To Find a Dream

Bingblot

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 20/12/2006
Last Updated: 20/12/2006
Status: completed

What began as comfort turns into something more for both Harry and Hermione. A short one-shot.

Chapters

1. To Find a Dream

1. To Find a Dream

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JKR, etc.

Author’s Note: A very short one-shot, originally intended to be just a drabble that kept on getting longer and longer… (Written as part of a series of drabbles I’ve been writing; to read the other drabbles, go to my ficlet journal at http://avonlea-dreamer.livejournal.com.)

For my very dear Amethyst. Based on her prompt of a drabble based on the lyrics, “How dare you say it’s nothing to me; baby, you’re the only light I ever saw” from the John Mayer song.

To Find a Dream

It had only been a dream, a fantasy perhaps, a glimpse of what she wanted but would never have. It had been a taste of happiness but after all, she should have known it couldn’t last. She should have known it didn’t mean anything after all.

She should have known. It had only been comfort and circumstance and situation and a lack of any other options. Nothing more.

She should have known she wasn’t that type of girl, to be so lucky, to have a boy like Harry think of her as anything other than a good friend. She should have known she could never have kept him forever. She should have known she could never compete with Ginny.

She should have known…

And after all, what had it been but a few kisses, a few touches, always in the darkness of night, always in the aftermath of some nightmare, always when he was in need of some comfort… It had only been a few kisses of comfort, a few small, tentative caresses. But there had been no words, no declarations, no promises. It had never even been mentioned in the light of day; during the day it had seemed as if nothing had ever changed between them. In the common light of common day, it had seemed as if she might have dreamed it all, that Harry had never really kissed her, his lips soft and yet firm, sometimes gently and sometimes with more urgency. It had seemed as if she had never known the thrill and the gentleness and, yes, the awkwardness, of his touch on her skin, although he’d always drawn back before the caresses became too bold or too intimate. It had seemed as if she had never known the peace of falling asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, never known the happiness of waking up to see him sleeping beside her.

It had started as comfort after one of his nightmares but somehow, she had begun to hope it had become more than that when it kept happening, when he came to her nearly every night in the dark. And in the darkness, she had been able to shrug off any embarrassment, any uncertainty, and had dared to kiss him back the way she’d always wanted to, to touch him the way she’d dreamed of, to show him through her actions at least some of the love she felt for him and hope he understood…

Those nights had taken on an almost dream-like quality because they were never spoken of during the day; during the day they were as they had always been, only the best of friends. But at night, at night, the boundaries of friendship were blurred and the other person became little more than a shadow in the dark, a warm body to turn to, a comforting haven from those fears and nightmares that only lurked in darkness. But only in the darkness…

And after all, she should have known it hadn’t really meant anything. That he had only been turning to her because she was the only one there he could turn to, that he had only been seeking comfort in the physical closeness that she could provide, a brief respite from his nightmares.

She should have known he wasn’t kissing her from any other, warmer, deeper feeling, should have known he didn’t really want her in that way, didn’t think of her in that way…

She should have known—and yet, she had allowed herself hope… she’d allowed herself to savor the happiness of finally being kissed by Harry, being caressed by Harry… She had allowed herself to dream of being loved by Harry…

She should have known…

And now she did.

She’d seen it in the sympathy and the concern in Harry’s eyes when they got to the Burrow, having been summoned because Charlie had been wounded in a skirmish some members of the Order had gotten into. (He wasn’t in any danger but it had been a serious enough injury that Ron had needed to come home and they had come with him.) She’d seen it in the way Ginny had run to Harry the moment he appeared and flung herself at him, burying her face in his chest while she cried. She’d seen it in the momentary lightening of Mrs. Weasley’s otherwise strained expression as she watched Harry and Ginny. But most of all, she had seen it in the way Harry had hugged Ginny, comforting her; she had seen it in the look in his eyes as if he’d suddenly understood something he hadn’t known before, seen it as he realized what she should have always known, that he still cared about Ginny…

And, like a coward, she had fled outside, to hide her foolish tears and the death of her equally foolish hopes.

She stiffened when she sensed his presence and felt him coming up behind her and then had to fight to hold back her tears when he draped her cloak over her shoulders, warming her more by the thoughtfulness of the gesture than anything else. It was so like him, to do something like that. Harry never said much about his feelings; that was his way, but what mattered were what he did—and his actions always revealed his heart, his kindness, his caring… all those things she loved about him—and all the reasons that he would probably never tell her if he cared for Ginny more, for fear of hurting her, but she couldn’t keep him like that, not for that reason.

And she knew what she needed to do.

She forced a small, valiant smile as she turned to him. “How is Ginny? Is she doing better now?”

Harry flushed slightly, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face. “Well, she stopped crying and let go of me,” he said. “I thought I should leave the Weasleys alone for a while.” He paused, shifting his weight slightly and running his hand through his hair in a characteristic gesture of unease, and then finally offered, “I’m sorry about Ginny.”

And she felt her heart break just a little more at his kindness and wished, almost desperately, that just once, Harry could be less nice, less good of a friend. But she smiled and shrugged, for his sake. “You don’t have to be sorry. I completely understand and you’ve always cared about Ginny, never stopped fancying her, I know. It’s fine and I’m glad for you and for her. She- she really cares about you, you know.”

Harry blinked, nonplussed and feeling a pang of doubt, and stared at Hermione, for the first time in a long time feeling completely unsure of what she was thinking and feeling. She couldn’t possibly be as indifferent, as purely friendly, as she sounded—could she? He would have sworn she felt more than that…

And then he saw it, the slight sheen of tears in her eyes, one tear that lingered on her lashes, and recognized the brittleness of her smile.

She wasn’t indifferent; she was being what she assumed she was, just his best friend. She was being, he thought with an odd combination of sympathy and hurt and annoyance and even a little anger, a noble idiot.

How could she think that? How could she think so little of herself, so little of him, even? How could she not know all that she was to him, all that she meant to him?

He had come to her for comfort; he had found that she kept the fears and the nightmares at bay. He had returned to her nearly every night, stayed with her, for more than that.

The first kiss had been an impulse, an accident. It was supposed to be an aberration. But then he found he couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t stay away from the haven he found in her, the comfort he received from her, not through any words (they hardly spoke at all after the first few nights) but from her mere presence. He couldn’t resist the warmth of her, the scent of her, the softness of her lips, the taste of her… But most of all, he found he couldn’t resist the caring he could sense in her touch along with the beginnings of passion—and he couldn’t resist or deny the jumble of confused, not-quite-articulated feelings he felt for her…

And so it went on, him slipping into her bedroom nearly every night, seeking—and finding—peace, and something deeper than that, with her…

And now, to find she could even imagine these past weeks could mean so little to him… She really didn’t understand just how precious, how necessary, she was. She was the stable center on which his life rested and around which all the chaos and darkness of his life otherwise flowed. Without her, he knew, he would be lost, adrift…

“How can you say that? How can you think that these past few weeks matter so little to me, that you matter so little to me?” He paused, taking in the depths of the vulnerability in her eyes and what little anger he’d felt died completely. His tone softened and he stepped closer to her, holding her gaze with his own, and suddenly all the vague emotions that had been building inside him these past few weeks when he was with her coalesced into certainty and spilled from him in a torrent of words. He needed her to understand what he’d only just now realized to the full himself, what he’d realized the moment Ginny had thrown herself at him and he’d hugged her automatically only to realize that hugging Ginny, holding her, simply felt- wrong. She was the wrong shape, the wrong scent, the wrong height—just the wrong girl…

“Hermione, don’t you know just what you are to me, just how much I need you? These past few weeks—and even before that too—don’t you know that I would have given up if it hadn’t been for you?” He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek in a gesture that could only be called a caress.

It was the first time he had ever touched her in a non-platonic way during the day. The significance of it rocked her to the soul. There was no possibility of anonymity now, no sheltering darkness to blur the lines. There was only him and only her, friends and more than just friends… She could see herself reflected in his eyes and knew, for the first time, that he was truly seeing her, that there was no one else, no other motivation in his thoughts when he was with her.

“You’re not just my friend or even my comfort from nightmares; you’re not just a girl I snog because there’s no one else. You’re my haven, my hope, my light in the darkness—the only light in the darkness right now. I- I need you.” He ended in little more than a whisper, his tone intense.

Hermione blinked back her tears at hearing his words that were more than she’d ever hoped to hear but quelled every doubt she had ever had.

She had no words to tell him just what his words meant to her, that if she was his haven, then he was her strength, that he was her hope too… She could only meet his eyes and breathe the one word that could somehow summarize it all. “Harry…” And her tone made his name an endearment, a caress, even a declaration of all her feelings.

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, and she saw the clear light in his eyes, the warmth in them, a moment before her eyes fluttered closed just before his lips touched hers.

He kissed her gently, his lips only brushing hers, kissed her as if it were the first time—and in a way, it was. It was their first kiss in daylight, their first kiss when they both knew just what it all meant to the other… The first kiss of complete honesty with nothing held back, nothing obscured, nothing misunderstood.

It was a kiss that held a promise for the future, for always…

I’ll never leave you, always be here for you…

I’ll always love you, with every breath I take…

~The End~