Love's Labours

Ships: Harry/Hermione, Harry/Cho Chang, Hermione/Viktor Krum, Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender Brown

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Chapter One ~ Memories

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"Hermione?" Harry called out, entering the Gryffindor common room after a long evening of practice. Yes, he wanted to win the Quidditch Cup again this year, but not at the expense of losing sleep. Even Oliver never forced practice this late. Harry glanced down at his watch. 11:30. Wonderful. If he was going to have any hope passing potions, he'd need the essay for Snape finished tonight. The only problem was that Harry hadn't even started it. So ... maybe he should have started on it sooner, rather than waiting until the last moment.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Walking into the Common Room, the entire place was, to Harry's disappointment, deserted. He had hoped Hermione would still be awake, working on the essay as well. Hermione would be more than happy to help, but it would ease Harry's own conscious if she were working. Then, he wouldn't seem like so much of a mooch.

Instead of heading up to the boy's dormitory to begin working, Harry curled up in one of the oversized chairs in the Common Room. Staring at the still glowing embers, his mind began to wander, thinking over the events of the past few years.

He remembered being on the train, alone and wondering what would come next. Of course, anything was better than staying with the Dursleys', but still, he was nervous. It's not every day one is revealed as a wizard. And then he met Ron ... and Hermione. The memory of Hermione that day was fresh in his memory. She burst into their compartment, her bushy hair taking up most of the space around her. Even in his sleepy stupor, he managed a laugh.

Somewhere in between sleep and awake, Harry could bask in the warmth of his memories. It was the only place he could be happy and safe. Safe from the ever reaching fingers of Voldemort. He was almost half way through his seventh year, and still no sign of the wizard. Harry knew he was up to something ... he just had to be. The question was ... when would he strike? The second question, was would he live through a second attack?

Harry didn't have a death wish; he just doubted that he'd survive this school year. By the end of it, one of them would be dead. That much was certain.

Sleep began to overtake the wizard as he closed his eyes briefly, promising himself that he would grab a ten minute nap before starting his potions essay. A nap would take the edge off of his exhaustion.

He soon fell into an even deeper sleep than he originally planned. Sleep was often a dangerous time for Harry, because he had no way to protect himself. Yes, they were merely dreams, but even dreams can seem like reality. Especially for one with such a violent and unhappy past as Harry. Dreams should be a way to escape reality, not replay the events of the past.

And such was the case tonight. In his dreams, Harry witnessed the events of his third year. The cold chill he felt when the Dementors were near. The sounds of his mother begging for mercy. Without knowing he did so, Harry cried out in his sleep. This wasn't the first time such dreams had occurred, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Harry?"

The voice drifted through Harry's subconscious as he pulled his legs up, closer to his chest. It had grown colder in the room. Someone must have let the fire die down, lower than usual.

"Harry?"

He turned his head away from the sound, even though he wasn't really sure where the voice was coming from. It just seemed to be hanging there, filling his thoughts.

"Harry?"

This time, the voice was accompanied by a light shaking sensation. What in the world was going on? The shaking grew stronger, and finally Harry opened an eye. It was only then, seeing the even darker common room, that he realized he had fallen asleep.

Harry brought his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them briefly to remove the look of sleep from his eyes. The sleeve of his robe moved slightly, revealing his watch. 12:30. He had fallen asleep for two hours, lost in the memories of the past. Harry uncurled his legs out from under him, deciding to go upstairs to work. The stuffed chairs in the Common Room were much too comfortable, especially in his tired state.

Briefly he wondered what had awoken him. Granted, this was Hogwarts after all, and the seemingly odd was not necessarily out of the ordinary. It wasn't until he stood that he saw another figure moving to the opposite staircase. Who else would be up at this hour of the night?

She, for it was obviously a she, was dressed in a long white nightgown that clung to her now shapely figure. From the bottom portion of her, Harry was puzzled as to who it could be. But seeing the shock of bushy brown hair, he felt a smile come to her face. Good ole Hermione.

Just looking at her made something stir deep within him. She had always been there for him ... as a friend. And, seeing her every day in her robes, he never saw the changes in her. Yes, they grew older ... that much was evident. But seeing her now, it was as if something went off in Harry's head. The feelings that he always knew were there, were suddenly pushed to the surface with an amazing force. His entire body went rigid and his mouth felt dry.

He saw her every day. Saw the changes in her as her body filled out. Saw as her hair lost most of its bushy quality, yet still was wild in its own neat way. But why tonight? Why did seeing her in a nightgown make him feel as if nothing else in the world mattered?

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry was pulled from his somewhat drunken stupor to see Hermione turning to look at him. When he didn't answer, she walked forward, her eyes filled with concern. Finally, Harry found his voice.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the lack of spit in his mouth.

"I heard you come in a while ago, and --"

"Mione!" Harry exclaimed, yet keeping his voice low to so not to awaken the other Gryffindors. "I came home at least an hour ago! And just NOW you're waking me up?"

From the hurt expression on Hermione's face, Harry immediately regretted his choice of words. The fact that Hermione always looked after him was a comforting one. Just another one of the reasons he overlooked any feelings for her. She cared about him as a friend, and nothing more. He knew that. So why tonight the sudden change in his own feelings? What in the world WAS going on?

"Yes!" Hermione snapped. "I did hear you come in, and call for me. I didn't hear anything for another five minutes, and assumed you went to bed. It was then that I heard someone calling out in their sleep. I knew it was you, so I came down to check on you. And now you go with your attitude. Listen Harry, I don't need this. I have an essay to work on."

Hermione turned quickly, her hair flying into Harry's face. He quickly reached out to grab her hand before she could retreat too far.

"For your information I was not --"

Harry cut himself off before he finished that sentence. Just what HAD he been dreaming about? Thinking back to his already fuzzy dream, he tried to piece the puzzle together. He had been thinking about their first year of Hogwarts. No, that held pleasant memories for him. One of the few times he had been truly happy. It was when he met Ron & Hermione ... his first two real friends. That wouldn't have made him cry out.

Then he had dreamt of Sirius. Another happy memory ... to find out he had living relatives who weren't Muggles. Another happy memory. But, with thoughts of Sirius ... came memories of his third year. And the Dementors. Harry shuddered, drawing another glance from Hermione. Any remembrance of the Dementors would have made him cry out in his sleep. Especially when he remembered hearing his mother's voice before she died. Harry dropped Hermione's hand and turned away quickly.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He blinked furiously, trying to blink back the tears that threatened to spill. He was never this quick to cry. Ever. But, tonight was turning out to be a rather strange night. Hermione's hand on his shoulder was so comforting. He knew he was lucky to have a friend like her. But that also saddened him. There would never be anything else between them.

"I'll be fine, Mione, I always am." He turned back to her with a smile on his face. "And you should go back to bed ... I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"Don't worry about it Harry," Hermione said, removing her hand from his shoulder. "I was just working on Snape's essay. I wasn't sl --"

Harry began to laugh. "Hermione! You mean you haven't finished the essay yet?"

Hermione bit her lip. "No ... it is finished, I just wanted some extra material so that Snape wouldn't have any cause to downgrade me. I only got a 99 on the last essay, and that's unacceptable." She looked at Harry with a critical eye. "And I bet you haven't even started it yet."

"Well ... with Quidditch practice for the last three nights ..."

"HARRY!"

He looked at her with an innocent expression. "What?"

She sighed. "Do you want to work on it together? I could bring my work down here if you'd like."

"Nah," Harry answered. "I'll just go upstairs and work. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"I don't mind, honestly," Hermione offered again.

"No, I'll be fine."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders as she turned back towards the staircase leading up to the girls' dormitory.

"Suit yourself. Good luck on the essay, Harry," she said, sending a smile his way. "I'll be upstairs if you need me. Any problems, don't hesitate to ask."

Harry was in no state to answer whatsoever. Any spit that was left in his mouth immediately vacated for some other unknown place. All Harry could do was nod his head. Before heading upstairs, Hermione hesitated for a moment, as if she didn't want to leave. As much as Harry wished he could stop her, he couldn't. His mouth was no longer connected to his brain.

It wasn't until Hermione was completely out of sight that he regained motor control. Harry sighed to himself, leaning back against the plush cushions. Once again, his eyes focused on the bits of glowing embers. How quickly a fire could be reduced to nothing more than embers. But, with one quick stir of the embers, and a fresh log, the fire could ignite once again.

"First I lose my ability to talk to one of my best friends, and now I'm turning poetic. What's next? I join Lord Voldemort's side?" Harry pulled himself to his feet, shuffling towards the staircase leading up to the boys' side. He cast one last glance at the staircase Hermione had gone up only moments before. A touch of sadness reached his green eyes.

"Yes, Hermione, there is something else you can do. Go with me to the Yule Ball, and not just as friends."

Sighing once more, Harry dragged his feet upstairs, preparing himself for the long night ahead. It wasn't until he was upstairs, that another shadow made its brief appearance in the Common Room before disappearing up to her own dormitory.

"You need only ask, Harry."