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She needed him. She craved his touch. She could still feel the tingles on her skin, the imprint left behind by the agony of the Cruciatus Curse. She needed his touch to cure her, to wipe from her flesh the memory of pure pain and replace it with the pleasure of his gentle touch, his warm breath, his worshipful kisses.
It had been far too long since she felt that, not since before Ron returned. Ron's reappearance had deprived her of the feeling of sleeping in his arms each night, the feeling of pressing her naked body against his, the feeling of him moving within her as they lost themselves to pleasure.
Hermione had always been a physical person. She had always been one to hug tightly, to grab for someone's hand on instinct or stay close to them for protection. With Harry, who had been her best friend long before he became her lover, she had always felt a particularly strong instinct to show her affection physically, be it through a hug or a kiss on the cheek or holding his hand. Perhaps she had always been drawn to him as more than a friend, long before she was willing to admit it to herself.
But now she needed him, and he was staying away from her, likely out of guilt. He had insisted that she be present for the questioning of Griphook and Ollivander, but he wasn't coming to visit her in her room, where she needed him.
Until, finally, a soft knock came at her door. "Hermione?"
"Harry? Come in!"
He opened the door and tentatively shuffled into the room, letting the door shut behind him.
She wanted to reach for him, to beckon him to join her in bed, to urge him to hold her tightly. Instead, she held still, waiting for him to indicate the purpose of his visit.
"I just wanted to apologize," he said softly.
She bit her lip. Then, giving in to her instincts, she reached for him. "Come here," she requested.
He moved on automatic, approaching until he was standing beside the bed. She reached for his hand, and he gave it, and she practically wanted to cry out in relief just at the feeling of his warm hand wrapping around hers.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's not your fault."
"It is. If I hadn't said his name, they never would have found us."
She shook her head, less to deny his words than to deny his guilt. "Come here." She tugged on his hand.
"Hermione..."
"Please, Harry."
He moved onto the bed, kneeling beside her, but she kept tugging until he was lying down at her side. And then she moved into his arms, pressing herself against him, and he wrapped his arms around her reflexively.
"I'm so sorry," he breathed.
"Shh." She pressed her lips against his neck, basking in the feeling of his warmth as the painful tingling of her skin finally stopped.
"You were right, I should have stayed focused on the horcruxes."
"Shh," she repeated. "Just hold me, Harry. Just be with me."
He fell quiet and relaxed onto the bed, pulling her more firmly against him, and she savored the feeling of lying in his arms again. She had needed this so desperately for so long now.
Eventually, the urge to kiss him became too strong to ignore, and her lips rose up along his neck and jaw until they were meeting his.
It was a while before she pulled her lips free. "Make love to me," she requested.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Please, Harry."
Soon, he was kissing all across her body, and her flesh finally managed to forget the feeling of the Cruciatus completely as he replaced it with pure pleasure.
* * *
After the adrenaline of the battle faded, she felt cold. Her mind refused to forget the sight of him lying motionless in Hagrid's arms, those minutes of pure despair when she thought he was gone forever.
She listened silently as he conveyed his plans for the Deathly Hallows to the portrait of Dumbledore. And then they wandered through the halls, not touching each other. She wanted to take his hand, to hurl herself into his arms, but she couldn't forget the sight of him playing dead and she wasn't sure that she could forgive him.
"Are you alright?" he asked finally in barely more than a whisper.
She swallowed. "No."
He froze, and she stopped walking and turned to him.
"Are you hurt?"
"Physically, I'm fine, Harry."
His gaze fell to the floor. "Do you want to go and see the Weasleys?"
She felt a pang as she thought of Fred, but there was no room in her heart for that additional anguish right now. "No."
He blinked at the floor for a few seconds. "Is there anything I can do?"
She wasn't sure of the answer. "I thought you were dead," she said finally, and her voice trembled as she got the words out.
He took a deep breath. "It had to happen that way."
Her fist clenched at her side. He caught the motion, watching warily but making no move to stop whatever she was going to do.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Her fist stayed where it was. She didn't do anything, simply stood there, unable to keep from reliving it again.
He took a step closer, and then another one. And then he was right in front of her and wrapping her in his warm, safe hold, offering her the feeling that she needed now as much as ever. She leant into him, burying her face in his shoulder as she soaked in his warmth, his vitality. Her hand fell open as she brought it up across his back, placing it over his heart and feeling its firm, powerful beat.
"You're alive," she whispered.
"I'm alive." He tightened his hold, and she tightened hers, not wanting to ever let him go. "I'm alive, Hermione."
She took a deep breath, and it trembled on the way out of her. The end of her exhale carried three words that she hadn't said to him before. "I love you."
He stilled at the unfamiliar words, but only for a moment, and then placed a kiss atop her hair. And then he placed more kisses, until she rose up on tiptoe and captured his lips with her own.
They soon found their way up to Gryffindor Tower, up to the comfort of one of the beds, and he spent the next few hours proving to her that he was very much alive.