Ch 89 and love

Harry scrubbed at his face for a moment. He could feel a slow ache crawling across his joints; an ache which twitched across his back and settled deep into his legs. Even at fourteen, he had old pains that reminded him of old injuries. His back, knees and right arm had always ached during the Scottish winters; especially this time of year as evening turned into night.

He had gone to Madam Pomfrey once, and only once, to complain about the pains and aches. To his surprise, she had almost laughed him out of the hospital wing, stating that he was too young to have arthritis. At the time, he had not known what arthritis was; he had just known that winter made him hurt. It still did.

So, he knew better than to go ask for something for his pain. Instead, he sat on the cold floor, nestled into one of the many alcoves found throughout the castle. This particular one just down the hall from the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. The stone wall at his back felt oddly safe; there was a comfort in the knowledge that nothing, nor no one, could sneak up behind him. Having his back covered was a one of those hard lessons that he had learned from living so long with Dudley. He glanced left and right, ensuring that there was not any other students close by.

He was eminently grateful that there was not.

For a long moment, he thought that feeling over. He considered that gratefulness, and realized that he hated his fellow students. They were fickle and fair-weather; willing to believe the latest lies about him for good or ill; and unwilling to step up and think for themselves. And the thoughts of other students, made him realize, with an odd sense of perverse satisfaction, that none of his fellow students had had the "Potter Stinks" badges on in the past few weeks; not since the day after the first task. Apparently, out-flying a dragon meant that he no longer stunk.

And of course, that reminded him that where the dragon's spiked tail had caught him was now just another slow ache that deepened as November lost ground to December.

The clock tower chimed; a clear, and surprising deep, bell which reverberated across the stones, and for a brief moment seemed to fill the castle with its clear note; a clarion call to action and attention. A sound that indicated the beginning and ending of classes and lunches. At this particular hour, It was a sound that could only mean one thing: curfew.

He grimaced and glanced down the hallway to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He had no urge to go into the common room. Had not felt the urge to spend time with his house-mates since his name had came out of the goblet in fact.

This had been true when they thought him a cheat. It had been true, when they all wanted to talk to him for doing so spectacularly in the first task. Harry was almost scared what the girls would do now that it was known they were having a ball this Christmas.

There was no one in the castle that he really, truly trusted at this moment in time. They had all betrayed him in some fashion or shape. Ron with his idiocy until Harry won the task. Hermione last year with his broom. McGonnagall's utter lack of presence as a Head of House. Then there was Dumbledore's grand design to utilize Harry as bait to flush out whoever had gotten it into their head's to attempt to kill him this year.

He closed his eyes, as he realized that the list of people that he wanted to trust, had only four names; and he did want to trust people. He wanted his friends to be there for him. But, in this here and now, half-hidden in an alcove, hiding away after curfew, he firmly felt that there was no one that he really trusted within the castle.

Of course, as that thought finished percolating through his mind, he realized that the Fat Lady's portrait was closing, and he could hear the soft rustle of clothing. Someone had left the common room.

And that someone was standing right in front of him.

He blinked with the realization that she was standing there. Numbly, he stared at her well-formed legs that seemed to be encased in the denim of her jeans; watched as her the trainer on her right foot tapped slightly. Jeans and trainers which marked her as a muggle-born, or at least muggle-raised.

Slowly, almost against his will, his eyes, traveled up those legs, and across her body, until he found himself staring into the worried, brown eyes of his erstwhile best friend. One of those he should trust, but also one of those he found it hard to do so. But, that's not to say that seeing her legs in those jeans was not almost awe-inspiringly lust-worthy. Some deep part of him just knew that he'd be seeing those legs in those jeans again tonight. A thought made infinitely worse as he wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like, to take them off her.

Quickly, he shoved those thoughts from his head. After all, she had a wild ability to seem to know what he was thinking with just a quick glance; and she was a scarily brilliant witch. Obscenely lovely, especially in those jeans, but quite scary just the same.

She gave him this small little smile that made his chest flinch; then in a motion that made him wonder just how much cat she still had in her after her polyjuice mishap in their second year, she shifted her position until she was nestled into the alcove right next to him. In fact, had she been any closer, it would probably be considered her sitting on his lap. The places where her body was pressed up against his were an unexpected, but somehow delightful, warmth.

Her hand reached out and grabbed his, and she threaded her fingers with his; one hand of hers clasping his. Harry looked at this, their joined hairs, resting against her knee, while her free hand traced patterns onto the back of his. She seemed to melt even closer to him, as she titled her head, until it rested against his shoulder. A smell of flowers and the vanilla of old books seemed to fill the air. It was a smell that Harry realized he quite enjoyed.

The silence around them deepened, taking on a hushed, reverent feel, as if they were hiding in the sanctuary of a church. Harry fought the urge to fidget; this was not something he wanted to end and somehow he just instinctively knew that fidgeting would cause it too. This was delightfully comfortable for him; almost sinfully so. Even the ache in his bones seemed to recede in the sheer warmth of her presence.

Time passed. It could have been five minutes or it could have been days. Harry would have had no way to tell; nor desire to. He was content and for the first time that he could ever remember, was at peace. This was something new and wonderful, and he knew that it had to do with the person that was pressed up against him. She brought this with her. She created it for him. It was an oddly disquieting thought.

There was a soft, almost ethereal sigh, and then she spoke. Her voice was an almost whisper, barely louder than her sigh, as if she felt the reverent quality of the silence around them and she was just as uneasy about breaking it as he.

"I'm here for you Harry, however you need me."

Those were the words she spoke. Technically, they were the words he heard; the words that entered his ears. But he heard something different; the words seemed to enter into his head, and in some mystical fashion reassembled themselves into different meanings in his head and heart.

She had said "I'm here for you Harry, however you need me." but what he understood was "I'll be with you, however you want."

He thought hard on that. Both on what he heard physically, as well as what he heard with his heart.

He wanted both of the sentiments.

With a start, Harry realized that he wanted her.

His mouth opened, and words he did not plan came out. His voice was low and soft; that same almost whisper which she had used. "I think my uncle has broken me. I don't..."

The whisper trailed off into the silence. He knew he had not planned to say that; that he had not expected to say it. He knew that he had more to say; but no idea what he wanted to say. No idea what he needed to say.

He knew that she knew all this as well. After all, she always seemed to just know.

She squeezed his hand, almost painfully. The silence stretched continued to stretch out between them.

It grew from a heartbeat of that silence into something else. Something stronger.

Something that Harry had to break.

"There's been so many times," Harry said, finally drawing the bravery, the strength, to break that silence. Even if he spoke in that same whisper. Almost afraid that saying these things louder could summon his uncle. "That I just wanted someone, anyone, to care. To let me know that they think I'm important. That I'm not just the Freak there to be beaten and then tossed into the cupboard like some broken, worn out toy."

Another heartbeat of silence, and then he did something he had never done before.

He told her everything.

Every dirty, dark secret that was his existence at the Dursley's. All of the abuse and the deprecations and the abasements. Every time he had been beaten and abused. From the first time he had asked about his birthday, to the time when he had done better than Dudley on a test, and ending with his punishment for vanishing the glass at the zoo.

An act which sent his feelings, his sense of self, tumbling into a jumble of emotional firsts.

For the first time, he felt unyieldingly vulnerable.

For the first time, he actually felt scared.

For the first time, he felt unburdened.

Again, the silence fell between them. It felt like a gulf. Like infinity in the space of a breath.

Harry waited. There was a huge part of him that was expecting for Hermione to huff, and storm away. Maybe waiting for her to go tell a teacher that he was out after curfew. He expected this to happen. He expected her to not believe him, or to go telling everyone his deepest, darkest secrets. He did not know which would hurt him worse, her unbelief, or her sharing.

To his unending surprise, there was another comforting squeeze of his hand, and then she was speaking. Her voice, low and in that same soft whisper.

"What they did... it was not because of you Harry. It was not your fault. They're... Your relatives are evil, vile people. And you are important Harry. To so many people. To the Weasley's and to Sirius, and..."

There was another of those infinite heartbeats but this one felt different. Neither spoke. Nothing moved. The only sound the crackle of the nearby torches, and their breathing. Unlike before, this was a silence that was pregnant with possibilities. A silence which highlighted the fact that this was a point in time where reality could topple one way or another. A silence which proved the existence of a divergence between two paths. A fulcrum of existence that hinged upon the completion of a sentence.

Harry blinked with a sudden epiphany. He had suddenly remembered another time when he had felt that way; another moment of silence that could have lead to a different path, a different now than existed currently. That moment was back at the end of their first year, he had the feeling that she was going to say something else right before hugging him. Something more. And that that something would have changed things between them.

It was an expectation of possibilities.

That expectation had scared him when he was a first year.

As a fourth-year, he found that that fear was still there. But almost more so, was the fear that she would leave those words unspoken. That he would never know what she had meant to say; that he would never hear her say those words.

He remembered the comfort of her squeezing his hand when he was confiding in her, and so he returned the gesture. A gentle pressure on her hand.

Her head lifted from his, and he shifted his attention towards her face; a face which was almost impossibly close. Tear tracks from his story were etched down each side of her face, and her eyes were bloodshot from those tears. It was the first time that he could remember that anyone had cried for him.

In that moment, Harry realized that he had never really looked at his best friend. That he had never really seen her. If he had, it would not have been such a shock to him that she was as beautiful as she was.

He smiled at her.

Harry wanted her to speak aloud her thought. He needed her to say those final words. To give them the weight of reality. To breath life into that unspoken possibility with her very words.

Realization jolted through him at just how close she was, how close her face was; the fact that their faces were almost touching. Her eyes were impossibly large and bright; there was a sparkle in them despite their redness, despite the dried tears. Emotion flickered in their depths, drawing him in and losing him within them. His eyes flicked down momentarily, catching sight of her lips. Pink and full, and just there. Almost against his. Then his eyes were once more locked onto hers.

He could feel her breath against his face.

When she spoke, he could feel the words against his lips. They were so close, that each syllable spoken was an almost brush of the lips. "And... and you're so very, very important to me, Harry."

As soon as she finished speaking, their lips were touching. Emotion and possibility exploded within him with that kiss. It was an achingly sweet experience. Something he never wanted to end, but also wanted to experience time and again. For the first time, Harry felt connected to someone. For the first time, he felt as if he belonged.

And, as his ears heard the words, as his lips felt hers, all that his heart heard was twelve-year-old Hermione finish, "And love."