Chapter Text
Saturday was a time for joy, be it lazing about on the porch with a cold drink, flying a broomstick with friends, or hiding under the covers with your girlfriend. Saturday was not for laying alone in bed, staring at the ceiling as your vision faded in and out of focus.
Unfortunately for one Harry Potter, he was doing just that. He’d woken up and Hermione was already gone. Where was it? Harry couldn’t quite remember. Something about meeting friends for brunch in Muggle London, or visiting a book shop? It was probably both. Or neither. He didn’t know. He made to get up, reaching to slide Ceridwen the kneazle off his chest, only to find there was no kneazle. His chest felt heavy on its own, and was growing heavier the longer he was awake.
It was at this point Harry felt the heaviness in his chest creeping down his arms. His fingertips felt light, impossibly so, and with a cursory glance Harry noticed they were shaking. He managed to fling his body sideways to grab his glasses, but then he just...stopped. He thought about getting up and out of bed, but ultimately fell down sideways and tugged the covers up around him. His dream was coming back.
He’d been back in the forest, except this time no one had come to save him from the icy waters and help destroy the Horcrux. He swam for what felt like miles, heaving himself onto dry land only to find Hermione, packed, telling him he’d failed. She’d made a mistake staying with him. Only, then they’d been transported to Grimmauld place and Hermione was walking out the door. Harry had been unable to say anything.
“Okay,” he said to himself in the present. His chest was hurting badly now and his voice was barely above a whisper. “What did Healer Marienne say? Five things: Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch.” Harry saw the soft cream of his sheets, speckled with bits of lint if he glanced closer. He could taste his sour morning breath. He could touch...Hermione? No, she wasn’t there. She was out. Where was she again? He could hear...his heartbeat. It was pounding.That wasn’t right.
It was your fault, you know, that Ron felt he had to leave. The thought assaulted him out of nowhere. Something colder than Devil's Snare grabbed his heart and squeezed.
You know it’s true. Harry covered his ears as if he could block out his own thoughts. He left you in the tent because you couldn’t hide your feelings. You put him in danger your whole life and couldn’t let him have the one thing he wanted. And now look? Hermione is stuck with you when she could have loved someone with half as many issues.
There was something Healer Marienne had said about fighting intrusive thoughts. It worked especially well when two people were in tune with the other’s magic. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember how to do that. Even worse, if he managed to reach Hermione, she would know it happened again. All his months trying to be better for her had been in vain.
Why does she even love you? You can’t do better by her. You never have. Try harder. Harry felt his eyes brim with tears and used the sheets to wipe them away. He had absolutely no right. He wouldn’t let them out.
Hermione has every right to leave. You don’t deserve her. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming out short and ragged and probably like repressed sobs. He didn’t know. He could hear nothing but ringing and the low bass beat of his heart. He could feel nothing but cold and pain and guilt. He could smell nothing but his sweat.
Then, slowly, he began to sense something else. He felt the tickle of hair on his cheek, then soft lips pressed against his skin as an arm snaked around his waist. A body was pressed up behind him, pulling him closer until he opened his eyes. He could see, now, that a petite hand was drawing slow circles on his stomach. He thought he heard the words “I’m here” whispered against his neck. He smelled a mild rosy perfume and new book pages mixed into one. It was his favorite smell, aside from mildly burnt treacle tart, ink on parchment...freshly mowed grass…
“I’m here, Harry,” Hermione said. He heard her clearly this time, registering the tickle of her breath on his skin. She was holding him tight, but despite this, he felt his chest open up and his breathing begin to ease.
“I was all excited about my solo book tour today,” she said, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact, “But I got to the second shop and all I could think was how much I’d rather have a lazy day with you.” At this, Harry tried and failed to stop tears leaking from his eyes. Try as he might to hide it, Harry’s emotions did their own thing whenever Hermione was around, like his body was refusing to hide anything from her. Hermione noticed almost immediately, and moved them both so he was on his back and she looked down at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. Shh...it’s alright.” She dabbed at his tears with her sleeves, then kissed the salty trails left on his cheeks.
“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry said.
“Whatever for?”
“For staying with me, even though…” he gestured to himself, the dry, cold sweat on his arms and naked torso, the eyes he knew must be puffy and red, and the messy hair stuck to his forehead.
“I’ve known you since we were eleven, Harry. I knew what I was getting into, just like you knew you were going to be the partner of a...what was it? A know-it-all?” Harry smiled and Hermione rewarded him by leaning down and planting a kiss on his lips. He tasted…
“Coffee?” Harry broke the kiss and sat up. He still felt a little shaky, but now he had no desire to stay in bed. He wanted to get up, listen to Hermione ramble about whatever books she bought, and do whatever she wanted as long as he could be there, by her side.
“Of course, Harry,” she said, “But let’s take a shower first.”
“Let’s? Both of us?”
“Yes.” Hermione got up and grabbed both Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him.
“I don’t fancy leaving you alone just yet,” she said against his chest. Harry nodded and walked off toward the bathroom, taking her hand in his and savoring the way it felt. Deserve her? Maybe not. But was he happy she was there? Every damn day.