his cold ones and then burying her face in his chest as sobs ripped their way through her chest. "No, no, no, no, no… Harry… No…" The words were a litany of shock and pain and denial, that issued from her throat in something between a whimper and a gasping moan. "No…"
~*~
Harry couldn't sleep that night.
He wasn't exactly sure why, except that his mind seemed to be an odd restless jumble of thoughts, most of them centering around the horcruxes though some of them were centered around Hermione.
Hermione whom he'd glimpsed that morning coming out of the bathroom with her face freshly washed and lightly flushed and he'd simply stopped and stared at her for a moment, his mind blanking on everything except one random thought: she's the prettiest girl I've ever seen. The thought had brought him up sharply. Since when was Hermione the prettiest girl he'd ever seen? Sure, he didn't think she was ugly and he'd realized he thought she was cute when she got angry about things with the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed (he still squirmed when he remembered having blurted that realization out-loud to both Ron and Hermione)-but the prettiest girl he'd ever seen? He thought of Cho-and Ginny-and even Fleur with her part-Veela beauty… And he'd been amazed to realize that somehow, some time (he didn't know when this had happened or why), it had become true: he did think of Hermione as the prettiest girl… She was-just something about her made her prettier. He didn't know what it was; maybe it was how expressive her face was, how he could almost always read her mood and her thoughts in her eyes and her expression; maybe it was in how her eyes shone when she talked about something interesting she'd read about or learned; maybe it was even in that little frown she got between her eyebrows when she was concentrating intensely or confused… It was just something about her…
He had spent the day trying not to be randomly distracted by looking at Hermione-when had she become so distracting? Certainly she was more interesting to him than the book on Common Curses and How to Fight Them which she had told him he should read.
He couldn't sleep.
He turned over and opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the odd creaks the house always seemed to make at night, trying to let the normality of it calm him into drowsiness when the silence was broken by a muffled scream.
Hermione.
He bolted upright, grabbing his wand, and running out the door in a rush-panic beginning to edge into his mind at the thought of how Death Eaters had managed to break into the house so silently.
He threw open the door of her room and then skidded to a stop, his heart trying to calm down from its frantic beating. It wasn't an attack; Hermione was having a nightmare.
He knew a fleeting moment of relief that was swiftly overtaken by worry.
Hermione was clutching at her sheets, crying, small whimpers coming from her in which he could just make out the word, "No," repeated over and over again.
He flinched, feeling an almost physical pain at the abject, heart-wrenching sorrow he heard in her voice, moving the books off the chair she kept by her bedside to sit in it.
He opened his mouth to wake her up but his breath caught the next moment at the next word she said. "Harry… no…"
Oh God… He had never heard anything in his life as painful as Hermione's voice in that moment.
"Hermione." His voice was slightly hoarse from his own suppressed emotion on seeing and hearing her cry, as he put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, wake up. Hermione, it's okay. It was a nightmare."
She jerked awake with a gasp, her eyes opening and finding his, widening with a fleeting moment of disorientation followed by realization.
And then before he could blink or move or think to do anything, she scooted up and nearly flung herself at him, her arms going around his neck until he nearly fell forward on top of her and ended up in an awkward half-sitting, half-reclining position half-off the chair he'd been sitting on.
But he ignored the discomfort and awkwardness of his position for the moment, his mind preoccupied with comforting Hermione who was almost babbling into his t-shirt. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…"
He shifted slightly so he could put his own arm around her, his hand rather awkwardly rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. "Sshh, Hermione, it's okay. I'm fine. It was only a nightmare and everything's okay," he murmured, not even conscious of what exactly he was saying but letting whatever came to his mind slip out, knowing only that somehow, he needed to comfort Hermione.
At the moment, he didn't stop to question the very intensity of his reaction to seeing Hermione crying; he didn't stop to wonder why he felt every one of her tears as if he were crying them instead.
He just knew he needed to make her feel better. And so he held her, his hand making soothing motions on her back, as he listened to her sobs quiet and felt her breathing slow.
It was a few minutes before she seemed to come to some consciousness of their position and moved to sit up, sniffing and swiping at the remaining tears on her face, a sudden flush coloring her cheeks. "Oh Harry, I…"
He sat up as well, his arms falling from around her. "It's okay," he interrupted her before she could apologize as he sensed she was going to. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly and then, on an impulse he couldn't deny (and had no idea where it had come from) he moved his hand up to brush some of her hair away from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek in what was almost a caress.
She tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "It was a nightmare. I--" she faltered and then looked up at him, finishing so softly he could barely hear her, "I dreamed you were dead."
His breath seemed to catch in his chest. "Was- was this the first time you dreamed that?" he found himself asking, although he wasn't even sure what prompted the question.
She shook her head. "No-but it was worse this time. Somehow. It- it was just worse…" She shuddered a little at the memory.
"It's okay," he reassured her again softly, his hand touching her arm. "I'm okay; it was a dream." He wished he could tell her that nothing bad was going to happen to him but the lie stuck in his throat. And for a moment, he wished with a desperation he'd never felt at the thought before, that he could know that he would survive the final battle. Somehow, when he'd thought of the final battle and the possibility that he might die (neither can live while the other survives…), he had only thought of his probable death with a vague dread. He didn't want to die-but now, in the face of Hermione's tears at the very thought of him dying, he knew it for sure, felt it, this burning need to survive, to live-not for his sake, but for hers…
"You should go back to sleep. Everything's fine," he said, his gaze focusing on the shadows under her eyes and for the first time he wondered if those shadows were because of her nightmares-because of her nightmares about him.
She hesitated and then asked, her eyes not quite meeting his, "Will you- can you- stay here with me, for a while?"
He nodded. "I'll stay."
The ghost of a smile touched her lips, her amazingly soft-looking, appealing lips-and for an insane moment, he could only stare, fixating on her mouth as one thought-completely unexpected and very disturbing-hung in his mind: what would happen if we kissed?
The next moment, he blinked as she lay back down in her bed and he sat back in the chair, thrown by the utter madness of his reaction to her. It was madness. She had just had what sounded like a terrible nightmare-and he was thinking about kissing her. Kissing her!
He almost flinched when she reached out her hand to grasp one of his hands, holding it by her face on her pillow.
"Thanks," she said softly.
He shrugged and tried to smile. "It's no problem."
It was a little while before her breathing slowed and became deep and regular and he knew she'd fallen asleep. She still kept hold of his hand and when he tentatively tried to free it, her hand automatically tightened its grasp, preventing him from leaving. Not that he really minded.
He settled back down into the chair, studying her sleeping face-and trying not to focus on her lips. He wasn't sure exactly where this sudden fixation on Hermione's mouth had come from but it had, inexplicably, become incredibly hard to look at anything else when he looked at her-and even harder to stop himself from thinking things he really should not be thinking.
This was Hermione, after all-and even if he'd realized over the past few weeks just how pretty he thought she was and how much he cared about her, he still wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of wanting to kiss her. And he didn't know if she'd even want him to kiss her.
His gaze focused on Hermione's lips again, inevitably. What would you do if I kissed you?, he couldn't help wondering.
He wanted to kiss Hermione. He did fancy Hermione.
How did she feel about him? He didn't know, couldn't ask.
She had cried on dreaming he was dead… She cared about him-so much, he knew that, but it could just be because they were friends. She'd always cared about him as a friend; he thought of the first time she'd hugged him in their first year, remembered how it had seemed as if she just couldn't let him go into danger without letting him know she cared.
His gaze settled on her sleeping face, wondering if she knew how much he appreciated all her loyalty and her friendship over the past six years and more. Every year, it seemed, she'd shown him just how good a friend she was, how much she cared about him-every year, she had helped him so much, saved his life even, more than any other person had. And she cried for him…
Idly he wondered if anyone had ever cried for him before, if anyone had cared so much about him that they had cried…
Her grip had loosened on his hand in sleep and, very gently, he slipped his hand out of hers, pausing to brush his fingers against her hair (it was very soft, he noticed) and then her cheek, very lightly so as not to disturb her.
"Sleep well, Hermione," he whispered and then left quietly to go back to his room.
~*~
Harry was already awake and in the front room when she walked in the next morning. His eyes narrowed slightly on her face before he asked, softly, "How are you? Did you sleep okay?"
She flushed a little at the thought of how she'd cried on him and clutched him in the middle of the night. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Did you manage to sleep?"
He nodded, handing her a mug of steaming tea, and she smiled at how he knew, now, that she liked to begin her mornings with a cup of tea.
Peace, quiet and comfortable, settled in the front room as she sipped her tea and he drank his pumpkin juice and nibbled at a piece of toast.
The silence lasted until Ron stumbled in a little while later, yawning. "Morning," he mumbled as he poured himself some pumpkin juice and put the remaining four slices of toast onto a plate.
Just then the Daily Prophet arrived landing, as usual, on the table.
Harry grimaced a little, almost afraid to look at it, but then a picture of Rufus Scrimgeour, looking rather grim, drew his attention and he pulled the paper closer to read the article.
Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour announced that the Aurors had been given added authority and discretion in charging and detaining suspects of Death Eater activities. People can now be indefinitely locked up, without trial, on one Auror's charge of probable cause of suspecting said person to be at all connected to He-Who-Must-Not- Be-Named and his activities.
Minister Scrimgeour assured the public that the Aurors are working non-stop to ensure the continued safety of the public and urged everyone not to panic. This latest announcement of expanding the authority of the Aurors has been predicted for some time and is almost certainly being enacted now in response to the tragic attack on Philip Musgrave and his family a few days ago…
Harry shoved the paper away from him in disgust. "Right, suspicious folks like Stan Shunpike," he snorted. "Bloody stupid Ministry," he muttered under his breath as he left the front room in irritation.
Ron watched as Hermione half-rose and then visibly stopped herself as they both heard the sound of Harry's door closing with unnecessary force-watched and saw the look on her face as she stared after Harry. Saw and understood, confirming what he'd suspected for weeks now.
Hermione didn't just care about Harry as a friend; she loved him. He had always somehow sensed that the feeling was building-before because he'd been quick to jealousy in noting just how central Harry was to Hermione's life. But it had usually been possible to dismiss it mostly as Harry being Hermione's best friend, along with him. Only lately, in the past few weeks- even months- if he was honest with himself, it had gotten deeper than that. Because Harry had changed; it was as if Dumbledore's death (and seeing it happen) had been the final thing to make Harry go from being a boy to being, well, not. Harry had gotten- older, was the only word Ron could think of to describe it. And as he'd gotten older, Hermione's feelings had deepened, responding, Ron sometimes thought, to the added intensity in Harry. He stifled a sigh, thinking that sometimes it felt as if he were the younger one tagging along with two people who were older than he was-rather like Ginny had been when she had tried to join the three of them before, or when she'd been tagging along with Ron and Fred and George way back when they'd been very young. Oh he tried-and he knew he'd gotten better, much better, at least, with dueling and such-but there were things he couldn't quite understand. Like when Harry went into one of his 'alone' moods, holing himself up. Ron never knew what to do or how to respond to that; he'd been too used to growing up with people constantly around; being alone just wasn't something he knew how to deal with. Hermione could-and did, like when she'd been the one to bring Harry out of his room over Christmas hols in 5th year. Plus, there were times when Harry was in one of his intense moods when he just couldn't help but remember having grown up hearing about the Boy Who Lived-the little baby who'd managed to defeat the Dark Lord and all the subsequent imaginings of boys of the sort of power that would take. He'd gotten over the whole Harry-hero thing long ago-but it crept out in some moments, rare as they had become. Hermione- at least as far as Ron could tell- never had that problem; Harry was just Harry to her, as he always had been.
She sighed to herself as she frowned over the Daily Prophet.
"How long has it been?" Ron asked abruptly and Hermione started, looking up at him in some confusion.
"How long has what been?"
"How long since you- you cared about Harry so much?" he clarified, somehow not able to bring himself to say the word, love, though it was what he meant.
"Oh, Ron…" Hermione faltered, her voice trailing off, looking stricken.
"No, don't," Ron told her, trying but not quite managing a smile. "I know how you feel; reckon I've known it for weeks now. I- it's okay, you know; I understand. And- and I think it- it's right." He paused, gathering his thoughts, and then continued on, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, as he spoke more to his plate than to her, struggling to put into words the sort of thoughts he hardly ever voiced, preferring to leave them unsaid when he thought them at all. "I- I always kind of thought you and Harry would… You've always cared about him so much, worried about him so much. I don't think I really expected, hoped, that we would last-not with Harry around. And I think-I'm okay with that now. I've thought about it a lot and the thing is- Harry needs you." He glanced up at her, one hand moving in a rather awkward gesture. "He needs someone to really be there for him-to care for him. And no one else could do that-not really. Ginny- I know she thought she could and I think she wanted to-but she doesn't really know, she doesn't get it. She doesn't really understand him. You do-you know what you're getting into; you've always been there for him. I'll help him too, y'know, as much as I can-but he needs you. And I- I'm even- glad- to know he has you." He stopped, out of words and suddenly feeling all the awkwardness at having said so much on something so personal. He kept his eyes on his plate, not looking at her, since he had the terrible fear that she might cry or something, in that way girls had.
And then he heard her chair scrape back and before he could blink, he found that she'd thrown her arms around his neck in an awkward hug, considering that he was still sitting at the table.
"Oh Ron!" she said and then kissed his cheek quickly, making him blush up to his ears in embarrassment.
She released him and sat back down and it was a few seconds before he looked up at her.
She met his eyes with a small smile. "You're my best friend, you know that, right?"
"Yeah. You're mine too," he told her, and then managed a slight smirk. "Just- don't do that too often, will you? Save the hugs and stuff for Harry."
She laughed a little and flushed as she said, "I will."
Now his smirk was real and not at all forced. "I'm sure you will-and you'll enjoy it a lot more too."
She blushed and crumpling up her napkin into a ball, tossed it at him. "Prat," she said, though her tone was mild.
"Know-it-all," he shot back.
"Git."
"Hey, I'm not the one with plans to snog my best friend."
She blushed again. "You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?"
He gave her a look that suggested she'd just asked a completely ridiculous question-which, she supposed, she had.
And not for the first time, Hermione thought how- glad- she was to have Ron for a friend, her best friend. He was so- easy to be with, so uncomplicated. And while something in her mind and heart responded to Harry, felt for Harry, at a level completely beyond her experience, and she knew that, when it came down to it, Harry was the most important person in her world-it was good to have Ron as her friend. Ron could make her laugh (and irritate her at the same time); she could generally understand him, if not relate to him. It had been what made her wonder if she might fancy Ron, before she'd realized that Ron was best when they were just friends; friendship was comfortable, right, with him.
With Harry, especially these days, it always felt as if their old friendship was hovering on the edge of becoming something more-because there was more in their relationship, maybe always had been more. To say nothing of the not-quite-friendly way she would react to the sight of Harry sometimes, the not-friendly feelings that would rise up inside her… And while she was still comfortable in Harry's company, it was-nice-to be with Ron knowing that their friendship, at least, would never change.