(III) It Could Happen by MaDeLaiNe

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 07/08/2006
Last Updated: 15/01/2007
Status: Completed

You can't prove things won't happen. No one can. This is what Hermione knows; this is
what Harry now believes.




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Hola!! ^_^

How are you dears? I should have posted this one ages ago, but I've been busy, my beta's
being busy, and so and so…lol.

This little scene takes place after The Bench by the Fence, which takes place after The Girl
Sitting on the Grass. You don't need to read them in order to understand this one, but you know
how these things go: you'll understand everything better if you do and blablablabla ;)

Although marked as COMPLETED, I'm thinking about a two-shot. We'll see.

As always, a HUGE bunch of thank yous and flowers and bows to my lovely beta **Stephanie**
I've been telling for ages: you should see my Before-Steph writings… By the way, it's been
impossible for me to contact her lately. Steph, if you're reading this, every mail I send you
fails and get back to me! So you know that every big and small mistake you find, it's all mine.
Sorry in advance!

And thank to you, for reading and telling me what do you think!

Oh, yeah. The disclaimer: No, I still own nothing, which -unfortunately- means that standard
disclaimers apply.

**oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo**

**IT COULD HAPPEN**

**oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo**

The sound of loud snores nearby finally breaks her concentration.

Her eyes leave the pages of the dusty book she's been reading for the last couple of hours
to look at the source of her distraction. Smiling, she stands up and walks toward him.

“Ron,” she says gently, but, as expected, nothing happens. She tries again. “Ron,” and this time
she delicately places a hand on his shoulder. “Ron, wake up.”

She feels the red-headed boy tense a bit before opening his eyes, blinking in confusion.

“Hermione,” he says with his voice still hoarse from sleep, and looks around the gloomy room,
noticing immediately that something's missing.

“What's happening, Hermione? Where's Harry? Is everyth--”

“Yes, everything's ok, Ron,” she assures him, who seems confused, looking around in alert
mode. It happens all the time now, to all of them. “Harry will be here in a minute. You just fell
asleep.”

Only then she feels him relax.

“No, I just… I was resting my eyes, you know, for a moment,” he mumbles while turning a page of
the book that was serving as a pillow.

She smiles again, squeezing his shoulders.

“Ron, you've been snoring for the past fifteen minutes. Just go to bed.”

“Hermione, I haven't finished this one, and I was supposed to go through that one too before
going to bed,” he protests, pointing to a little book resting on the table. She can hardly believe
this is the same Ron Weasley she had to literally threaten to do his homework over the past six
years. He's not just saying it to make her believe he wants to. He actually *wants*
to.

Because things have changed so much in so little time. *They* have changed so much.

It all began *that* day. The day of Dumbledore's -it's still hard to say it--
funeral. But after they moved in together to start this new and dark journey, somehow it was just
there. The *Bond*. There was no spoken rule of any sort for this development. It was simply
*there*.

Their now constant physical displays of affection are newsworthy. Even through all the years
that they had known each other, not one of them were physically affectionate, save Hermione's
occasional hug or kiss. But nothing else.

But again, things have changed. Life has changed. And now it's like the three of them have a
constant need for assurance; the need to feel -*to know*- that the others are still there, the
ones it seems they were born to be with. That they'll be safe as long as they'll stay
together.

That's why an hour without seeing Harry makes them nervous.

“I know, Ron,” she tells him softly. “But you are really tired. You'll waste your time
trying to focus instead of actually focusing, and then tomorrow you'll have to start all over
again. Go to bed and take your rest.”

He frowns, looking from one book to another, and then to her again. “You don't sleep?”

“Don't worry about me, I'm quite awake right now. I took a nap earlier,” she lies, and
he lets her. “I'm sure I will even finish your books before my eyes get tired.”

“Ok,” he obliges, reluctantly. “But promise you'll sleep too, ok?”

“Yes, daddy,” she laughs, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “Good night, Ron.”

He stands up and hugs her. “Good night, Hermione.”

She watches him disappear through the doorframe, and before the sound of his steps fades away,
she's sitting before her books again. A quick glance at the old clock makes her realize that
it's much later than she thought.

And that Harry's been gone for more than forty minutes.

*Let him be**.* *H**e needs* *his* *time* *alone.*

Taking a deep breath, she tries to focus again on her research. But, after a while, she realizes
that the page before her hasn't changed in the last ten minutes, and in spite of that, she
can't remember what she's been reading. So, when her gaze turns to check the clock for the
tenth time, she resolves to take her own advice; there's no point in feigning the concentration
she doesn't have at the moment.

Rising from her chair, she heads towards the door, missing, in her hurry, the sound of footsteps
approaching. Only when she bumps into another figure she notices.

“Hermione, what's going on? Are you ok?”

Breathing hard, almost panting, she looks up to see Harry taking her by the arms, his eyes
showing concern.

“Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you coming.” She's suddenly very aware of him;
of his hands on her upper arms. Of his eyes looking into hers. “You scared me half to death!”

“So did you,” he replies, half smiling, and squeezing her arms. “Is everything ok, Hermione?
Where were you going in such a hurry?”

She shrugs. “To find you.”

“Well, you did find me.”

He smiles at her. His smile is so kind, she thinks.

But she also thinks she's being silly. She does every time she can't control her
blushing, just like now, as her pathetic thirteen year-old self used to do after one of
Lockhart's infamous smiles. She can't look at him straight in the eye, the same way she
can't stop blood from rising to her cheeks. They are close. They are *too* close. She bets
Harry can feel the heat.

He has dark circles under his eyes. He looks thinner. He hasn't slept properly in weeks, but
he still can manage to smile at her.

Before she can reply, she finds herself being pulled into a tight embrace. It definitely feels
so good to be in Harry's arms. Even if she is quite aware that this means something entirely
different to him. Because, to him, it's only part of The Bond.

Sometimes she's sure he notices. Sometimes she would even *swear* he
*knows**,* because, sometimes, she can be such a stupid and blatantly obvious giggling
girl- except for the giggling, that is. Or that's what she thinks.

But then she always discards the idea. There's no way he can suspect anything.

Three weeks ago, at the Burrow, she had taken a resolution, sitting on that bench by the fence,
and she intends to stick to it. She's focusing on their quest, on their friendship, on their
genuine *love*. The three of them. But there are moments, like this, when she gives in a
little, and let's herself believe that these little gestures between Harry and her are special
to him, too. Something he shares with her and *only* her. She lets that kind of thought linger
her head from time to time, because the feeling is too wonderful to cut it off for good.

Not that she has looked too hard for a way to do it, anyway.

And she's ashamed to say it, but sometimes, when she's feeling particularly good after a
caress, a hug, a look… she even dares to think that Ginny never got *this* kind of caress,
*this* kind of hug, *this* kind of look. Sure, Ginny got *other* things….other
wonderful things that she will never get, because they just are not meant for Hermione, his best
friend.

No. She can't think of that. She promised.

She caringly squeezes him in return before they slowly let go of their embrace.

Harry smiles once again before his eyes go checking the room.

“Where's Ron?” he says as he walks towards the couch in front of the fire.

“I forced him to go to bed. He was exhausted and fell asleep. It took me a while to convince him
to go, though.”

She looks in silence at how Harry tries to make himself comfortable on the sofa. His gaze is
fixed on the table, full of books and parchment. Then it turns to the clock.

“He's working so hard…” he says very softly, almost to himself, before looking at her again.
“And you should go and rest, too, Hermione. It's been a long day.”

“I'm ok, Harry,” she begins, too brightly to be telling the truth. “I took a nap this
aftern-”

“No,” he cuts her off. “You didn't.”

He's staring at her, a serious look on his face. Sometimes she wishes she could hide things
from him. Not *every* thing, you know. Just some.

“No,” she finally admits, plopping herself beside him and rubbing her tired eyes. “I
didn't.”

She's expecting -almost hoping for- some good old nagging. She even thinks she deserves it;
but it doesn't come. He just looks at her in silence. Shaking his head slowly, his gaze turns
to the fire.

A dense silence falls between them. It's unusual for her to be at a loss of words. But this
is also a part of their Bond. They discovered that, somehow, sometimes, words are not necessary.
That sometimes silence is a much better way to communicate thoughts. Feelings. Hopes.

But now is not one of those moments of quiet silence, because she can sense something's
troubling Harry.

*Of course there**'s* *something* *troubling him**.* *How*
*about* *`**saving the world**'* *for* *starters?*

*H**e's* *so tired,* she reflects as her gaze caresses his profile. His hair,
as messy as the first day she met him (an eternity ago), will make him look younger no matter how
old he'll become. His glasses, almost as famous as his scar, which sometimes allow him to hide
those wonderful eyes; his nose, which she knows by heart after so many years...

His mouth…

Stop.

She simply has to *stop*.

Suddenly, she sees his hands covering his face. And she panics.

“Harry, are you -”

“I'm scared.”

She suddenly wonders where all the air of the room went, because she doesn't think she can
breathe. Harry turns his head toward her, as in slow motion, his hands still covering half his
face.

“I'm scared, Hermione.”

He almost breathes the words. And she, Hermione Granger, doesn't know what to say to his
heart-wrenching confession. All she wants to do, she realizes, is take him in her arms and kiss his
forehead, telling him that everything's going to be ok. But she can't. She only can tell
the truth.

“Of course you are. We all are,” she says in her softest voice. “It would be stupid not to be
scared.”

He looks up, searching her eyes. She feels she must keep talking.

“You're not any less brave for feel-”

“I don't want to die, Hermione.”

Silence.

His words make her stop thinking, stop breathing, stop being. There's nothing more than
silence around her. Not only because she has forbidden her own thoughts to follow that path -even
though they always find a way out in her nightmares. She stops breathing because he has spoken
these thoughts out loud.

She knew he *had* to be scared. Terrified. But hearing it from his mouth, with his voice
trembling, it's just much more than she can take.

And the worst part is that she knows she can only understand Harry's feelings to a certain
point. She's scared to death too. But she's not Harry Potter. And it literally *kills*
her not to be able to save him from himself.

So she says the only thing she can think of. The words she repeats to herself first thing every
morning. The words she whispers every night.

“That won't happen,” she brusquely answers. But she can't say the word. She just
*can't*.

Harry turns his face to her.

“You can't prove it won't happen,” he says with the slightest hint of challenge in his
voice. He just needs to hear it again, she thinks. Because *she* needs to hear it again.

“No, Harry, I can't,” she replies firmly. “But I *know* it won't happen.” And then
she knows of something she *can* do. “Come here.”

Before she knows what she's doing, she moves to the farthest seat on the couch, gesturing
with her hands to her lap. He doesn't need further explanation.

Lying down, he places his head on Hermione's lap, just where she pointed.

A little while ago, Harry let slip that the thing he missed the most was how relaxed he felt
when Ginny played with his hair. When he had said that, Hermione had fought the painful kick in her
stomach, and maybe Harry noticed, she thought, because he went red and never mentioned it again.
But one day, after he had had a very bad day, she couldn't help it. She just walked towards
him, made him lean his head back on the sofa, and started to caress his messy locks. He had been a
bit shocked at first, but then he leaned in her touch. After that, she did it from time to
time.

Only occasionally, though; and only when she thought Harry was on the verge of losing himself
again.

*Now is definitely one of those* *times*.

“Close your eyes, Harry,” she says softly, her fingers starting to trace a lock of hair. She
feels him sigh, and then, he closes his eyes obediently.

“You are not going to die, Harry. You're not prepared for that. I'm not prepared for
that. So you're not going to.” She explains it as it was some Arithmancy logic equation. He has
to believe that.

She looks down at the face in her hands. His breathing agitated, his jaws clenched, those dark
circles around his troubled eyes. One of her fingers touches his scar delicately, as her hand roams
through his famous black hair. He's so amazing.

And his hair feels so good between her fingers.

“And as you're not going to die,” she continues, taking off his glasses, “I want you to
envision your future. Because there *is* one, of course. You have a wonderful, happy future
waiting for you, just on the other side of this nightmare.”

He doesn't open his eyes to contradict her, and she hopes it's because her words are
having the desired effect on his mind. She knows it then; she has to give him a future. She still
*can* help him.

“You apparate in front of a yard,” she begins, unsure of what she's just about to tell.
“It's been a very hard day at work, so the sight of your beautiful house is a balm for your
eyes.” She pauses, envisioning the house of her dreams. “Near the porch, watering some flowers,
there is the most beautiful little girl you've ever seen. Her bright green eyes lighten up the
moment she realizes you're home. She forgets about flowers then, and runs towards you,
smiling.”

She pauses for a moment. Harry's face seems to be relaxing. *It's working.*
*I'm* *helping.*

“You take her in your arms, placing kisses all over her hair,” she continues, and then pauses
again. Because she doesn't want to think about the red mane Harry must be certainly seeing in
his visions. “Taking her hand, you walk towards the house, where a little boy is waiting for the
two of you. He announces in a loud voice that you are finally home, while you ruffle his hair. He
had to get your mess, the poor thing.”

She sees how the corners of Harry's mouth curl. She's smiling too.

“You can hear steps coming closer. And then, there she is, walking out from the kitchen, where
she's been cooking dinner for your children just before you arrived.”

Her voice quivers against her will, unable to speak the name aloud. That would be stabbing her
heart once more. Because she, Hermione Granger, is not the one coming out of that stupid kitchen.
But it's Harry's happiness. She *must* go on talking. “…you…you stare at her then.
She's smiling at you, because she loves to watch how you treat and love your children, what an
amazing father you are, Harry. You smile back at her, your heart jumping inside. She's so
beautiful...and you can't do anything but stare at her in awe. As if you can't believe she
actually said *I do* that day. As if you just can't believe it's *her*: the one
who's there with you, the one who has chosen to be with you for the rest of your life.”

Before she can go on with her tale, Harry startles her. His eyes suddenly open wide, and he
turns up to look at her. His expression is serious, so serious, and unreadable.

She stops caressing his hair, and by Harry's face she is sure she said something that just
ruined the mood. *Maybe it was my voice. Maybe he noticed.* *Oh Merlin, m**aybe he*
knows*…*

“Harry?” she finally asks nervously, finding her voice. He doesn't say anything. He's
only watching her in silence, with his big green eyes wide open, and with that odd expression on
his face. It's only after she calls his name once more that he shakes his head in a couple of
almost undetectable shakes. Taking a deep breath, his eyes close again.

“Keep talking, Hermione,” he whispers.

“Harry, are you ok? Did I say someth-”

“Hermione, please. Keep talking,”

And so she does. She keeps on talking about Harry's friends, Harry's home, Harry's
children…Harry's future. She keeps on talking about a future that seems so far away right now,
but that she has envisioned more times than she can count. He will never know that they are her own
dreams the ones making him smile as she strokes his hair on that couch. Dreams: they are what they
always will be to her, because she's not the one in his. But at that moment, feeling Harry
relaxing and smiling, she can't care less.

After a while, she stops talking, her hands playing with his locks being the only sound in the
room. She looks at the clock again, and then down at his peaceful, sleeping face. She doesn't
want to wake him up.

“Hermione,” he says with his eyes still shut. She thought him asleep.

“Yes, Harry.”

He opens his eyes, and finds hers. “You were right.”

She stares at him, a frown forming on her brow.

“What are you-?”

“I can't prove it won't happen.”

She remains silent, because she really doesn't know what to say. She still doesn't when
Harry stands up, taking her hands for her to do the same.

“We should really be going to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a long day, we need to sleep a
bit,” he says, and she can sense that there's something different in her friend. She's
about to ask when she feels his arms wrapping around her.

“Good night, Hermione,” he whispers in her ear before placing his lips softly, ever so softly,
on her cheek. “And thank you.”

After waving her wand to extinguish the fire and put some order to the books they're going
to check tomorrow, she finally goes upstairs and climbs into her bed, her cheek still tingling. And
a few minutes later, she's asleep too, without knowing that there, in the next room, her best
friend is placidly sleeping, his nightmares being replaced by dreams about his new discovered
hope.

Dreams about his home, his yard…about his son, looking so like himself, but with those big and
intelligent eyes which have read more books than any other kid his age. And his daughter… his
beautiful daughter… with her bright green eyes, so like his and his mother's, and her bushy
mane of light brown hair, looking just as beautiful as the woman she got it from.



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**Well, after a lot of thinking, I'm risking my author-neck here, since I've decided to
post this sequel anyway, betaless. I'm a little worried about my lovely Steph, and seemingly
she must be very busy. I hope you're ok, Steph!**

**So I apologize beforehand for the zillion mistakes you're** **most probably going to
find, starting with this intro, lol.** **I hope that, all in all, you can understand it.
:D**

**H****appy New Year, by the way! ^_^**

oOo

It was earlier than ever when Ronald Weasley entered the kitchen of the old house.

He had caressed the appealing idea of sleeping in a bit; his rather large bedroom still was
dark, which meant it had to be earlier than usual. And they hadn't slept in in *ages*. But
then his stomach had made some kind of angry noise, reminding him that there wasn't such a
thing like *too early* for Ronald Weasley's stomach.

Five minutes later, when he had just set all sorts of morning goodies on the kitchen table,
Hermione, or more like the ghostly image of Hermione, appeared at the door.

“Morning, Hermione. Help yourself,” he said, gesturing with his hand to the food on the
table.

Barely acknowledging his presence, Hermione mumbled something unintelligible as she passed by
him, opened the fridge, took the milk out, and prepared herself some cocoa. All of it on very, very
*very* slow motion.

As he took a bite of toast, he observed his best friend in silence. There was definitely
something wrong in the picture before him. Hermione, good old Hermione, never was a morning person.
But any other morning she would have done that simple task in less than a minute, while asking him
about his night sleep and talking about their day's agenda, before finally taking seat at the
table with him. Instead, this Hermione was barely moving, and looked like she had spent the whole
night awake, doing all sorts of tiresome tasks, until she had finally exhausted herself to her
limits.

He felt a pang of sadness for her. Maybe she finally had.

“You look horrible, Hermione,” he said, almost without thinking.

That caught her attention. She took her red mug in her hands and leaned in against the
fridge.

“And you eat like a pig,” she answered, no trace of the sharpness he usually earned with
comments like that.

“No, I mean it, Hermione. Are you ok? You look awfully tired.”

“I always look tired, Ron,” she finally answered, rubbing one of her eyes as she took seat
opposite him on the table. “You don't look all hot and dashing, just for the record.”

He smiled. “I know...but it could be worse, don't you think? At least I don't have to
fight with a hair like Harry's,” he said, teasing her.

But almost immediately he realised that it was the wrong thing to say, because at the mention of
their other best friend, Hermione almost dropped the mug. He just *knew* then that something
was definitely going on.

Maybe last night they had one of those almost-rows they had from time to time. Rows that had
nothing to do with his and Hermione's. Rows that, sometimes, he felt were just beyond him. Like
they were talking cryptically about something entirely different, something he didn't know
about.

Only that he knew.

“Last night,” he started, hesitantly. “Was everything ok? I mean…with Harry?”

The sharp look Hermione gave him scared and relaxed him all at once. *Th**is* Hermione
he could definitely recognise as normal.

“*Of course*,” she said, clear and slowly, just for him to understand the danger behind the
question. “Why wouldn't *everything* be ok? And why do you think this has *anything*
to do with Harry?”

As if on cue, they heard rushed footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Morning, mate!” said the extremely cheery voice of Harry Potter as he entered the room, seconds
later. “Whoa, is that everything for you? Or did you make breakfast for your whole family?” Without
pause, he walked by Hermione's seat and, without warning, he kissed the top of her head. “Good
morning, Hermione.”

She managed a little smile to her mug. “Good morning, Harry.”

Ron, with the pancake still halfway to his open mouth, looked at his best friend. Intently.
After Hermione's mood that morning, he was expecting…well, he didn't exactly know what, but
not this. Harry was making tea, and he seemed…*happy*. He hadn't seen his best friend in
what seemed to be an extraordinarily good mood in…well, he couldn't really remember.

For a moment he thought he had been wrong before, thinking something had happened last night.
After all, he was still becoming familiar with the extents of The Bond. But then he looked at
Hermione again. She was staring at her hands, though she didn't seem to be really watching. In
a normal day, Hermione would be asking Harry about his night sleep, about his meal, about his
nightmares, and about his plans for the day. However, there she was. Silent. Lost in thought. And
what worried him most: she hadn't looked at Harry at all.

No; that wasn't a normal day.

“I'll go change and take a bath,” she suddenly said, leaving the mug on the table and
heading to the stairs before neither of them could say a thing.

Ron knew that some things were constants in life, like the sun rising in the morning, his
appetite, and Voldemort trying to kick their arses. One of them, one of the most constant things
among all them, was the fact that Hermione Granger *never*, under any circumstance, left a mug
-or anything else- on the table after breakfast, lunch, dinner or any other occasional meal. So
*this*, whatever *this* was, had to be something big.

He looked then at his other best friend. Harry's gaze was fixed on the kitchen's door,
but he didn't look upset. He was…smiling.

He caught him staring, but he just smiled to him too.

“Did you have a good night sleep, Ron? Hermione told me you were really tired last night.”

“Um…yeah...I was,” he managed to answer, forcing himself to keep on talking when Harry looked at
him for further explanation. “Hermione made me, though. I could have stayed longer, you know.”

Harry smirked a little, but Ron went on before he could say anything. “You weren't…I mean,
were you ok, Harry? Last night it was later than ever, mate.”

Harry took seat in the chair Hermione had occupied just a moment before, a blue mug of tea in
his hands. “No, I wasn't.” He didn't have to elaborate further, and there wasn't any
more to ask, really. They both knew. “I am now, though. Nothing to worry about, mate.”

Ron held the look of his best friend with a question in his eyes, but none of them spoke a word.
Harry was just smiling. *Truly* smiling. *W**hat* had happened last night? Surely
Hermione and he didn't…? No, it couldn't be. If so, Hermione would have looked a little
happier, wouldn't she? Definitely not like crap. She would have worn the same stupid smile
Harry was wearing now.

“Hermione looked horrible this morning,” he risked. “She looked like she didn't get a wink
of sleep last night.”

That simple comment was enough to wipe the smile off his best friend's face, being replaced
by concern all over his features.

“But is she ok? Did you ask her about it? What did she tell y-”

“Whoa, mate, breath in,” he said, interrupting the tirade. “Of course I asked, but you know how
she is. She just told me that yes, she was tired, but she dismissed the topic saying she was
ok.”

Harry looked lost in thought for a moment, so he decided maybe this was the moment to ask
him.

“Mate, did something happened…I mean, last night she was anxious about your absence. You two
didn't have an argument, didn't you?”

“Of course not,” he said, and he seemed really surprised. “We just…” he trailed off, “She just
helped me to relax.”

He couldn't see his own face, but it had to be something, since Harry started to
stammer.

“Come on, Ron! Not like…not like *whatever* you're thinking!”

“Easy mate, I wasn't thinking of…well, you know.”

After that, silence was in order, he thought. So he decided it was time to just return to his
breakfast. A couple of minutes later, he saw Harry stand up, put both mugs in the washer and head
towards the stairs.

“I better make sure she's ok,” he simply said.

“Yeah, better you than me, I guess.”

He saw him nodding absently, and then running -literally- upstairs.

If only, he thought.

oOo

Harry realized that his hands were a bit wetter than they should be while walking towards
Hermione's bedroom.

He felt…anxious. Ron had told him that Hermione looked bad. He hadn't had the time to even
take a proper look at her before she had run upstairs, so he didn't know what could be wrong.
But it had to be something big. She hadn't greeted him good morning. She hadn't even looked
at him, now that he came to think. Merlin, she had left her mug *on the table*.

He needed to see what the matter was and make sure she was ok.

Finally, he found himself in front of her room. He lifted his fist to the door, but then stopped
in track when an unsettling thought came to his mind. What if -maybe this had something to do with
last night? Well, this is, *if* something had actually happened last night at all.

But it *had* happened. For him, at least, it had.

It had been something totally unexpected, a drastic change in everything he had thought right,
yet so easy to accept that it scared him. They had been there, in their old couch, with her hands
caressing his hair, trying to ease the bad mood he was in. She was talking about him and his
future, something so distant and blurry that he never had wanted to give too much thought. But
there she was, reassuringly talking about him and his wife's -Ginny, he had guessed- future.
About their home, their garden, their kids…and then *it* had happened.

His heart stopped at the sight of the woman coming out of that blessed kitchen. His *wife*,
who was smiling lovingly at him and his -*their*- children, wasn't the one he was sure he
was going to see. There was no trace of red in her hair, nor was it in their kids'. Instead,
brown hair in a ponytail and smiling brown eyes greeted him. Hermione had been so right in her
choice words; he couldn't believe *she* was the one who had said *yes* to him in his
mind.

The fact made his eyes shot open. He was totally shocked. It was Ginny the girl he was expecting
to see. It was Ginny the girl he wanted, the one supposed to be coming out that kitchen. His mind
was playing tricks on him. Maybe it was because of Hermione's voice, speaking so softly about
all those wonderful things. But at the same time…

He tried to picture the scene again, this time with more red in it. But he couldn't. He
found impossible to remove Hermione from the scene. And even if he could, he wouldn't. Because
he wanted…all of that. *Exactly* that. He wanted that little girl, with his eyes, but with
that beautiful face, and her slightly bushy brown hair, so like her mother.

He only wanted to see more and more about it, so he had asked Hermione to keep on talking about
that future, which somehow it had become *their**s* in his mind.

Now, in front of her wooden door, he started to worry. What if somehow she had known? She was
*Hermione*, after all. Surely she had seen through him, as she always could do. What if she
was upset? What if she had felt uncomfortable? He had barely started to understand what was
happening to him, but maybe *she* *knew*.

He raised his sweaty fist once more, and this time he didn't hesitate.

“Hermione, it's me, Harry,” he said softly. There was no sound. “Can I-?

The door opened before he could finish. She had changed and showered, her hair was wet and her
face a little red from the hot water. But Ron was right; she looked really tired. Lately, they all
had bags under their eyes from the stress and lack of sleep, but Hermione looked worst than
usually. He closed the door behind him.

“Hermione, are you ok?”

“Oh, I see. You've come in here to see for yourself if I look as unattractive as Ron claims
I do,” she said, half smiling.

He guessed she was trying to lighten the moment. It almost worked.

“Well, I didn't believe him at first, but…” he said with a green, but then became serious
again. “I...we are worried, Hermione. If there's something -”

“There's nothing to worry about, Harry,” she said, sitting on her bed. “I just didn't
sleep very well last night.”

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. *Maybe* *I was right*.

“I slept better that ever,” he said before he could think. “Because of you, I didn't have
nightmares. Only happy dreams. Thank you.”

As soon as he saw the suspicious glistening in Hermione's eyes, he crossed the distance
between them. In less than two steps, he was sitting right next to her.

“That's why I just need to know if there's something troubling you, Hermione,” he said,
taking her hands in his. “If there's something I can do.”

He felt his face grow hotter. Hermione didn't know, but the truth was that she had spent all
night in his dreams, with *him*, doing all sorts of simple and amazing things he never
imagined doing with his best friend before: reading to their little boy in his bed, brushing their
beautiful daughter's hair, asking him for his day at work while preparing the last papers for
her own, caressing his hair while they were comfortably cuddled in their bed…

“There's nothing you can do,” she whispered so softly that he almost missed it. “But thanks
for the offer,” she added, with a light smile. “I know you'd do anything for me. For us.”

“Yes. Yes, I would,” he said, more seriously than he had intender, and unable to articulate
anything else.

So, instead of wasting time trying to find the right words, he chose to act on the one thing
that never let him down: instinct. He pulled her to him, in a similar embrace that the one they had
shared the previous night. And all of a sudden, he didn't care if she *knew*. He just
wanted to comfort her. He just wanted those bags wiped off her beautiful face. He just wanted… Oh,
Merlin -he just wanted *her*.

*I want her. I want Hermione.*

The thought alone was scary. So, that he didn't even want to start thinking about the
implications.

Ginny still loved him. Ron…maybe Ron still loved her. What was he thinking? He didn't even
know what was that…that thing he was feeling. Maybe it was only the after effects of their talk. He
liked Ginny, he knew he did. Perhaps everything would go back to normal in a couple of awkward
days, he tried to reason. But right then, right there, he couldn't remember a single time he
had felt like that with Ginny. The feeling of being in someone's arms and find... peace.
Rightness.

*Love*?

He felt her loosening her grip on him and, reluctantly, he let her go. She was smiling at
him.

“I'm so glad you had sweet dreams, Harry,” she said. “But one day, everything, *every*
wonderful thing you saw in your dreams, will come true.”

She never understood the look she saw on Harry Potter's face that morning, in her room at
Grimmauld Place.

“Promise?”

He would never forget the morning Hermione Granger, sitting on her bed at Grimmauld Place,
promised him a future.

“Promise.”

oOo

**Again, I apologize for the possible mistakes. I hope I didn't make your corneas bleed!
Lol..**



3. untitled
-----------

**Just a horrible, horrible author's note, sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!**
**^_^****u**

**I've been trying to re-upload the second chapter for like…let me check…, ah, yes, the**
**WHOLE** **afternoon, to spare you the Author's Note alert and so you didn't think it
was another chappie.** **With** **no** **success** **at all****, as you can
see.**

**But I** **just forgot to ask for your opinion after the last chapter of** **It Could
Happen****, and I didn't want to forget it** **again****.**

**The next** **scene** **-that will be another one** **or two-****shot most
probably, so stay tuned, lol****…****-** **well, I've been having thoughts about the
points of view. I've used second** **and third person;** **I've been inside Harry,
Hermione and Ron…** **can** **you think of any other point of v****iew that you'd like
to see? I already have one in mind, but** **just wanted to know about** **you guys**
**thoughts.**

**Once a****gain, thanks for reading!**

**MaDeLaiNe**