The Darkwood Wand

Helping

Classroom C was locked, but not warded. Hermione entered easily, her heeled boots loud on the scarred wooden floor. The room's hanging skeleton clicked its jaws hello and the plaster heads stared through empty eyes.

Harry was standing before the mirrored wardrobe, his new cypress wand clenched in one gloved hand. His back was to her, but Hermione knew those tense, narrow shoulders and that head of unruly black hair. Darkness seemed to swirl around him, despite the bright lamps. Here again was the agonized wizard from the Forest of Dean.

Tell me what to say, Hermione.

I need you.

Do you want me?

Please. Please want me.

Hermione's breath caught at the memory of his words, but she remained silent. Harry turned to face her.

"There used to be a boggart in this wardrobe," he said quietly. "For me, it was always a Dementor."

She nodded.

"Now I think my boggart would be you, wearing a green shirt, your hair all ..." Harry's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "For him."

Hermione tensed. "Do you want that ... for you?"

"No." His face scrunched slightly.

Thank Merlin. She almost fainted with relief.

"Not that it wasn't lovely, before," Harry said hastily. "You're very lovely and ... nice, and ... erm, soft, but ..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's fine, Harry. Truly. More than fine."

He let out a long breath, still upset but less dark about it now. "I know I took advantage of you ... in the tent," he said.

She bit her lip. They should have discussed this subject ages ago, and it was a shame they had to talk about it now, with Tennant running loose and Draco off brooding somewhere, and Harry still reeling over the drama, but when needs must ...

"No, you didn't take advantage of me," she said firmly.

"Of course I did. I smoked you out of the bedroom and gave you alcohol and begged you for it."

Hermione flushed. "You didn't—"

"I took your—"

"Harry." Hermione stepped up to him and clasped his hand. "You didn't take anything I didn't want to give," she said. "Yes, you needed me, but I needed you, too. When Ron left, I was brokenhearted—"

"Vulnerable," he whispered.

"So were you. Harry, look at me." He did so, his eyes shiny. He was so different from Draco, with his heart on his sleeve. She squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his leather glove. "I needed you, and you helped me. Thank you, Harry, for helping me."

"I hated myself," he whispered, releasing her hand.

Merlin, Ginny is right—we're both idiots.

"Well, stop it right now," Hermione ordered. "What, you see yourself as some grand seducer? You think you corrupted me and drove me to play toxic, twisted sex games with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry winced. "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, do you always have to say every—"

"Fear of saying something only increases the fear of—"

"I don't fear twisted sex games!"

Actually, looking at Harry's face, Hermione thought he rather did. She gave him an impish smile. "Draco and I were negotiating last night," she said.