A/N: All right, so this is my first Harry Potter fic. It might be pathetic.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter book series, nor do I take any claim of ownership with the films.

"Not in any storm that I will ever live beneath,
Could ever change what I hold here inside of me
Not in any of her storms have I lost my angel's touch,
To that angel out there, I love her so much."

- Not in her Storm, Sauni

Come What May

"Harry?" the voice called. "Harry!"

I remembered that voice; that voice I'd heard one too many times in my thoughts and dreams, if not memories. I don't have any memories of them to begin with; they died when I was a baby. Or rather, they were killed, murdered.

But that voice… the voice that was calling my name. I remembered it belonging to my mother. The sweet, angelic voice called out to me in earnest, still as gentle as I'd frequently imagined.

And then I heard another voice—deeper, this time. "Harry,"

It was my father's.

My heart swelled with joy as my eyes searched around the eerie room, yearning to see their faces smiling down upon me, and yearning for their touch. The touch that I'd never once experienced in fourteen years.

As if answering my prayers, they appeared before me. It was a cloudy blur at first, and then it became clearer. I smiled as I looked up, gazing longingly into their flawless faces, and subsequently darted my gaze and sunk myself into the depths of their eyes.

I was snapped out of my reverie when very slowly—almost taunting—their hands reached out to me. What did this mean? Were they asking for me? Or perhaps this was just one of those hallucinations I've been having recently. But whatever it was, I hadn't planned on wasting time thinking up antagonizing ideas to bring me down. This was the only chance I was ever going to get; possibly for the rest of my life.

Instinctively, I raised my hand and took a step forward.

"We're here, Harry. You're safe now." My mother's voice echoed, as I hastened my steps, anticipating the warmth of their skin against my own.

With about a millisecond left, I stretched my arm as fully as I possibly could, and—

"Harry?" another voice roared frantically.

My parents vanished, and my hand was grasping air.

"Harry!"

I opened my eyes. I was dreaming—of course. It was only a dream, and I realized I wanted nothing more but for it to be real, then maybe for once in my miserable life, I would know what it was like to be in the arms of my real parents. But clearly fate was not on my side; and neither was Neville Longbottom.

Blinking rapidly, my hand grazed over the wooden surface of the nightstand, and placed my old glasses over my eyes. I blinked again, waiting until I was fully adjusted to the new light. And clear as crystal, I saw Neville's curious face gracing my view.

"Are you all right, Harry?" he asked.

I was still disoriented from my sudden and nearly rude awakening, so with as much force in my voice as I could consume—which, admittedly, was fairly pathetic—I replied, "Neville… I'm fine," my voice came out in a hoarse whisper, "Just dreaming, is all. Don't worry about me."

He didn't look convinced. "Were you having another nightmare about… You-Know-Who again? I can go call Professor McGonagall if you'd like."

"No, Neville," I tried to make my voice sound less harsh. "I-I'm fine. You… can go back to bed. I'll be all right, really."

He looked at me for a second. "Okay," he sighed. "But you can wake me up or anything if you—"

I didn't let him finish. "I will; no problem."

He nodded once before walking away and disappearing in the darkness.

Again, I was alone. I sighed and stared at the ceiling for about a fraction of a second before getting up from my bed and walking over to the large, glassy window. I looked up at the night sky, and almost smiled at the bright stars that graced over Hogwarts, and higher up, the silver moon glistened amongst the sheer blanket of stars. It was a beautiful night. If only my life was just as beautiful—just as carefree.

Swallowing the lump that had formed inside my throat, I decided to take a walk, hoping it would somehow help me grasp relief from all the stress. I needed it. If I ever ran into any body of authority—most likely will the grim Professor Severus Snape be out roaming the quiet halls of the school, just waiting for a chance to destroy me—I looked at the brighter side of things: more quality time with Hagrid in detention.

I turned around a corner where most moving portraits resided, keeping my steps as quiet as possible in fear of waking them and gaining myself any unwanted attention. I needn't the light from my wand to guide the way since the glare of the moonlight made things easier to see even with the naked eye.

A couple of minutes passed and I found myself stopping along the outside halls of the school, where the nightly breeze was most abundant. I moved aside and leaned my arms against the sill of the large stony window.

My mind was still reeling with questions from the dream I'd had. Was there something my parents wanted to tell me? I was certain there was. And I had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that said it was about the war with Lord Voldemort. But now that I've woken, how was I to know? Would the dream replay itself? I suddenly found myself desperately wishing that it did, and once it does, I wished I wouldn't wake up. I was too content to be mere inches away from them; solely seconds away from finally being in their arms, safe. No more worrying about life and death.

A feminine voice gently ripped through my thoughts. "Harry?"

I turned around and there stood Hermione Granger, my friend since the second I was inside a train taking me to my very first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I could still hear the first words she'd said—or yelled—to me, 'Holy cricket! You're Harry Potter!'. Most people I came across that year had all said the same thing, but it sounded somewhat more special coming from her.

"Hermione," I said back.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" I almost laughed at this; the same old Hermione, bossing me around and telling me what to do. Ron reckoned it was irritating to the point of ultimate vexation, but I thought nothing of it. It was funny, really.

"I should ask you the same question," I countered.

"You have Quidditch tomorrow," she reminded me. "Or have you forgotten?"

I sighed. "No, Hermione, I haven't forgotten. I just thought I'd come out for a bit; get some air."

"Oh, I see," she walked swiftly and stood, leaning against the arch next to me. We were quiet then, content on just gazing up at the stars and basking in the eerie silence.

"Hermione," I spoke up. "What do you dream about?"

I could see my question took her by surprise as her stare dropped from the sky and on to me. A rare thing to happen; she knew everything. But in no less than two seconds, her face softened and she smiled, her eyes darting back towards the stars.

"What do I dream about? Hmm," she sighed. "Well, loads of things, really. I dream about school, and time. Sometimes I dream about the most peculiar of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… food, and candies and sweets… the oddest yet was when I'd dreamt about Ron getting a perfect score on one of Professor Snape's finals," she laughed. "But…" she trailed off, her smile faltering a bit.

"But what?"

"But mostly I dream about the future," she continued, whispering, "or whether or not there will still be a future. After this war ends…"

I looked at her, realizing she was right. Depending on how this war would end, there might not be a future; not for me, not for Hermione, not for anybody else besides Voldemort himself.

"Are you scared?"

"Quite frankly, yes, I am scared," she admitted. "But not of death. I'm scared of what's going to happen to all of this," she waved her hand to all the things surrounding us. "And I'm scared of who I'm going to lose. Have it be Crookshanks, my friends, my family, Ron… or you."

Her voice mirrored agony and rage, and there was a trace of something else… love?

"I should be," she added quickly. "Voldemort isn't really one to have mercy, is he?"

I laughed bitterly and nodded in response. I knew that better than I knew the back of my own hand.

"Tell me something," I said after a while.

"What?"

"Do you… dream about your parents?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yes, I do, actually. Especially now that we know the Dark Lord is out there again, lurking in the shadows. And my parents… being Muggles, I know they wouldn't stand a chance. I shudder to think of what could possibly happen."

"I understand," I told her.

"Harry," it was her turn to ask. "What brought this on?"

"I don't… know why, or what it was, but… I had a dream,"

"A dream?"

"Yes, Hermione, a dream. It was about my… parents," my voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't exactly know what it meant, but… in the dream, my parents were calling me. And the second I heard their voices, I was… I was happy again. The feeling of it was like the moment when the Sorting Hat said I'd be in Gryffindor; only this time, it was loads better."

I looked up to see what her reaction might be, and I softened when I saw that she was smiling. It was like she understood the way I felt.

I felt it safe to continue. "Then… they reached out to me…" I lost all composure right there. "They reached out to me, Hermione! They wanted to hold me! You didn't know how happy I was at that moment, you couldn't possibly. Then they told me that they were there for me, and that I was safe. Hermione, you have no idea how much I wanted that dream to last. And then…"

"And then?"

"Neville woke me up."

I heard her sigh. "So you never got to touch them?"

"No," I replied. "And I wanted so badly to have been able to. The instant I woke up, I felt… alone again. All feeling of security was gone. It was all about war and survival; all about Voldemort." I kicked the cement ground.

She moved closer to me. "Well, Harry, no matter what happens, if we all live or die, I want you to know one thing," I felt her warm hand enclose my own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We're always here for you—me, Ron, all the people here. We're your friends. You'll never have to be alone again."

That did it. My heart burst with such emotion when I realized that she was right. It was the same thing everyone had been telling me from the beginning. From the moment we were playing our lives in real wizard's chess to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, to the moment when I had the prophecy in my hand and Lucius Malfoy had persuaded me to forfeit.

My actions were no longer in my control but the next thing I knew, I had pulled Hermione straight into my arms and enveloped her in a tight embrace. I was suddenly glad I'd gone for a walk. That night, Hermione had made me realize how incredibly stupid it was for me to think that I was all alone. She'd made me believe in myself. She'd been my inspiration. She'd been my angel.

I was not scared of whatever may come; I had something worth fighting for.

"Perhaps we ought to get back to our dorms," she said, pulling away. I dropped my hands to my sides. "It's getting a bit late."

I nodded, though I didn't think she'd noticed. "Yes; perhaps we should."

We reached the Gryffindor common room in a few minutes less than the amount of time it took me to get out. Hermione's presence had kept me too preoccupied to care about the time.

"Bloody hell," a hoarse voice echoed from behind us. We needn't turn around for us to comprehend who it would be. The same voice and expression confirmed the fact that it was Ron, standing there in all his red robe and messy bed haired glory.

"What are you two still doing up?" he asked. "It's four in the morning,"

Four in the morning? That, I hadn't noticed. Last I remembered, it was only two in the morning. I snuck a glance over at Hermione to see that she, too, were taken aback by this.

Ron turned to me. "And Harry, haven't you got Quidditch later?" he reminded me in the same way Hermione had. "Oh… don't tell me… you've forgotten, haven't you? Harry, if Gryffindor loses against Slytherin, don't forget, you're one to be held responsible. McGonagall's going to have your head! Or worse… mine!"

"Why would somebody as professionally intellectual as Professor McGonagall have any sort of interest in your head?" Hermione asked him.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Stop it," I intercepted before things got out of hand. I turned to Ron. "I didn't forget, Ron, don't worry."

"Well, you better not have," he turned to go back to the boys' dormitory. "And get to bed—before things really do take a turn for the worse."

When he was gone, I turned back to Hermione. "He's right. I really should go back to sleep."

"Yes, you should," she replied before walking towards the girls' dormitory. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight," I reciprocated. "And, Hermione?"

She waited for me to say something. I smiled at her. "Thank you."

She smiled back. "You're welcome, Harry."

I watched as she closed the door and disappeared behind it.

Of all the things she'd said to me that night, seven words stood out.

You'll never have to be alone again.

And I knew she was right.

A/N: I'm not even going to say anything about my pathetic attempt at a story. But whatever. Review?