Unbroken

Tuesday, Week 2 (1)

Hermione POV

The fight last night with Ron was the biggest one to date. It was the first time I actually kicked him out of our room and slept by myself in the bed. I just couldn't believe he could be so uncaring for Harry and expect me to feel the same. He expected me to just toss aside Harry like he did and completely cut him out of my life. The nerve of him!

Then, as if he wasn't done being an arsehole, he accused me of loving Harry more than him. I mean, sure I told him Harry was everything to me, but that didn't mean I loved Harry more than him. The truth that I've always known is that I can't imagine a life without my best friend. Those bonds between us are too strong to be severed. I married Ron because I loved him, because I wanted to be with him forever, but that didn't mean I was going to forget Harry Potter.

I don't have time to placate Ron anymore because I plan to visit Harry today. It's been just over twenty-four hours since he was hurt, and I knew there was no chance of him waking just yet, but I wanted to be with him anyway. I can scarcely remember a time when I wasn't with Harry while he was hurt in the hospital wing during our time in Hogwarts so why change that now that he was in an actual hospital?

In quick succession, I'm in and out of the fireplace as it deposits me into St. Mungos. I practically race to Harry's room even though I know nothing has changed since yesterday. I mean, there is a very small possibility he could be woken up by now, right? Oh well, even if he isn't, it wouldn't hurt to get there early so I'll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Harry's room, and him, are left mostly unchanged when I return to him. His messy hair is still left in the same side-part I gave him yesterday but the stubble on his face has grown fuller, almost becoming a full beard. I chuckle to myself because I'm thinking of him saying how much he hates his ability to grow facial hair quicker than most. He never liked his facial hair because it itches his face too much and he has sensitive skin.

I admire his beard a while longer before the metaphoric lightbulb switches on in my head. Rather than just sitting here and watching him like a hawk, I can make myself busy by doing a favor for Harry. The grin on my face is massive as I conjure a razor, shaving cream, and a bowl.

Taking care not to disturb or jostle Harry too much, I sit him up against his bed and finally notice that his skin is much less pale and his face is almost completely healed. Once he's sat up, still unconscious, I get to work. I take a wet napkin and soak it in my bowl of warm water before daubing it over his face and getting his skin wet.

I take my time in applying the shaving cream and can't help but giggle once the entire lower half of his face is covered in the white substance. He vaguely resembles Dumbledore and I nearly laugh out loud at it before steadying myself and beginning my self-imposed duty.

"You know? Your skin is remarkably smooth, Harry," I tell him conversationally while the razor glides over the area. I know he can't hear me but after hearing how he used to talk to me while I was petrified in second year, I feel like I should do the same for him.

I make a couple more gentle swipes with the razor before a sudden feeling of cold washes over me. I barely feel the instrument drop from my hand before my vision goes cloudy and my mind goes blank. Then, it happens.

Vision

"YEOWWWW."

I immediately drop the bowl of mushroom risotto I'm holding and rush over to the tent's bathroom. Harry's been in there for quite a while and now I'm extremely worried, especially after I just heard him scream.

"Harry? Are you alright?" I ask him through the door, pressing my ear against it so I can hear his response.

"Yeah I'm fine, bloody nicked myself with this dull razor."

I snort and I'm pretty sure he hears it because an annoyed huff comes through the door right after. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing at the wonder that is Harry Potter. For everything he can do and is willing to do, he can't shave himself for the life of him. I have an idea to help him, however.

"Oh just open the door so I can come in," I order him lightly while still containing my laughter.

The door swings open and I'm greeted at a shirtless, and annoyed, Harry with his hands on his hips. He looks positively delectable and my eyes willingly rake over his body as my tongue comes out to wet my lips. He's smirking at me and, before I know it, I'm in his arms with my legs wrapped around his waist kissing him for all he's worth. I don't care that some leftover shaving cream gets on my cheeks.

"That looks pretty bad," I breathlessly whisper against his lips when we break our passionate embrace. I use the tips of my finger to trace the slight nick on his jaw and feel the rest of the stubble that was untouched. "You know? Your skin is remarkably soft, Harry."

He sits me down on the sink and I use my legs to pull him closer to me while my hands are inspecting his face all over. "Since you can't do it yourself," I tell him before taking the razor next to me.

"Great. Another thing I'm shite at that you're great at," he sardonically says with a chuckle to which I respond with one of my own.

"Too many of those to count," I quip at him before passing the razor over his still cream covered face and ridding it of the hairs that bother him so much. It takes only a short while but, soon, he's back to clean shaven and baby faced Harry.

"You're brilliant, have I told you that before?" He picks me up like I'm nothing and my arms wind themselves around his neck while my legs do the same to his waist.

I peck his cheek. "You have," I whisper with a laugh and peck him again.

"Have I told you that I love you?" He leans into my neck and starts sucking dark spots into the base of it where it meets my shoulder before moving to my throat. I'm pressed against the wall of the small bathroom while he continues his pleasurable assault.

I'm losing control and a moan is torn from my lips. I still have enough wherewithal to say what I want, however.

"You have, but I'd rather you show me." I play with the hairs at the nape of his neck and grind myself against him.

I feel him smile against my neck in response while his deft hands unbutton my jeans before moving up to my shirt.

"As you wish, future Missus Potter."

Flashback End

I'm pulled from...whatever that was and take a moment to realize I'm back in the real world. I stop myself from pinching my arm as I take notice of Harry's still unconscious form right in front of me. He is a far cry from the man—the sexy as sin man—in my vision but he's nonetheless the same. I don't know what to say or think in response to the vision because this is now the third time I've encountered something like this.

One time could be considered a random event, two times could be considered a coincidence, but three times is different. Three times I've seen a life where Harry Potter is mine in body and soul and three times I've seen myself loving Harry Potter the way he is meant to be loved. Why is my mind doing this to me? Why are these things happening to me?

Luckily, I'm not forced to answer those questions as Harry's breathing brings my focus back to him. I realize I've left the task of shaving him incomplete so I pick up the razor and get back to work. His skin is still as smooth as ever and I'm nearly three quarters of the way through.

Taking my time to make a couple more passes, Harry's face is once again devoid of hair and he looks every bit the young man he is. I can't resist myself and lean down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, letting my lips linger for a bit.

"You better come back to me, Harry Potter," I warn him as light sobs start to escape my mouth.

"Don't worry, he will, Hermione."

I turn to see none other than Draco Malfoy staring at me with bloodshot eyes along with a haggard, disheveled, appearance.