The Wand of Ravenclaw

Portraits and Possibilities

It was past dawn when Harry woke up. In fact, judging by the strength of the sunlight, it was probably well into the morning. Harry didn't even remember falling asleep but he had to admit there was a certain freshness about the morning. He didn't really want to move, feeling that he'd be happy to stay there all day. Then he looked down.

He had almost completely forgotten that Hermione was there at all. She was sound asleep, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her bushy brown head bobbing up and down as she breathed. Harry noticed he was now resting against the side of his mother's headstone, a most bizarre place to sleep, he thought, and one that couldn't be healthy for him.

Harry felt a little awkward at having Hermione asleep upon him. How was he supposed to wake her? How would she react when he did? How long could he sit there until she woke of her own accord? Probably ages, he thought to himself. There was something comforting about the warmth of her next to him and he would have been quite content to close his eyes and get a little more rest. But he knew by now, that he - that they both - would be missed at The Burrow.

Gently Harry tapped Hermione's shoulder. Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it to. He had tapped her so softly she probably wouldn't have felt it even if she was wide awake. He tried again, this time pushing her head a little and breathing her name into her hair. She stirred a little at this, but instead of waking merely turned her body and slid her arms around Harry's waist, settling her head into his chest.

Strangely, Harry felt an involuntary beat escape from his chest and a little shiver tickle up his spine that had nothing to do with the light breeze dancing around the garden. He shrugged it off and tried to wake Hermione a little more forcefully, but his reluctance to the act was sure to linger in his mind for days.

"Hermione, wake up," Harry whispered, rubbing her shoulders gently. "We have to go now."

"What? Ron? What is it?" Hermione mumbled, half-asleep.

"It ... er ... it isn't Ron. It's Harry," he muttered guiltily.

"Wha?"

Hermione shot up quickly and looked around in surprise. Her hair was fuzzy and her eyes bright and confused.

"Morning," Harry smirked at her toussled look.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione squeaked, startled. She started smoothing down her hair. "Sorry - I can't believe we fell asleep! What time is it?"

"Dunno," Harry replied blithely. "I haven't got a watch."

"Oh, well, never mind. We'd better be getting a move on anyway, people will be wondering where we are. Oh my, what are we going to tell them?"

Hermione was blushing furiously and Harry, watching this in avid confusion, didn't really have an answer for her.

"We'll just say you went out and I followed you," said Hermione, thinking fast. "You went somewhere close, somewhere like Stoatshead Hill. Yes! That's far enough away. You went out, I followed you, and we only just got back. That's what we'll say."

"Ok" Harry agreed, still smirking. Then he said, a little quieter, "But is spending the night with me really that awful a thing to confess?"

"Oh, Harry, I didn't mean – well, what I meant to say was – oh, don't you know how that'll look?"

"It won't look like anything," Harry retorted, still confused. "We're friends. Everyone knows that."

"Not everyone knows that," said Hermione darkly. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that her weird tone was distinctly Molly Weasley-flavoured. That was odd. "And besides, you of all people should know how easily innocent things can get twisted. Rita Skeeter's left your memory already, has she? All those horrible things she printed about you, about us. People's minds work in funny ways, Harry."