While She Was Sleeping

People think Hermione Granger came out of her shell fourth year, grew from the book-obsessed caterpillar of first through third year into the, well, book-obsessed butterfly that walked in arm and arm with Viktor Krum. Harry Potter knew differently.

He wondered, really, why it took everyone so long to figure it out. How beautiful she was.

He fell in love with Hermione Granger at a completely mundane time, a completely ordinary place. No words were spoken, no flesh exposed. The glow of the common room fire cast a glow on her features, warming her complexion in soft orange tones. Her head rest on her arm and her hair spread across the oak table, curls resting gently on the wood. The feather quill that was usually scratching frantically against rolls and rolls of parchment drooped gently from the tips of her fingers, tip brushing her Arithmancy scroll.

It was the middle of the night, and Harry had just come down to the common room… for no reason, really. Even now, as he lay in bed, he could not remember for the life of him why he walked those winding stairs to the red and gold-draped room. All he could remember was the way he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath the moment her form came into view. He remembered approaching the table, casting a silencing charm on himself with a whispered word and a flick of his wrist. The wand was tucked back into the waistband of his pants and he stood next to Hermione’s sleeping form. Stretching his arm out slowly and hesitatingly, he brought the back of his hand to her ink-stained cheek. Harry was awe-struck by the softness of her skin, and he turned his hand to touch her lips with the tips of his fingers.

Hermione stirred, but did not wake. A sigh of relief escaped Harry’s lips, making him aware of the breath he was subconsciously holding. He remembered the thought of leaving her making his insides ache, the thought of having others see her in this resplendent beauty, this understated splendor.

He remembered how easily she fit in his arms, how she curled into his chest and grasped his pajama top with one hand. Knowing all too well the pain in store for him if he attempted the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, Harry made his way quietly up the stairs into his own room. Parting the curtains with his elbow, he lay her down on the soft blankets and thanked every deity above that she had been studying in her pajamas. Her hair fanned out on his pillow and she curled into herself, pulling her knees to her chest.

He folded himself around her, pulling her waist to his and burying his face in her hair. The smell of old books and ink and the unmistakable scent of Hermione filled his nose and made him lightheaded. He fell asleep to the sound of her breathing and the harmony of their hearts seeming to beat as one. An overwhelming feeling of Everything is alright flooded him and he smiled to himself and succumbed to the lure of sleep.

He knew that the next night, he would be alone again. And indeed he was that next night.

But now, even as he lay in bed, he knew it was worth it. His pillow still retained her scent. It wasn’t enough, but it would last him. After all, he thought happily as he hugged the pillow to himself, O.W.L.s were on their way.