Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: This is the chapter where I'm mean-both because of what happens in it and because it's a short one. But to make up for it, the next chapter will be longer and happier (and smuttier, too.) In the meantime, consider yourselves warned: angst ahead!
Just One Night
Chapter 2
Harry's first thought was that he had had the most wonderful dream.
Hermione had been there and she'd been kissing him and caressing him and encouraging him with her touch and her sounds, and he'd lost himself in the softness of her…
He felt a touch of cold air against the bare skin of his shoulder and abruptly realized that he was no longer wearing a shirt-or anything else for that matter.
It hadn't been a dream.
That realization broke in on him and he opened his eyes, expecting-and hoping-to see Hermione.
She wasn't there.
But it had happened; it must have happened! He could smell the faint scent of her hair lingering on his pillow; he remembered it… He remembered waking up from a nightmare to find her, remembered the incredible, indescribable comfort of her warmth and her presence and her caring. He remembered her first light, tentative kiss-and his reaction to it-remembered the heat of her and the softness of her and the passion of her… He remembered never wanting to let her go again, remembered the utter rightness of holding her… He remembered the certainty of knowing what he'd suspected for a while now, that whatever Ginny had once meant to him, Hermione meant more…
He hastily reached for his glasses, hoping he might have missed something.
There was a piece of parchment which had been left underneath his glasses and he snatched it up.
There were only three words written on it, in Hermione's familiar handwriting when she was in a rush.
It's okay, Harry.
He stared blankly at the parchment for a moment, as if half-expecting more words to appear but none did.
It's okay, Harry.
What was okay?
There was absolutely nothing okay about this. Last night had been incredible-possibly the best night of his life, amazingly, given that it had started out as one of the worst. She had been incredible, wonderful, and… and just hot. So hot he felt a streak of heat go through his body at the memory-God, he'd wanted her… Still wanted her.
And this morning-where had she gone? Had he-had he hurt her that much? He flinched at the thought. He knew it had hurt but then she'd kissed him again and he'd forgotten to wait and… and he remembered her soft touches, the soft gasps and moans she made… Surely he couldn't have hurt her so much if she could respond to him like that…
He needed to see her.
Harry threw aside his blanket and grabbed some clothes, hastily pulling them on rather haphazardly.
He pivoted to grab the piece of parchment and stopped cold, staring at his sheet, revealed now that his blanket had been pushed aside.
That was-it was blood staining the sheet. Just a few drops but it was blood. Harry stared in horror, remembering her cry when he'd entered her. He'd made her bleed!
God, no wonder she'd run away…
He flinched away from the thought. It couldn't have hurt so badly; he remembered the way she'd kissed him and touched him afterwards and he knew she'd felt some pleasure then… She must have…
But then why had she run? Hermione was the least cowardly person he knew and he didn't even want to think about what she must be feeling to have left in the night like this.
Hermione knew it was cowardly of her but she couldn't help it. She couldn't face him so soon-not in his tent, not with him naked under his blanket. Just not-there.
She wished-irrationally-that she could just run away but she knew she couldn't. She couldn't just leave him for one thing and for another, it wasn't safe. She couldn't even wander very far, could only go to the edge of their little campground, the edge of where they'd set the wards up from.
She sensed his eyes on her before he spoke-was she always going to be so aware of him, she wondered painfully.
"Hermione."
She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to strengthen herself and then turned to look at him.
Or tried to look at him. She barely managed a glance at his face before her gaze faltered and fell to the ground as a hot blush scorched her cheeks. She felt as if her entire body was blushing.
He came nearer and she tried desperately to sound normal but was quite unhappily certain that she failed. "Morning, Harry."
He stopped where she could see his scuffed trainers in front of her. "Hermione-I- er-are you okay?"
The soft concern in his voice tore at her. "I'm fine."
He hesitated and then asked, "Did I-did I hurt you?"
The guilt and remorse in his voice pushed her into momentary forgetfulness of her own feelings and her eyes flashed up to meet his for the first time, only managing it for a fleeting second. "No!" she burst out, with so much certainty and feeling he couldn't really doubt it.
He knew a wave of relief.
"I saw some blood," he explained awkwardly-more for lack of anything else to say than because he felt he needed to tell her why he'd asked.
She blushed again, even hotter this time, although a minute ago, she wouldn't have thought that was possible. "That's supposed to happen," she managed in little more than a whisper, her gaze still fixed on his shoes.
"Oh." Harry wished desperately that she would look at him but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground as steadfastly as if she thought she would suddenly be able to see through it to the other side of the earth, if she just stared long and hard enough.
"Hermione, about last night, I…" Harry began uncertainly and then stopped, not knowing what he could say, not knowing how to tell her what it had meant to him.
Hermione rushed into the silence with a desperation born of panic, the words coming quickly, not the calm, reasoned words she'd mentally composed-those had fled her mind promptly-but anything that came to mind, anything to keep him from suspecting all that the last night had meant to her. "Don't worry about it, Harry. It was nothing. You needed comfort and I comforted you. That's what best friends do, right? It was a one-time, best friend thing, when you needed someone. Really, Harry, it's okay. It was just one night and-and we're best friends and last night, you just needed someone and I was there. That was all it was." She tried, at first, to meet his eyes but her gaze got caught by his lips and she suddenly remembered him kissing her breast-she blushed again-hastily lowering her eyes but they only fell on his hands-his hands that had touched her so gently and then with such passion, his hands that had caressed her, his hands that had made her feel so much and so good… She shut her eyes and only opened them to stare blindly down at the dirt between her feet.
Harry's lips parted to tell her that the last night had not been 'nothing' to him, had been anything but 'nothing'-had been everything-that he didn't want it to only be one night… But her flood of words, the desperate certainty in them, silenced him better than anything else could have. Words, phrases, echoed in his mind, slicing at him with surgical precision. Nothing… one-time, best friend thing… just one night… all it was… Nothing, nothing, nothing…
He tried, desperately, one last time to stop her words, to tell her how he felt, the words seeming compelled from him almost against his will-when his rational brain was screaming at him to leave, that it was clearly hopeless. "But, Hermione, I--" he lifted one hand to touch her chin, wanting to see her eyes-
She flinched away from his hand as if she thought he meant to strike her.
His hand dropped to his side, stark waves of hurt radiating through him-if she had stabbed him through the heart, it might have hurt less, he thought numbly.
It really was hopeless. She didn't care about him that way, didn't want him that way-that was more than clear. She had offered him comfort because he needed it-but that was all it had been. Just one night of comfort, one night between best friends…
He'd never dreamed that the thought of being best friends with Hermione would hurt so much.
He'd known-somewhere in his mind-that Hermione would do almost anything for him; it was just the kind of person she was, the depth of loyalty and friendship in her. She simply cared that much-about him, as a friend.
She just didn't care enough, not in the way he wanted her to.
She cared enough that, in the darkness of the night, on the impulse of a moment, she'd offered him all she could. She cared enough that she could find some pleasure with him-he wondered rather sickly why he couldn't find that thought at all comforting.
Who knew, really-wasn't it the boy who was supposed to say that the shag hadn't really meant anything beyond a shag?
And at any other time, with any other girl, he might have thought just that-he was honest enough to admit that-but not with Hermione.
He had needed comfort-but more than that, he'd needed her. He'd needed her strength and her faith and her loyalty, the comfort he could only find with her… She thought he'd just needed 'someone', as if anyone would have done, but that wasn't true. He'd needed her-who else did he trust enough to show all his fears to, to show his vulnerabilities to? There was no one else; there was only her…
But he was only her best friend, as he'd always been.
He fought back the wave of pain. He wouldn't have her feel bad for him or guilty because she didn't care about him in that way.
She was still studying the ground so he couldn't see her face and he knew a sharp pang of regret-not because he knew he could never kiss her again, never touch her again (he didn't dare allow himself to think like that or he would break down) but because he wished that he could have seen her last night. It was the only night he would ever have with her and he wished, now, that he could have seen her… He would have liked to see the look in her eyes after he kissed her, wanted to see what her body looked like… He was sure she would be lovely-she'd felt lovely-- he just wished he could have seen her to know it.
He stifled a sigh.
"I- I did need someone last night," he managed to say in something approaching his normal voice. "so… erm-thank you… I guess," he faltered awkwardly. "I-" he began and stopped. It meant a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. I wish you could care about me the way I care about you… A hundred different things crowded into his mind but he couldn't say any of them.
Hermione forced herself to look up at him, briefly, a rather wan smile trembling on her lips. "It's okay, Harry. I- I wanted to comfort you," she confessed, skirting as close to the truth as she dared.
He wasn't even looking at her, she realized, his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder, but at her softly-spoken words, his gaze darted to hers and then promptly retreated again. "Yeah," he managed to say. "I appreciate it. You- you're a good friend." The words sounded oddly stilted.
Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the ground, fighting back the tears that would well up in her eyes in spite of herself. He agreed so quickly, so easily, wasn't even trying to convince her that the last night might have meant something more than only comfort to him-of course, he wasn't. Why would he? He wasn't the sort of boy to lie about his feelings-and he didn't care about her like that…
If Hermione could have looked up at him at that moment, she might have seen the stark, raw hurt in his eyes-but she couldn't, she didn't.
And finally, after an endless moment of tense silence, he fled.
Leaving Hermione unhappily conscious that, for the first time ever, she felt relieved to have him go.
~To be continued…
A/N 2: I did warn you…
*ducks and hides*