Need You to Need Me

Disclaimer: It should be obvious that I am not JKR since I *can* see the love that is H/Hr.

Author’s Note: Inspired in part by anndee123’s fic, “Cliché” posted here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/delusionalfans/43916.html#cutid1

And for Amethyst J.- just because. *hugs*

Need You to Need Me

It was ridiculous, she later thought.

Completely ridiculous. Irrational. Crazy.

Of all the times and of all the moments, it had to be that moment.

She didn’t know what caused it or why it happened then. It just did—and it changed everything.

They were all in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, a sort-of impromptu celebration that had started when Harry had returned to Hogwarts nearly 24 hours ago, nearly dead on his feet (but nothing several of Madam Pomfrey’s potions and a good 16 hours of sleep hadn’t been able to fix), victorious and the wizarding world, that had been at war for 3 years now, suddenly realized that it was over.

Voldemort had been defeated, for good, all the horcruxes destroyed taking the last bit of Voldemort’s twisted evil soul with it. The wizarding world was saved—Harry was the hero.

And he had done it.

He had done it alone.

At the last minute, the Order and Ron and Hermione had stayed behind at Hogwarts, as there had been a sudden, unexpected attack by Death Eaters and Harry had gone, escaping the chaos to find Voldemort and finish him for good, armed with the knowledge that Voldemort was mortal again—and a spell which Dumbledore’s portrait had directed Harry to, from one of the private books in Dumbledore’s library.

He had done it and it was over.

They were celebrating, unofficially, all the members of the Order (the surviving members), Remus, Tonks, the Weasleys had arrived just moments ago, Neville and Luna, who had, alone, been part of the younger contingent of the Order, as they were unofficially called, along with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Rufus Scrimgeour had arrived moments ago, smiling broadly and trying to make it seem as if he had been the main inspiration, the main force, behind Harry’s victory—at which Harry had rolled his eyes and pointedly turned his back on the Minister of Magic.

It was a happy time, for all the occasional subdued moments when people would glance at the still empty chair for the Headmaster (McGonagall had refused to sit in it for the entirety of that year, in deference to Dumbledore, Hogwarts’ best Headmaster). It was a happy time.

They were all there, all safe, all alive, all well…

Harry was smiling- his smile a little strained after all the congratulations- but smiling as he talked to Neville and Luna and Ron.

She was looking at Harry, seeing him smile and hearing his laugh—his laugh that she’d heard so rarely these past few months—and she suddenly realized to the full that he was safe now.

Harry was safe. There was no more danger. And he was alive and well…

And suddenly she was filled with an inexplicable sadness, bleakness welling up inside her, as her eyes filled with hot tears.

She blinked furiously and then turned and ran out of the Great Hall, not wanting anyone to see her break down.

She ran until her breath came fast and harsh, until she could run no more, to realize that she’d run nearly to the Lake in her desperation to get away.

She could see Dumbledore’s tomb in the dim of twilight…

And suddenly she was crying, crying as if her heart would break, great sobs wracking her body.

It was over—Harry was safe… But what was she going to do now?

“Hermione!”

It was Harry. She felt him wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders, alarm and sympathy in his tone.

“Sshh, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, one hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

And slowly, the tears stopped and she moved away from him, blushing hotly at how she’d broken down.

This was ridiculous! She should be happy—she was happy…

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she sniffed, wiping away the remaining tears on her face. “I’m being an idiot. It’s nothing; you should go back inside. They’re all waiting for you.”

He didn’t move, only studied her, his gaze oddly intent. “You’re never an idiot, Hermione. What is it, what’s wrong?”

The sheer caring in his voice made tears well up again and she swiped them away hastily. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “I- I’m just being stupid.”

He moved one step closer to her, narrowing the distance between them. “You’re never stupid, Hermione. You don’t cry over nothing; I know you don’t. What is it?” he persisted.

She sniffed again, turning away to look at the darkness of the lake, and finally began, in a halting voice. “I- I was just thinking about how you’re safe now. You’re safe now that it’s all over. You’ve defeated Voldemort; you did what you had to do…” She paused, taking a hitching breath. “But now what happens to me?” she asked, her voice falling until he could barely hear it, more as if she were talking to herself and not to him. “Where do we go from here? I- I don’t know… For so many years now, I’ve known what I needed to do. I needed to study and learn, but more than that, the most important thing—I needed to help you. With whatever you needed help in, spells or finding the horcruxes or anything; I knew I needed to help you. That was what I did; it was what you needed me for… Now…” Her voice drifted off as another breath hitched in her chest. “Now, that it’s all over and done with, I don’t know anymore. You- you don’t need me anymore. You don’t need me to help you research about horcruxes or find out spells for you to use or anything. You don’t need me…” and saying the words aloud made the tears well up yet again and she wiped them away tiredly, her energy suddenly spent, leaving her simply feeling empty, purposeless.

The silence from Harry was positively deafening and she forced back the tears she felt like crying at this proof that he really didn’t need her anymore. He’d done what he needed to do; he was safe now. He didn’t need her…

And then he spoke, quietly, but with an intensity, a force, behind his words that was palpable. “How could you think that?”

She laughed a little, though not with amusement. “How could I not. Harry, I know what I am, the bookworm, the teacher’s pet, your bossy, clever, bookish best friend, the person you turn to for information. I’ve known it for years now.” There was no condemnation in her tone, either of him or of herself, just simple resignation, acceptance. “That’s just who I am. You don’t need me for anything else; you have Ron to confide in about other things, to talk about Quidditch and girls and things like that. You don’t need me for that. You needed me for homework, for helping you with research, helping you master complicated spells. But you’ve done all that; you’re finished. You don’t need my help anymore.”

“How could you think that?” he asked again, more forcefully, and she suddenly realized he sounded almost angry. “How could you think that of me, of yourself? How could you?”

He paused, taking a deep breath and continuing on. “Do you really think that’s all you do, that’s all you’ve done for me? Been a source of information, another teacher? Do you really think that’s how I think of you?”

She didn’t bother answering; she couldn’t, her throat was too full, her heart was too full with a strange pain.

“Because if you do, then for the first time ever, you are being stupid!”

Her breath caught in her throat in surprise and a dawning happiness.

He moved around until he was standing in front of her, his hands gripping her arms firmly, his gaze holding hers.

“You are so much more than that! You are so much more than just books and cleverness. Do you remember saying that to me?”

She nodded dumbly.

“Hermione, you’re more than that; you’re so much more than that! You haven’t just taught me spells and helped me research; you’ve shown me what it means to be a friend, shown me what loyalty is. Don’t you know that? You’ve always- always- been there for me, helping me, yes, but more than that, just believing in me. Don’t you know—do you know—just how much it’s meant to me this past year to know that you still believed in me, to know that you still believed I could do all this? At the worst moments, when I was ready to give up, when I would have given up, I would look at you and I’d realize that I couldn’t give up, that you still believed in me somehow, for some reason, and I couldn’t let you down. And if you believed—who was I to doubt you? Hermione, I don’t need you for your cleverness—although God knows, I don’t think I’d have survived for long without it. But it’s more than that. I- I just need you—not for your researching skills or your help with spells or anything like that, just you. I need you to tell me when I’m being a prat; I need you in my head telling me what’s the right thing to do; I need you to believe in me, to make me stronger, better. I just need you. I’ll always need you.”

He stopped, out of breath from the intensity of his speech, and she blinked back tears (more tears—when had she become such a watering-pot?—but she couldn’t help it, listening to him tell her that he did need her, that he had noticed, that he had known, that she believed in him, that it had mattered to him that she did believe—that he cared…)

He was still holding her but one hand let go of her arm to touch her cheek, wiping away the last remaining tear stains from them with a gentle touch. His eyes searched hers—asking some question she was half-afraid to identify and somehow finding the answer he sought—and slowly, very slowly, he closed the distance between them and his lips touched hers.

He kissed her gently, at first, hesitantly, but then she slid her arms around his neck, her lips parting under his, and the kiss exploded from there, became harder, more passionate.

She rose up on her toes, pressing her body closer to his, and made a throaty sound in the back of her throat. Yes, yes, oh yes… Harry was kissing her, for real, and it felt so good and she’d been waiting for this, hoping for this, for so long now, it seemed, and doubted it would ever happen, and now it had and, oh God, it felt good… He felt so good, tasted so good, better than she’d ever imagined… Oh she loved this, loved him…

Oh God, he was kissing Hermione and she was kissing him back and- and- oh God… Yes… this was what he’d wanted…

He remembered the stark terror he’d felt on coming back to Hogwarts after defeating Voldemort. He’d seen Ron just after he’d come back, seen Remus and Tonks and everyone—but he hadn’t seen her and he’d known a moment of heart-stopping fear that told him better than anything else that what he’d begun to suspect, that what he’d been afraid to acknowledge or accept, was true—that he loved Hermione. Loved her as so much more than just his best friend, loved her as—as—just loved her… He’d finally seen her at that moment of realizing, seen her and maybe it was just that he’d been forcing himself to stay on his feet until he’d made sure that everyone he cared most about was still okay, but he’d seen her, then swayed on his feet as black spots danced before his eyes, overwhelming him…

He’d awaken hours later in the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey fussing over him muttering things about sending little boys off to face the Dark Lord, and Hermione’s and Ron’s worried faces hovering over him.

He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t known what to say or how to say it until he’d seen her run out of the Great Hall and had followed her outside, only too glad of an excuse to get away from all the celebration when all he really wanted to do was be alone, with just Hermione and Ron, and know that it was really over.

And then he’d seen her crying and his heart had seemed to stop.

He’d listened with some incredulity and something that was almost anger as she finally told him why she was crying, amazed that she could really be so blind to her own worth, that she could really not know just how much she meant to him… And the words had just spilled out of him, the truth of how important she was, how much he needed her, how much he cared…

And at that moment, kissing Hermione, knowing in his mind and heart—his very soul—that Hermione loved him too, he knew that now, finally, he was happy… There was nothing else in the world he wanted. He was with Hermione; he didn’t need anything else.

The End