As Long As He Needs Her

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 21/02/2007
Last Updated: 21/02/2007
Status: completed

Somehow, she knew he needed her... One-shot.

Chapters

1. As Long as He Needs Her

1. As Long as He Needs Her

Disclaimer: Created and owned by a person who is much richer than me. I only borrow.

Author’s Note: Written several months ago but I forgot to post it here until now.

As Long as He Needs Her

Hermione woke up suddenly, jerked back to full consciousness as if she had heard her name being called or heard some loud noise.

But there was nothing. Just the usual sounds of Grimmauld Place settling in the night, the quiet creaks of the old house and, if she listened very hard, the occasional murmur from one of the portraits mumbling.

What had woken her up then?

She frowned slightly, too alert now to even think of going back to sleep.

Something had woken her up—but she couldn’t hear anything now. It was bothering her now, some instinct she couldn’t identify or put a name to nagging at her consciousness, telling her she couldn’t just go back to sleep.

Silently, she slipped out of bed and out of the room she used while they stayed in Grimmauld Place, first stopping to check the front entrance and make sure it was secured—an unnecessary precaution, she knew, because she had put up a Security Ward so that an alarm would have gone off if anyone had entered the house through any means during the night.

All was quiet and still, though, as it should be at that hour of the night.

Hermione dared to relax ever so slightly.

And then suddenly, she knew what it was that had awoken her. She didn’t hear anything or see anything but somehow, in that moment, she knew why she had woken up, what had yanked her out of her sleep and into full awareness.

Harry needed her.

She didn’t stop to question how she knew that but hurried up the stairs towards the room which Harry slept in, next door to the room where Ron slept and down the hall from her own room.

She could hear the faint noise of Ron’s soft snoring as she passed his door and then she was slipping inside Harry’s room.

He did need her, she saw as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

He wasn’t making any sounds but his hands were clenched into fists and he’d obviously been tugging at his sheets and the blanket, which looked as if he’d engaged in a battle against them. But what got to her the most was the expression on his face. It was a look she didn’t think she’d ever seen before, so honest, so stark, in its agony, its fear. And for once, unconscious as he was, there was no attempt to hide it, no attempt to seem calmer, braver, than he actually felt. There were no disguises or pretenses anymore, in his sleep—there was only this abject suffering. And it hurt her to see it. Hurt with an almost physical pain, a cruel hand reaching in to squeeze her heart and twist it. It hurt her to see him like this. It hurt her to realize anew just how careful he usually was to appear more confident than he really was; he was so conscious of the fact that, right now, especially with Dumbledore gone, he was the main person people looked to for hope. And even though with her and Ron, he was comfortable enough to be himself, he still had it ingrained in him not to show fear or pain if at all possible, from years of living with the Dursleys when such a show of emotion would have gotten him nothing but humiliation and further pain.

“Oh, Harry…” she breathed softly and she was by his bed in an instant.

She didn’t know what kind of hell he was experiencing in his nightmare but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he needed her.

She took one of his clenched fists between both of her hands, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“It’s okay, Harry. Everything’s alright. I’m here and I won’t leave you. I love you.”

She stopped, having surprised herself with those words. She hadn’t thought them, hadn’t stopped to put a name to all the emotions she felt for Harry, not in so many words, at least. She knew she cared about him—cared about him intensely—she knew she worried about him almost constantly, knew she enjoyed his company. She trusted him more than anyone else and always felt comfortable, safe, around him. Unlike with Ron, much as she liked him and valued his friendship. With Ron, she always felt a little tense, a little uneasy, just waiting for one of his usual careless or deliberate remarks that never failed to hurt her, his usually biting comments that told her just how little Ron understood her. Oh she knew, now, that most of the time Ron didn’t mean to hurt her but that didn’t keep his words from wounding her, from striking at that tiny spot of vulnerability she was so careful to conceal. With Harry, there was none of that tension or uneasiness; there was only comfort, warmth. Harry could, and did, usually understand her and that understanding was immensely precious to her, accustomed as she’d become to always feeling a little different, like something of an outsider.

With all that, she’d never stopped to put into words all she felt for Harry. He was her best friend and that was all she needed to know. It was enough to ensure she wouldn’t let him go through this hunt for the horcruxes alone, enough to ensure that she wasn’t about to let him face any danger alone.

Now, with the words she’d blurted out thoughtlessly lingering in her mind, she knew exactly what she felt for Harry. She loved him. Loved him with an intensity and an earnestness she hadn’t quite realized she possessed, loved him with a single-mindedness that made all other considerations seem trivial when compared to what he needed…

And the realization somehow brought no surprise, only acceptance. After all, she thought, she had been learning to love him since their first year and now, it was only natural that she should…

She bent and brushed her lips against his cheek and his forehead and then, after a brief moment of hesitation, against his lips as well. She wondered if he would wake up but though he stirred slightly, he slept on.

His hands were still clenched but as she watched, murmuring soothing words, not even conscious of exactly what she was saying, slowly, his hands unclenched and his expression cleared.

She felt a wave of relief to see that he was now sleeping soundly and peacefully, no longer plagued by whatever nightmares he had been having.

She supposed she should go, back to her own bed, but instead she lingered, her gaze wandering over his familiar features, studying him with a freedom that would be impossible if he were awake.

He looked—older. Older than his 17 years. She wasn’t sure when it had happened but some time in the past few months, his face had changed, gotten more chiseled, mature. He had lost almost entirely the boyish look and the impression of age was only exacerbated during the days with the shadows that tended to linger in his eyes these days. Now, in sleep, the shadows were gone for the most part, and yet he still did not look completely carefree and relaxed.

She sighed softly, aware of a swell of tenderness inside her, and then was about to stand up when Harry shifted again in his sleep, making an almost restless motion and one of his hands closed around hers, gripping it almost as if it were some sort of talisman against further nightmares, as if, even unconsciously, he derived some comfort from holding on to her.

And so she stayed, there for him, as always, in case he needed her…

~*~

Harry awoke to an unusual feeling of being well-rested.

He remembered that he’d had a nightmare, a terrible one, of being restrained and unable to move, only able to watch in helpless agony as Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on Ron and Hermione. He could only watch as they screamed, could only watch as reluctant tears streaked down Hermione’s cheeks, forced from her despite her visible unwillingness to give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing the intensity of pain she was suffering… He could only watch and wish with a desperation bordering on madness that he could take the suffering for them, for her…

And then, amazingly, it had been over. He had been freed somehow from whatever had been restraining him and on seeing it, Voldemort had swiftly escaped, disappearing to Merlin-only-knew-where. And he’d been able to fall on his knees by Ron and Hermione to be reassured by Ron’s feeble attempt at a joke and the look in Hermione’s eyes and her soft, “It’s okay, Harry. Everything’s alright…”

And, as always, he’d believed her implicitly and relaxed…

He’d slept dreamlessly after that, he knew, and could only wonder at how it had happened.

And then he realized that his hand was gripping something like a life-line and he glanced down to see Hermione.

His hand was holding one of hers and her head was pillowed on his bed by their joined hands, as she was sitting on the floor by his bed.

“Hermione!”

Her eyes opened at his first quiet exclamation of surprise.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” he asked softly, brushing aside her unnecessary apology. And then he stiffened as he realized what it must have been. “Did I scream or something during the night and wake you up?” He usually tried to keep quiet, even in sleep, he knew, always subconsciously aware on some level that he shouldn’t disturb Ron and Hermione, but last night’s dream had been so vivid, so real, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had cried out.

“No, you didn’t cry out. I just-” Hermione began and then hesitated briefly, before she looked up and met his eyes honestly. “I knew you needed me,” she finished simply, her voice quiet.

I knew you needed me.

It was such a simple statement, the simplest statement, but something about the very simplicity—and the honesty—of it made him catch his breath, the words resonating in his mind.

And maybe it was the combination of the words along with the utter steadfastness in her gaze, or the odd intimacy of waking up to see Hermione that pushed past his usual inhibitions, but whatever it was, the words lingered in his mind, reached to his heart and to his very soul, it almost seemed.

It was, he thought, so profoundly true… He had needed her, this past night because of his nightmare but on a more fundamental level than that, he simply needed her…

“I did,” he found himself confessing. “I do need you.”

It was the sort of emotional admission he would not normally make, and certainly never to anyone else besides someone he trusted as much as he trusted Hermione; even to her, he would normally not have said such a candidly emotional thing. But somehow, this morning, knowing that she had spent part of the night in his room, getting an uneasy sleep sitting by his bed, for his sake, and just the simple intimacy of waking up to see her, stripped away any barriers between them and left only honesty. Honesty and the undeniable truth of just how deep Hermione’s caring went—and how very thankful he was for her…

Her expression softened and the very slightest of smiles touched her lips. “As long as you need me,” was all she said simply.

And left unsaid, although he knew that she knew he understood, the unspoken promise: I’ll be here for you—as long as you need me…

He was suddenly filled with a wave of gratitude and affection—and more, some other emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to—and he bent forward and did something he had never done before and brushed his lips against her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She started back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining—and he was suddenly struck with the oddly inappropriate thought of just how pretty Hermione was…

And before he could think better of it—before he even knew what he was going to do—he bent forward again and kissed her, his lips briefly touching hers.

He kissed her—and even though it was just barely more than a fleeting brush of his lips and even though he was almost too surprised at his kissing her in the first place to really enjoy it—he did realize it somehow felt- right…

That was the only word for it. It felt right…

He drew back to look at her, realizing belatedly that one of his hands had come up to touch and tangle in her hair, seeing the brightness of her eyes and her smile that told him better than any words could that she had liked the kiss too…

She had liked the kiss too… The significance of that thought, rather elementary as it sounded, rocked him, jolted him.

And all he could think was, again… He wanted to kiss her again, he wanted to see her smile at him like that again, he wanted to have her be the first thing he saw when he woke up again…

Again… and again… And forever, he thought, half-idly but with an undeniable sense of truth to the word…

He wanted to have her with him forever; he would need her forever…

Years of living with the Dursleys had left him without the words to express what he was feeling (he wasn’t even sure he could put a name to it) but he could still act to show her.

On that thought, he moved his hand to cup her cheek gently and then bent forward to kiss her again.

Her lips were soft and sweet and after a moment, he dared to push his tongue forward to taste her, capturing her lower lip between his and gently suckling… And he felt her pushing herself closer to him, sliding her hands into his hair and he leaned forward even further…

And then he lost his precarious balance and the kiss ended abruptly as he nearly fell out of his bed.

They blinked and stared at each other and then the tension dissipated as they both laughed softly and he couldn’t help but think that this was exactly what had been missing with Ginny: laughing with her. There hadn’t been much, if any, laughter when he and Ginny were together, or much conversation; it had always been about snogging, about touching, in those few, limited, stolen moments they’d had. And even though he’d never kissed Hermione before this morning or thought about kissing her, he knew that it would be different with her. It already was different with her. With Hermione, he could laugh and talk and feel comfortable…

“Well, that was well-done of me,” he found himself quipping and she laughed quietly before her eyes met his and the laughter faded from her eyes, the air between them suddenly thickening, becoming heavy with remembered taste and remembered pleasure and renewed anticipation…

And he shifted over in his bed, pushing the covers down in invitation. “Come up here,” he said simply and then colored hotly as he hastened to add, “Not for- that or- or anything- just because I, er, want to kiss you again.”

She blushed as she slid in beside him and he paused for a moment to marvel at how- natural- it felt to just slip his arm around her shoulders, how right it felt for her to lean her head against his shoulder… How good it felt just to be with her…

He turned his head to brush his lips against her cheek, her eyebrows, her nose, learning her familiar features with his lips, before he finally kissed her lips again.

It was a few moments before he settled back onto his pillow, relaxing.

“How did you know I needed you?” he finally broke the comfortable silence by asking curiously.

There was a moment of silence before she turned to look at him. “I don’t know. I just knew…”

With anyone else, it would have sounded crazy but somehow, with Hermione, because it was her, he didn’t question it. She’d always understood, always known what he was thinking—was it any wonder that she somehow also knew when he needed her?

He tightened his arm around her shoulders and relaxed again.

They couldn’t stay here for much longer; they still had research to do and practicing more spells and charms, but for just a few more moments, he decided, he would let himself simply be, let himself just savor the warmth and weight of Hermione against him, let himself just enjoy the comfort of her…

For just a few more minutes, he wouldn’t think about anything else… Just her and how he felt when he was with her…

And he thought, so this is peace…

~The End~