Comfort

~~*~~*~~*~~

London, England
Summer 2003

Hermione closed the book she was trying to read, returning her bookmark to the same page it had been to before. She knew it would be futile to try and concentrate on anything right now, so she pulled the sheets around her and turned off the light. Maybe time would pass faster if she slept.

Her hand wandered to Harry’s side of the bed, moving across the cold sheets in small circles. She sighed sadly, turning her back on the emptiness that surrounded her, but a moment later changed her mind and scooted over to his side, laying her head on his pillow and breathing in the lingering, sweet scent of him.

Although she spoke with Harry twice a day and knew he would be back in less than 24 hours, it was still awfully lonely to lay in bed without feeling his warm body against her back, to fall asleep without hearing the loving words he always breathed in her ear just before they drifted away…

The intensity of the hollow, empty feeling inside her was frightening, and she silently scolded herself for not coping better with spending a few nights alone.

Harry was away for a few days on his first Daily Prophet assignment out of England, covering an important Quidditch tournament in Italy; it wasn’t as if he was doing anything dangerous. As a matter of fact, she reminded herself, he was probably having fun as he worked, watching the games with Ron, who took full advantage of his friend’s press box tickets and tagged along with him.

She never thought she’d be the teary girlfriend who counted the hours, anxiously awaiting the return of her beloved … but Hermione couldn’t help it; she was troubled. Mainly by the fact that she’d been having terrible dreams about Harry. Dying.

She shut her eyes, attempting to shake off the powerful image of the dreams, but despite her best efforts to employ her common sense and logic, Hermione knew the disturbing visions would only go away once Harry is by her side.

“Hurry home, Harry,” she whispered into the darkness. “I miss you…”

~~*~~*~~*~~

A few hours later she was awoken by a gentle touch of a hand on her cheek.

 “You’re back,” she mumbled sleepily, her eyes fluttering open.” Sorry I took over your side of the bed...”

“I like having you on my side,” Harry whispered as he sat on the bed beside her, still stroking her face. “ I thought I’d surprise you and come home early.”

Hermione looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “Good thing I got rid of the other guy then.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, laughing quietly; leave it to Hermione to crack jokes at 2 in the morning.

“Come to bed,” she said softly, taking hold of his wrist and kissing his fingers one by one. “It’s lonely here without you.”

“No need to twist my arm,” he grinned, leaning in to touch his lips to hers. Hermione grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, causing the chaste, soft kiss to turn into a passionate clashing of hungry mouths, desperately longing to devour each other.

“I missed you,” Harry breathed when they parted. “I missed you so, my Hermione…”

“Show me,” she countered, not recognizing her squeaky voice. “I want to feel you, Harry… I need to feel you.”

~~*~~*~~*~~

Some time later, when their heart rates finally calmed down from the anaerobic pace they were subjected to, Harry gently rolled off her and settled on his back, keeping Hermione wrapped in his rms.

“Harry,” she mumbled from somewhere between his shoulder and his neck, “we need a shower…”

 “I think you’re right,” he answered, looking down at their sweat-covered bodies. “But it means you have to get off me first.”

They sluggishly disentangled their limbs and Hermione slid off the bed, her arm extended behind her. Harry rose with a quiet groan and took her hand, following her to the adjoining bathroom.

They quickly showered and climbed back into bed. Hermione settled against him, her hand stroking the warm skin of his chest underneath his t-shirt, and he softly pressed his lips to her forehead. She released a content sigh, then finally relaxed and closed her eyes.

Grateful to have Harry back in her arms, she hoped she would dream no more.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Harry lay awake, his fingers lazily trailing up and down Hermione’s arm. She seemed fast asleep, her head resting on the pillow next to him and her arm draped across his stomach.

He couldn’t help but notice there was something frantic about the way she needed him earlier; something different than their usual, enthusiastic lovemaking. The way she clutched him, dug her nails into his back, bit into his shoulder…as if she was branding him as her own.

 Or clinging to him desperately, because she was afraid of something.

Knowing his Hermione he immediately opted to go for the latter. In the two years they’d been together he never gave her any reason to be insecure or doubt his love for her.

He looked down at her, his eyes full of wonder. He was never quite able to fully believe that this sweet, brilliant witch was his. His Hermione. And she had chosen him… chosen to love him despite being wooed by some very eligible, desirable wizards…

~~*~~*~~*~~

“Desirable to whom, Harry?” she had asked him once, when they’d first started dating. “I am definitely not interested in any of them.”

“Why not?” He replied before he could stop himself, the insecurity that was an inseparable part of his childhood creeping out against his will.

“Because,” Hermione replied, stroking his cheek softly, “because none of them is you, Harry Potter. It’s you I want.”

“You do?” He half stated half questioned, his eyes not leaving hers.

Her face broke into a smile. She simply nodded, and before Harry could say anything she closed the distance between them and claimed his mouth in a fierce, breathtaking kiss. “Yes, I do,” she whispered when they parted, reaching up to cup his face in her hands.

~~*~~*~~*~~

He was suddenly brought back to the present when he felt Hermione make small noises in her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered quickly, indicating a very intense dream. He ran the back of his finger down her cheek, then pressed a soft kiss to her temple.  It seemed to relax her a bit, but he could still sense that her slumber was not as peaceful as it should be.

There had to be something that was bothering her; he was sure of it now. Harry could sense her pain as if it was his own.

Determined to talk to her about it in the morning, his thoughts drifted back to that night two years in the past, and his heart contracted almost painfully, the way it usually did when he replayed the memory of what happened next…

~~*~~*~~*~~

Hermione looked deep into his eyes and said the words clearly, her voice filled with that distinctive ‘Hermione determination’ he learned to appreciate over the years.

“I love you, Harry.”

He was taken aback; it was the first time in the 21 years he’d been walking this earth that anyone ever said these words…and it was Hermione who said them. Hermione, who was his friend for ten years and his lover for the past few weeks -- the most amazing weeks of his life. It was only right that she would be the one. Harry was feeling so much at that moment, he was robbed of any ability to communicate. His mouth was hanging open as he stared into her eyes, raising a shaky hand to caress her lovely face. His mind was whirling. She loved him! Hermione loved him…

He snapped back to the reality of the moment, suddenly aware of Hermione standing in front of him, a smile playing across her lips as she quietly waited for him to respond. There was no trace of insecurity in her face, only peaceful acceptance; she indicated no fear, no threat in handing her heart out to him.

Harry smiled back at her and his face lit up, reflecting the myriad of wonderful emotions that were bubbling in his heart, coursing through his body, his soul, his entire being…

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice slightly trembling from the intensity of the moment.

In an instant she was in his arms again and he crushed her against his body, devouring her sweet tasting mouth with hunger he never knew he would be able to feel. She pressed closer against him as her arms snaked around his neck to hold him firmly in place. Her tongue was teasing him, gliding along his, dancing across the smooth plains of his mouth, playfully darting in and out, challenging him to chase her…

Harry was a willing participant in her game of seduction, and soon they were both out of breath, their skin flushed and their bodies aching for completion. He gently laid Hermione on his bed and covered her body with his, blanketing her under his warmth. She reached up and pushed his hair away from his face so she could look into his eyes; they communicated best this way – with their eyes…

They made love that night, and the joining of their souls was finally celebrated by the joining of their bodies. They were getting to know each other all over again, bonding in the most intimate ways two separate beings possibly could. Harry knew he would never forget this night as long as he lived, no matter what fate had in store for him and what his future held. This was not his first sexual experience, but that night, the first time he held Hermione in his arms and made love to her, would forever be one of the most powerful, monumental events of his life.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Harry’s lips curled into a smile as he remembered what it felt like to wake up with her the next morning… how she softly kissed him awake, her hands caressing his body, instantly sparking his desire. They spent most of that glorious day in his bed, locked in each other’s arms, reliving the magic they had created together the night before.

The memories were wonderful, but Harry decided it was high time to get some rest. He reached over and gently pushed away a wisp of hair from Hermione’s face, then curled up against her and finally shut his eyes.

~~*~~*~~*~~

“I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do; he was dead when we found him.” The mediwizard slowly shook his head as he spoke, trying to convey his sympathy. He put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop her from reaching the body that lay sprawled on the ground behind him.

“NO! Let me see him!” She shoved the older wizard out of the way with surprising force and ran towards the covered body.

Hermione lifted the sheet with a shaking hand, stopping in mid motion when she uncovered his face. A pair of brilliant green eyes gaped at her, wide open in terror… and so completely cold.

He was dead.

There was no doubt about it.

She dropped the sheet as if scathed her, faintly aware of a far away voice screaming in horror…only to realize it was her own cry of anguish tearing through the night. She collapsed on top of him in a heap, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

“Harry…Harry,” she cried, over and over, as if saying his name could somehow raise him from the dead. “Harry…” her voice was barely above a whisper, “what have they done to you, my love? Why did they take you away from me? Why did they –“

“Hermione?” A tentative, questioning voice sounded from somewhere behind her. A painfully familiar voice... But that was impossible! Her mind was playing a cruel trick… He was right there, lying on the ground.

Strong arms held her around the waist and pulled her to her feet. “What’s going on?” the voice asked, turning her around.

“No…it can’t be,” she murmured when she was faced with the striking emerald eyes of her beloved. “But you’re dead...I saw it...I saw you!”

“Hermione, love, look at me,” he commanded gently, tilting her chin up with one finger. “I’m not dead…I’m right here, right beside you. See?” he took her hand in his and ran the backs of her fingers over his face, so she could feel that he was really there…alive.

“But what…how?” she asked with a shaking voice, her fingers still caressing his face.

“I got an urgent, anonymous owl with these coordinates, telling me to come here and take you home,” he answered, his brow frowning with worry. “I flew as fast as I could and found you here, crying on top of this boulder.”

“This boulder?” Hermione repeated quietly, not believing her ears. She slowly turned her head and looked behind her. The only thing she saw besides the black of the earth was a pale grey rock; there was no mediwizard, no white sheet -- and no body.>
 
“Come on,” he said softly. “I’ll take you home.”

Harry picked up his broomstick and helped her mount it, then climbed up behind her, pulling her back against his chest.

“I know this is not your favorite way to travel,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the patch of skin behind her ear, “so just relax, close your eyes, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

A short while later they landed on the front lawn of her parents’ suburban home. She climbed off the broom and looked and him, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“It was closer than returning to London,” he answered her unasked question. “Go on inside, love. I’m heading over to the shed to store my broom and I’ll be right in, okay? We can have some hot chocolate.” He stroked her cheek softly. “Go,” he repeated, then pressed his lips against hers in a quick, soft kiss. He turned and walked away before she could respond.>

Hermione walked towards the front door, her mind in turmoil. What in Merlin’s name was going on? Was she going insane? She knew what she saw! Harry. Dead. And then there he was, holding her in his arms, very much alive… she could still feel his presence surrounding her.

Just as she lifted her hand to knock on the door, it was opened by her mother. She looked exhausted, and there were deep lines of worry on her face, which Hermione didn’t remember ever seeing before. She threw herself into her mother’s arms, thankful for the familiar warmth and comfort.

“Hermione, honey, what were you doing outside this late at night?” she asked worriedly, pulling away and looking Hermione over.

“I…I’m not sure,” she stuttered. “But it doesn’t matter now. Harry will be in shortly and we could both use some hot choc—“

She stopped short when she saw the look of horror in the older woman’s eyes. “What did you just say?”

“I said that Harry will be here in a minute; he went to put his broom in the shed and… WHAT?” she almost screamed at her mother, who now covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Oh, honey…my poor, sweet Hermione! You’ve been having visions again, haven’t you?”

“What visions? What are you talking about?”

“Harry is dead, sweetheart…you know that. He died…”

“No, he’s not dead!” she cut off her mother’s words, shaking her head repeatedly. “I thought he was, but then he came to take me home…he held me and we flew here on his broomstick!” Her hand instinctively rose to her lips, trailing over the path of warmth left by Harry’s kiss.

“Hermione, listen to me!” Her mother grabbed her arm. “We all cried together at his funeral, remember? Harry is dead!”

She wiggled away. “NO!” she screamed. “ He’s around the back, storing his broom…he said he’d be here in a minute! He can’t be dead…Harry is here, do you understand? Harry is here!”

“Hermione!” her mother shouted, shaking her by the shoulders, “Hermione! Hermione…”

~~*~~*~~*~~

“‘Hermione…” a worried Harry was trying to wake her without startling her too much; so far it was not working.

He was awoken a few minutes earlier by the sound of his name being torn from Hermione’s lips in terrible anguish. Before he could figure out what was going on she was crying helplessly in her sleep, mumbling his name over and over.

A shudder ran through his body at the thought of the dream she was having; it must have been very intense, for Harry had never seen her react so strongly to any experience – dream or reality.

“Hermione,” he tried again, running his finger along her cheek and taking her hand in his, “you’re dreaming…wake up, love.”

This time her lashes slowly fluttered and she finally looked up at him, her eyes unfocused and shining with tears.

“You had a terrible dream,” he whispered, a bit concerned by the fact she was looking at him as if she wasn’t expecting to see him there. “But it’s over; you’re safe now.”

Hermione didn’t answer. She did not remove her hand from his, but she wasn’t responding to him either; her hand was clammy and limp, and her body was covered in cold sweat.

“Sweetheart, what was it that scared you so?” he asked quietly, the first signs of panic seeping into his voice despite his effort to conceal it.

Suddenly, Hermione’s body jerked upwards and she flung herself into his arms. The abrupt movement caught him by surprise, but Harry quickly regained his composure and held her against his chest, whispering soft words of endearment into her ear. He gently rocked her for a while, but her sobbing did not mellow down.

This was not good… she hadn’t said a word to him since he woke her, and she was showing no signs of calming down. He could feel the tense knots in her body as he ran his hands over her back, and he also noticed that the cotton tank top she wore was now soaked in perspiration. Harry felt her start to shiver and realized that even though it was summer, he had to put a dry shirt on her before she caught pneumonia. His first thought was to summon a clean t-shirt, but his wand wasn’t within reach; he needed to think of something else, fast.

“Dammit,” he silently cursed, "why did we have to put on this sleepwear?”

He untangled himself from Hermione and peeled the wet tank top off her, throwing it to the floor. Driven by instinct, he quickly shed his own t-shirt and slipped it over her head; she was still trembling all over and her body was maneuvered like a rag doll as he pulled her arms through the sleeves of the t-shirt.

Once finished, he leaned over and cradled her unresisting form, lifting her off the bed with one arm around her back, the other behind her knees. He gently laid her between his parted legs, her upper body resting against his torso, and she immediately curled into a fetal position. Harry once again followed his instincts and wrapped his arms and legs around her, desperately trying to absorb some of her pain, to ebb it away.

For what seemed like a significant piece of eternity he held her and stroked her hair as she cried against him; he was doing his best to ignore the aching part of his anatomy that naturally reacted to the way their bodies were intertwined.

At long, long last he felt some of the tension leave her body and her sobs quieted down, replaced by sharp intakes of breath.

“Harry?” She spoke her first word to him since waking, and her choked, shaky voice was music to his ears.

“ I’m here, my Hermione. I’m here.”

“Are you? Are you really here, Harry?

He didn’t expect her to say that.

“Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. She buried her face into his chest and he felt her tears flowing again.

“All right, time to try a different approach,” he said to himself, his mind working hard, trying to figure out how to best handle the situation.

“Would you like me to bring you some warm milk?” he offered soothingly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No, don’t go,” she cried out, grabbing him like a drowning woman. “Don’t go…”

“I won’t,” he promised, tightening his grip on her. “Do you… want to tell me about it?” he asked hesitantly.

“There isn’t much to tell…you were dead…and then you weren’t. Then my mother looked at me as if I just fell out of orbit and yelled that I couldn’t have just seen you, because you were dead.” She looked at him and he was shocked to see the helpless despair in her bloodshot eyes. “I feel like I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she added, sniffling quietly.

Harry felt an almost physical pain as he realized her reaction was triggered not by fear for her own safety, but because she dreamt that something terrible had happened to him. It was gut wrenching to know that his own existence had caused her such pain.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers, “It was only a dream, love. It was a terrifying, awful dream.” He brought her hand to his face -- and was caught by complete surprise when she stifled a cry and pulled her fingers away as if his skin was on fire.
                                                                                                                                               
“That’s exactly what you did,” she said, her voice broken. “In my dream, this is what you did…you brought my hand to your face to show me you were real. How do I know you’re real now?”

Harry was beyond words; what could he possibly say to that? So he did the only thing that could be done: he brought his mouth down to hers. Hard.

At first her lips were cold and unyielding, but soon enough she reciprocated with an almost violent force, desperate whimpers escaping her throat as she kissed him like it was the first – or last time. They only pulled away when Harry was afraid he was suffocating her.

“It was a dream, my Hermione,” he repeated. “But this is real,” he breathed before diving back for another hot, searing kiss.

“Harry…” she said his name in wonder, “I need to touch you…feel...life…alive.”

Although she did not form a coherent sentence Harry understood exactly what she wanted. He was amazed by the fact that she was suddenly transformed from being terrified and unresponsive to having complete and utter control. Sensing she needed that control to regain her sense of security, he quietly lay back and let her make love to him.

~~*~~*~~*~~

He had no idea how spot-on he had been. Hermione needed reassurance, and there was only one way she could have it; she had to convince herself that what she saw was no more than a dream. She needed to hear him moan, to hear him cry out her name in the throes of passion, feel his body come to life and soar to the heights of pleasure that only she could bring him to. This was not about power or domination, and she knew Harry understood that. She needed him now, and he let her know that he was hers for the taking.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Harry cast a quick glance at the bedside clock; it was time to get up soon, and they could both use a bit of a rest, but his first priority was to make sure Hermione was okay after everything that happened.

“What a night,” she commented as if reading his mind.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, kissing her lips.

“Yes, as matter of fact I am.”

“Glad to hear it,” he answered sleepily.

“We can still go back to sleep for another hour,” she offered, suddenly feeling guilty about Harry being so tired.

“I’d rather we talk a little, if you don’t mind,” he surprised her with his answer.

“Okay… Let’s talk.”

“This wasn’t the first time you’ve had such a dream, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly.

She lifted her head from the crook of his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “How did you know?”

“I felt it. Earlier, when we made love, I just… felt it.”

Hermione let out a long breath. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’ve seen you die in my dreams every single night since you left for Italy. Tonight was a special treat though… The grande-finale, I hope.”

Harry snorted at the attempt to make light of this situation, glad that her sense of humour was back. “Do you think you had any reason to be afraid for my life?” he finally asked after being lost in thought for a few moments.

“I think I understand something now,” she answered pensively. “I wasn’t really scared that something would happen to you now. This fear is an inseparable but carefully hidden part of our lives, because there is never any certainty that our loved ones would not be harmed in some way. I guess my personal nightmare, so to speak, was channeled into these dreams, bringing to life the one thing I am most terrified of.”

“Are you saying that we are doomed to always be afraid for our loved ones, but not realize we are afraid until something scares us half to death?”

“Harry…” she punched his shoulder playfully, “you make it sound so…dark and scary. But basically – yes, that’s what I’m saying. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Well,” he flashed his killer grin, “I guess it’s not so bad if it means you’ll always have me on your mind even when you’re not thinking of me…”

Hermione laughed and kissed him softly. “I think I like the idea of having you in my subconscious, Harry Potter.”

“It’s quite a nice place to be in,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn. “Maybe we should go back to sleep after all…”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Maybe we should.”

The only answer she received was a light snore.

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” she whispered before she closed her eyes and joined him.

FIN
~~*~~*~~*~~

Dedicated to our dearest friends and family, who all know what it’s like to live with the palpable threat -- and the harsh reality of death and destruction. This is our way to enjoy the little things in life.