Fic: Late Night Longings (Harry/Hermione)
Oct. 17th, 2014 09:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lightofdayeTitle: Late Night Longings
Rating: PG (if that)
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count:~700
Content: Silent Pining?
Disclaimer: The characters, settings and HP Franchise as a whole are owned by JKR and not by me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
Summary: Harry finds Hermione asleep at her desk.
A/n: I wrote this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inell's prompts at her Inell-iversary last night. Left it overnight so I could proof read it. And then her prompts had gone. So I can't tell you the exact one that inspired this. Suffice to say it was about loving a friend and being unable to spit it out to them.
I really hope you enjoy this. It's a pairing and style I don't often do, but I wanted to give you something back for all the wonderful responses you given to my prompt. And of course wish you a very happy Inelliversary!
---
Harry Potter sighs softly as he walks into the flat he shares with Ron and Hermione. It’s messy, as it should be, but it’s still easy to tell the area he and Ron use apart from Hermione’s domain. The bits they use are dirty and worn and covered on discarded outer clothes and Quidditch magazines and roving packs of game pieces. Hermione’s area is very clean and neat and to be fair, relatively tidy. It’s just overflowing with work. Rolls of parchment were everywhere, impossible to keep orderly fashion. And there are at least a dozen notebooks for Partners The Stationery and a scattering of biros throughout. Hermione had finally put her foot down the third or fourth time he or Ron had nudged an ink pot too near her papers and gone back to muggle stationary.
There were reports and letters and elf-petitions in dire need of signatures, and they all lay in a halo around and under Hermione’s sleeping head.
Harry sighs again. He could only wish this was the first time he’d seen her asleep at her desk but it wasn’t. Truthfully, Hermione was working too hard, but then she always had. Harry bites down his frustration and moves towards her. He knows she only does it because she cares, because she feels so strongly about so many things. It was quite admirable really.
Except it still made him worry when she tried to pull all nighters every day of the week. Since the end of the war, Harry finds he somehow worries about her a lot more; perhaps even more so than when they were in deadly danger every day. During his school years he had been very concerned with his own affairs he knew, but in his defence the fate of the whole magical world had rested in his hands at the time.
Maybe, Harry ponders, it was just because he no longer had those worries, that he thought so much about Hermione and her troubles these days. Then again maybe there were other reasons, and it wouldn’t explain why every smile from Hermione seemed to brighten his day these days, or the way the smell of her perfume seemed to linger in the air.
Harry shakes himself. He was being silly, he thinks. He pulls out his wand and points at the desk, muttering magic words. From nowhere, between Hermione’s head and the desk, the tiniest of cushions appears and every slowly increases in size until it’s as large as a proper pillow, supporting Hermione’s head without disturbing her sleep. Harry twirls his wand and a blanket lifts itself off the bed and wraps around Hermione’s body.
So at least she can be warm and comfortable while she sleeps. Harry thinks. Of course, Hermione would probably want him to wake her up. But if he did that she’d just put her nose straight back the grindstone.
Briefly, Harry considers taking her back to her bed. It wouldn’t be difficult with his wand in hand but he stops himself, the idea of carrying Hermione into her bedroom are sending his thoughts in a distinctly more than friendly direction and he squashes them ruthlessly. Not that there was anything wrong with said thoughts; exactly, neither of them were involved with anyone and both of their relationships with Weasleys had long since came to an end. He’d never rekindled his own relationship with Ginny after the Battle Of Hogwarts, unable to look past George’s coffin and his own guilt, and Hermione’s relationship with Ron had been a short and passionate affair, a week spent burning out of unresolved sexual tensions.
Still Harry hadn’t told her. He’d spent so long telling people there was nothing between them, that she was only his best friend, he’d even compared to a sister on many occasion, confessing romantic feelings now would be entirely too awkward a prospect, especially as he had no idea if they were returned.
Harry sighs again, and leaves Hermione to her well-needed rest, flicking off the lights as he retreats back into his own room. The need for a drink, that originally caused him to head in the living room I the first place, had been forgotten.
Tommorrow, He promises himself, Tomorrow, I’ll tell her.
But for now he had to content himself with just looking after her as best he could.
Rating: PG (if that)
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count:~700
Content: Silent Pining?
Disclaimer: The characters, settings and HP Franchise as a whole are owned by JKR and not by me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
Summary: Harry finds Hermione asleep at her desk.
A/n: I wrote this for
inell's prompts at her Inell-iversary last night. Left it overnight so I could proof read it. And then her prompts had gone. So I can't tell you the exact one that inspired this. Suffice to say it was about loving a friend and being unable to spit it out to them.I really hope you enjoy this. It's a pairing and style I don't often do, but I wanted to give you something back for all the wonderful responses you given to my prompt. And of course wish you a very happy Inelliversary!
---
Harry Potter sighs softly as he walks into the flat he shares with Ron and Hermione. It’s messy, as it should be, but it’s still easy to tell the area he and Ron use apart from Hermione’s domain. The bits they use are dirty and worn and covered on discarded outer clothes and Quidditch magazines and roving packs of game pieces. Hermione’s area is very clean and neat and to be fair, relatively tidy. It’s just overflowing with work. Rolls of parchment were everywhere, impossible to keep orderly fashion. And there are at least a dozen notebooks for Partners The Stationery and a scattering of biros throughout. Hermione had finally put her foot down the third or fourth time he or Ron had nudged an ink pot too near her papers and gone back to muggle stationary.
There were reports and letters and elf-petitions in dire need of signatures, and they all lay in a halo around and under Hermione’s sleeping head.
Harry sighs again. He could only wish this was the first time he’d seen her asleep at her desk but it wasn’t. Truthfully, Hermione was working too hard, but then she always had. Harry bites down his frustration and moves towards her. He knows she only does it because she cares, because she feels so strongly about so many things. It was quite admirable really.
Except it still made him worry when she tried to pull all nighters every day of the week. Since the end of the war, Harry finds he somehow worries about her a lot more; perhaps even more so than when they were in deadly danger every day. During his school years he had been very concerned with his own affairs he knew, but in his defence the fate of the whole magical world had rested in his hands at the time.
Maybe, Harry ponders, it was just because he no longer had those worries, that he thought so much about Hermione and her troubles these days. Then again maybe there were other reasons, and it wouldn’t explain why every smile from Hermione seemed to brighten his day these days, or the way the smell of her perfume seemed to linger in the air.
Harry shakes himself. He was being silly, he thinks. He pulls out his wand and points at the desk, muttering magic words. From nowhere, between Hermione’s head and the desk, the tiniest of cushions appears and every slowly increases in size until it’s as large as a proper pillow, supporting Hermione’s head without disturbing her sleep. Harry twirls his wand and a blanket lifts itself off the bed and wraps around Hermione’s body.
So at least she can be warm and comfortable while she sleeps. Harry thinks. Of course, Hermione would probably want him to wake her up. But if he did that she’d just put her nose straight back the grindstone.
Briefly, Harry considers taking her back to her bed. It wouldn’t be difficult with his wand in hand but he stops himself, the idea of carrying Hermione into her bedroom are sending his thoughts in a distinctly more than friendly direction and he squashes them ruthlessly. Not that there was anything wrong with said thoughts; exactly, neither of them were involved with anyone and both of their relationships with Weasleys had long since came to an end. He’d never rekindled his own relationship with Ginny after the Battle Of Hogwarts, unable to look past George’s coffin and his own guilt, and Hermione’s relationship with Ron had been a short and passionate affair, a week spent burning out of unresolved sexual tensions.
Still Harry hadn’t told her. He’d spent so long telling people there was nothing between them, that she was only his best friend, he’d even compared to a sister on many occasion, confessing romantic feelings now would be entirely too awkward a prospect, especially as he had no idea if they were returned.
Harry sighs again, and leaves Hermione to her well-needed rest, flicking off the lights as he retreats back into his own room. The need for a drink, that originally caused him to head in the living room I the first place, had been forgotten.
Tommorrow, He promises himself, Tomorrow, I’ll tell her.
But for now he had to content himself with just looking after her as best he could.
