Always Here

Mrs. Weasley continued walking toward the kitchen as she answered the question Ron had asked her.

"Well, it's only natural that she'd find comfort with Harry. After all, dear, he knows what it's like to lose his parents."

"I know that, Mum, but I'm her best friend, too!"

"Would you keep your voice down, Ron? She's sleeping! Come along. You're helping me in the kitchen."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes as she heard the footsteps of Mrs. Weasley and Ron heading away. She could feel that her eyes were swollen, her nose stuffed up, and her throat dry. An astoundingly practical-sounding voice in the back of her head told her she must have been crying for quite some time.

She was lying down, with her head resting on something, softer than, say, the floor, but not quite as soft or giving as a pillow or a bed, though she could tell that the rest of her body was resting on the latter. That was odd. The last thing she could remember was sitting in a chair in the Weasleys' kitchen, with Harry. A blanket had been placed over her, but that was not the only thing keeping her warm. There was something wrapped around her that she couldn't quite place. It seemed like - well, what was around her seemed remarkably like...a pair of arms. She realized with a start that it was arms. Her sudden start got the attention of the owner of the mysterious arms.

"Oh, you're awake, 'Mione. I thought you'd be out all day, but you've only been asleep for about... oh... forty-five minutes, I guess." It was Harry. Harry had his arms around her. Her head was resting on Harry. His chest, to be exact. Hermione felt her cheeks growing quite warm. "'Mione?" She felt his hand on her arms, and she was promptly brought into a sitting position, facing a very concerned-looking Harry. "How are you feeling? If you need to have another cry, that's perfectly fine. I'm here for you, 'Mione. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know that Harry," she replied, blowing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. At some point it had pulled its way out of the thick plait where the rest of her hair was restrained. "And, to answer your other question, I'm perfectly fine. I just - I just needed one cry. We really should go see if Mrs. Weasley needs any help in the kitchen." She stood, knocking the blanket away, and went in search of her shoes, which had been taken off of her feet at some point during her sleep, she supposed. They were sitting in what had used to be Percy's room, now turned into a guest room. Very straightforward decorations, with next to no personal flairs, the room still screamed "PERCY."

When she didn't hear Harry moving at all to get up off the bed, she turned around to face him as she tugged on her sneakers, not bothering to untie them, and finding herself very frustrated with whomever had taken them off of her without untying them. "Well, aren't you going to come help, too? If we just sit here and do nothing, we'd be terrible guests, Harry. It would be tremendously rude."

Harry just sat there, looking at her, as though she'd just suggested they purposely flunk their upcoming N.E.W.T.s. The look in his eyes conveyed complete and utter confusion. But as she continued to stare him down with her normal I-know-what's-best-for-you-so-you-better-do-what-I'm-telling-you-to-do glare, his look changed to one of realization.

"You're absolutely right, 'Mione. We should go help. Shall we?" He stood, bowed gallantly, and offered her his arm. She took it, and as she looked away they both blushed as their skin made contact.

"I think it's about time we sit down and start studying for our N.E.W.T.s. You two boys seem to think they'll be a piece of cake, but that's most certainly not what I've heard." Hermione continued babbling about how the wizarding tests were harder than any Hogwarts finals, even Potions, with the only interruptions of her words being the sharp, loud coughs she'd been having for the past week she'd been at the Burrow. Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

For the past week, Hermione had been dragging the two of them around doing nearly everything she could think of. She had them de-gnoming the garden, cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner, writing all their over-the-summer essays (with extra parchment added for extra points), and even odd things that wizards shouldn't have to do, such as cleaning all the rooms. Aside from pausing a moment to cough violently, she never stopped moving. And she wasn't sleeping well, either. Ginny, who's room she was sharing, reported Hermione wasn't sleeping well, either. Apparently, she would toss, turn, and cough for about an hour after going to bed, then get up, thinking Ginny was already asleep, and creep upstairs to the guest room to sit with the light on and do Merlin-knows-what. The two boys did know, however, that the one thing Hermione hadn't done in the past week was cry, or say even a word about her parents. And know she wanted them to sit and down and start studying for tests that they weren't going to be taking for nearly a year. Both the boys knew it was time to take action. But what to do?

"Um, Herm?" Ron ventured one afternoon, interrupting her speech on the scoring system used for the N.E.W.T.s. "Don't you think it's a bit early to start studying? Maybe we should take a trip to, say, Hogsmeade... grab a butterbeer, just sit in the Three Broomsticks for a while?" He paused. "Maybe we could even leave Harry here. Just the two of us, on, say, a date. How 'bout it, Hermsy?"

Hermione cringed at both the nickname and the situation that had just presented itself. "Oh, Ron. I don't really know how to tell you this," she sighed, biting her lip. "It's just - you're a wonderful person," cough, "and handsome," cough, "and an absolutely fabulous friend, and I love you dearly, but just - not that way. I'm sorry, Ron. I've thought about it a lot, and, trust me, I've tried to like you. But it just didn't work. Parvati and Lavender think I'm crazy for not being," cough, "head over heels for you. Especially Lavender. She says if she had the chance I had with you, she'd sweep it up in five seconds flat. Look, Ron, I'm terribly sorry I can't..." She nibbled on her lip frantically, looking genuinely sorry.

"Oh. Er, that's all right, Herm. Don't want you to be lying to me or yourself or - anything like that. Erm, well, I think I'd like to go up to my room now. Think a bit, you know. Er. I'll see you two later, eh?" He turned to go, shaking his head. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he whipped back around to face Hermione, Harry, and the fireplace behind them. "Lavender, eh?" He grinned

"Yes, Ron. Lavender," Hermione nodded, smiling at her friend's amazingly fast recovery. He nodded appreciatively to himself and turned back to climbing the stairs, muttering something to himself about the hottest girl in school.

Harry shook his head. "The boy must be mad," he stated in a shocked tone. "To be able to get over you so quickly, he's just -." Harry caught himself and looked away, wondering if he'd just imagined Hermione's blush at his words. "Seriously, though, 'Mione," he said, looking back at Hermione. "What he was saying about taking a break - he was right. I know, it's such an odd occurrence for our friend Ron to be right, but this time must be one of those odd times." He smiled at his attempted joke, then caught Hermione's gaze.

"I don't," cough, "know what you two are talking about, Harry," she told him. "You're talking as if I haven't sat down for a week."

"Well, in a way, you haven't, 'Mione. I mean honestly -."

"Honestly nothing, Harry. I just," cough, "think that we should be being good guests and studying. The N.E.W.T.s really aren't that," cough, "far away, despite what you and Ron may want to believe -" She was cut off by a particularly nasty-sounding coughing fit. Doubled over, she grabbed for the arm of the sofa, and Harry helped her into it, then sat down next to her. He waited until she had finished coughing to speak.

"'Mione, I know what's going on here. You don't want to stop because if you stop, you think. If you think, you think about your parents. But really, 'Mione. Two things. A - it's all right for you to think about them. You're going to have to, sometime. The more you do it, the easier it gets. Trust me. And B - you have to lie down. You're sick, 'Mione. I don't think you've gone an entire minute without coughing in the past few days. You're wearing yourself out. You need to stop." He gazed at her levelly, waiting for her response. Within a moment, it came.

"But I can't think about them, Harry! Because when I think about them, I think about - about what a - what a terrible person I am!" She dissolved into tears and coughs, covering her face with her hands.

Harry grabbed her hands from her face. "What are you talking about, Hermione? You're not a terrible person!" he nearly shouted.

"Yes. Yes, I am," she sobbed. "When my parents - well, after they d - I didn't feel anything. Just a bit of remorse. I'm awful, Harry, just awful! I'm a girl who doesn't even seem to care when her parents are killed!" At this point, the sobs and coughs made it impossible for Hermione to continue speaking, and she buried her head in Harry's shoulder.

He sighed. "Hermione, you didn't feel anything because you were in shock. You just couldn't believe what had happened, and it sent you - well it sent you, the feeling Hermione, into some other world. It just left the sensible, practical Hermione in your place. She was the one who wrote those letters, and set up the spell, and said good-bye to your parents like she was waving good-bye at the train station, and then finished the spell, blowing your house up. That wasn't you. You were somewhere else. You were in a galaxy far, far away," he soothed.

"Long, long ago?" She grinned through her tears, sniffling.

"Well, maybe not long, long ago, but definitely far, far away," he joked back, smiling. "But seriously, 'Mione. Do you really believe that you're a bad person because you went into shock and your sensible, emotionless side took over?" he asked.

"No, I suppose not," she sighed in response. "I suppose that now," cough, "you're going to make me lie down or something. Here, if you stand up," cough, "I can stretch out on the sofa-"

"Er, no, 'Mione. I don't think you understood what I meant when I said 'lie down.' I meant in bed. With your pajamas on. For at least a few days. While drinking lots of fluids. That's what I meant," he said, looking pointedly at her.

"Oh, no, no, no, Harry," she muttered as her eyes grew wide and she shook her head. "I believe that you are the mistaken one here. I am not -"

"Yes, you are, Hermione. If I have to carry you up to the guest room myself, put you in the bed, and have Mrs. Weasley perform a locking spell so you can't get up, you will get to bed. So you can do it voluntarily, or forcibly. Which would you prefer?" he asked in a threatening tone as he stood.

Blowing a piece of hair off her face, Hermione sighed. "Fine. All right. You win. Happy?" she questioned in a sarcastic tone, as she stood on somewhat shaky feet.

"Yes, I am, actually. Thank you very much, 'Mione," he answered, choosing to ignore her sarcasm.

She took a step towards the stairs and wobbled. "Erm, Harry? That bit about you carrying me up the stairs; does the offer still stand?" she asked, a nervous-looking half-grimace half-smile on her face.

"Of course it does, 'Mione. Here," he said, placing one arm behind her back, the other behind her knees, and then sweeping her legs off the floor. Once she was securely in his arms, he headed for the stairs, both of them blushing furiously at the large amount of contact. "Ahem. If you like, 'Mione, I can stay with you most of the time you're in bed. You know, we can talk, and I can keep you distracted. Or we can even talk about your parents, and what happened, if you'd like," he offered.

"Oh, Harry, that would be wonderful! I suppose Ron will be exchanging love owls with Lavender soon, so I'm sure he'll be occupied," she gushed. After a moment's pause, she gasped. "Harry, I forgot to tell you! When Vol-"

"Shh. You'll tell me later," Harry interrupted as he placed her gently on the bed in the guest room. "I'll be right back up from Ginny's room with your nightgown. You can change, and then I'll come back in and you can tell me everything. All right?"

She sighed, nodding resignedly. "All right." She leaned back against the head of the bed, watching the ceiling. She could feel more tears streaming down her face. Absently, she reached up and wiped at them with her hand, sniffling. In a strange way, she was glad that she was crying uncontrollably now. It made her feel like a better person. She shook her head at her absurd logic.

At the sound of Harry's feet in the doorway she looked over at him. "Here, 'Mione," he whispered as he handed her her long flannel nightgown. She smiled appreciatively at him as she took it, then looked away when she felt her cheeks begin to burn. She didn't notice that he had looked away as well, for the very same reason.

He walked back to the door and stepped just outside it, closing it behind him. Hermione yanked off her clothes and stepped into her nightgown at a relatively slow pace. It would have been faster, in order that Harry might come back in sooner, but she suddenly found her energy level to be quite low. When she was done, she climbed back into the bed, calling for Harry. "You can come in now," she tried to shout. Her throat just didn't seem to want to do more than a croak. She grimaced at the noise as the door opened.

Harry was inside the room and in a chair at Hermione's side before you could say, "Floo," for he had wanted to be with Hermione just as much as she wanted to be with him. He took her hand in his. "So, you wanted to tell me something, 'Mione?" he prompted.

"Yes. Yes, I did. When Voldemort - well, when he was - talking to my parents, before he - well, he was asking them where 'he' was. And then," cough, "he said that of course my parents knew where 'he' was, 'he' was 'her father;' or, rather, 'their father.' Then he said, come to think of it, where's 'she'? So," cough, "he's looking for a he, who has two daughters, and he's also," cough, "looking for the 'other' daughter. But, whom is he talking about? And why was he asking my parents? What would they know about it?" She stopped to breathe, and then cough, and then to breathe again. She had gotten herself quite worked up during that little speech, and she couldn't quite tell if the concerned look on Harry's face was about what she was telling him, or the state she was in. Once she could breathe again, she continued speaking.

"I told Professor Dumbledore about it," cough, "in the letter I wrote him, of course. That's what he was talking about in his response when he said, he knew whom Voldemort was questioning," cough, "my parents about, and he said that they were in his custody. So Dumbledore knows," cough, "what the heck's going on. Why can't I know?" she asked Harry, as though he knew the answer.

"If Dumbledore knows, Herm, then he'll tell you when it's right to tell you. And if he has them, then they're safe. Whoever they are. So you don't need to worry. What you need to do now is rest. It'll do you good, trust me," he replied in a confident tone.

"But I'm," cough, "not," cough, "tired, Harry. Really, I'm not. I just..." Her voice trailed off as her head hit the pillow. Harry grinned and shook his head. Noticing that one of her hairs was draped across her forehead, he leaned forward to brush it back behind her ear. Letting his fingers stay on her cheek, he bent down and kissed her forehead, blushing a deep scarlet, and wishing all the best for his 'Mione.

"She's been like this for three days and nights, Ron. I'm worried. Something might really be wrong with her!"

"Oh, I'm sure she's fine, Harry. Just let her be. There's a good chap."

"You're a dolt, Ron. Just because you're exchanging thrice daily love owls with Lavender now doesn't mean you can not care when your best friend is -"

"Harry?" Hermione could tell that her voice was faint, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Harry? What's going on?"

He whipped around from facing where Ron had been in the doorway. When her saw her open, clear eyes his own widened in joy. "Oh, Herm! You're all right! I've been so scared, I - I just - oh, Herm! You don't know what hell's been occurring. For the past three days and nights, you've been sleeping, but not good sleep - definitely not good sleep. You've been tossing and turning, screaming, clutching at your hand; you've had the most awful fever. You were sweating so much you drenched your nightgown, and I had to get it off of you before you caught pneumonia. I changed you into one of my old Quidditch practice shirts." He paused as he blushed. Hermione looked down at the cotton, red and gold t-shirt she now wore. As she realized what Harry changing her must have entailed, she blushed to a shade that could rival the scarlet she was wearing. "How do you feel now? You coughed quite a bit, too, though not as much as I thought you would. How do you feel?" He sounded genuinely frantic.

"To tell you the truth, Harry, I feel fine now. Honestly," she added in a hurry as soon as she saw a doubtful look begin to cross his face. Grabbing his arm, she looked him in the eye. "I feel about a thousand times better, Harry. Thanks for being here for me," she whispered to him as she gazed into his emerald eyes. He sucked in a short breath at the eye and skin contact, then brought his hand up to her forehead.

"Well, it feels like your fever's gone now. That's good."

"Yeah, it is." Her words sounded totally stupid, but they were what came to her lips. After all, she was concentrating on the feel of Harry's skin on hers right now, and the look of his eyes. They sat there, for what was most likely half a minute, but what seemed to them like half an eternity, before they both instantly knew what was about to happen.

Bringing his head down to hers, Harry pressed his lips softly against hers. The feel of her lips against his made him want to cry out of pure joy, and, as they pulled apart, he could feel tears trickling down his cheeks. As she brought her hand up to wipe them away, he caught it and held it in place.

"Are you sure, Herm?" he asked, looking as though he truly believed she might not be.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," she replied.

"But - but I thought you were - well, taken, I guess," he spluttered. "I mean, well, I know you don't - well, not Ron, but - but what about - Krum?" The look that crossed his face was full of pure confusion and agony.

"Viktor and I are just friends, Harry. Nothing more. He's a nice guy, really. You should have gotten a chance to meet him. Maybe sometime next summer the two of us can go to Bulgaria to visit him. I don't think that's going to happen anytime this summer," she muttered to herself, then came back to the present conversation. "But no, Harry. There's no one else, and there never has been."

"Oh. Oh, Herm, I - I love you, too. I guess I just - well, I think I knew it all along, but, well - you know how I thought I liked Cho this past year?" Wincing a bit, Hermione nodded. "Well, after Cedric - well, when she was so - just, absolutely heartbroken, I was thinking: if she were to die, would I be heartbroken? I don't think so. I'd be sad, but not heartbroken. I'd be absolutely crushed if you died, 'Mione. I'd be torn between wanting to very violently and painfully kill whoever had killed you, and wanting to go curl up in a ball and die myself. I love you, Hermione."

Hermione felt as though she were about to cry. "I feel the same way about you, Harry. I'd die without you. Absolutely die. Am I a horrible person for falling in love right after my parents die?" she asked him.

"It would be odd if we had just fallen in love now. But I don't think we did. I think we fell in love a long time ago, and are just saying it now," he reassured her.

"Good," she laughed. "Because even if I were being a terrible person for being in love with you, I'd keep on doing it anyway," she told him, wearing a big, goofy grin.

"Well, if that's how you feel about me, then, perhaps you won't be too upset about who I brought here to see if there was anything he could do for you," Harry said, sounding hopeful.

"Why? Harold James Potter, who did you bring? Am I going to have to hit you over the head with my copy of Hogwarts: A History?" she asked, a devilish smile on her face.

"You may want to," he replied, looking half mischievous and half frightened for his life. "Professor?" he called towards the door.

Then three very strange things all happened at once, making Hermione's still-groggy head spin. A deep, frightened, and disgusted bellow came from the kitchen, sounding remarkably like Ron; Professor Snape walked through the door with an impatient expression on his face; and Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared in the room.