Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: In the absence of an actual chapter I thought I would post a short interlude (exclusive to portkey). It was just something I came up with while mucking around trying to get into Hermione's head space. It turned out rather sweet so I thought I just had to post it. Hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

I don't know why I ended up here. Maybe I thought he would miraculously appear. Maybe I was just craving some sense of normalcy. Maybe I just wanted to be by myself for awhile. Whatever it was the result was that my feet ended up walking me to the West Tower seemingly of their own accord.

I never thought of the room as large but without Harry it seemed enormous and empty. Despite its extra size the room seemed strangely inviting.

I took a tentative step inside. Memories flooded me. I could almost smell Harry. I didn't cry. I was beyond that. Even if I wanted to I don't think I would have been able to. I couldn't cry anymore.

I'd adapted to his absence.

In quick strides I made my way to the window. Suddenly in a hurry, my breath hitching as an unforgivable wave of claustrophobia washed over me, I flicked the latch and wrenched it open.

The cool air washed over me its calming effect instantaneous. I started out into the darkness, my mind blank as I watched the stars against the black ink of the sky. I'd always loved this. It made me feel insignificant, like my problems were trivial, like I was just one small part of the ugly mess.

Pulling my robes around me, I climbed onto the window sill, staring out into black, letting it wash over me.

Harry's presence in the room was too strong. I couldn't block my mind as flashes of memory invaded my thoughts.

I gave up trying to block them. Here there was no point, here there was no one to ask me how I was doing. Finally I could really let go.

Taking a deep breath I closed my eyes and leant my head back against the wall. I felt the tears leak from the corner of my eyes. I didn't bother with them. I'd cried so many tears a few unchecked weren't going to make a difference.

"You're not really okay are you?"

I didn't even register surprise at the voice. I barely felt it. It was more of a `oh, that's different' kind of feeling.

I roll my head to the side to see Ron standing in the doorway his shirt untucked and tie loos around his neck. He looked entirely harassed.

"NEWTs are next week," I tell him, completely ignoring his question.

I don't want to talk about how I'm feeling. I don't want to talk about why I kept is secret and I definitely don't want to talk about what happened with me and Harry. What I really want is to be left alone.

I'm not going to get that.

The fact that Ron even came looking for me means that he's had enough. He was sick of my snappishness, sick of my silence and sick of my intimidating silence, sick of my thoroughly depressed demeanour.

He wasn't the only one.

"I know," Ron answers. I could taste the care in his voice. "I thought you would be in the library."

Of course. Where else would I be?

I want to scream at him. Not because he done anything wrong. Just because he was there.

I don't.

I shrug before turning back to stare out the window. Behind me I hear Ron take a step into the room as if moving to comfort me.

"Don't," I hear myself whisper, barely audible, my voice cracking. He can't be in here.

I hear his foot thunk to the ground as if he had stopped mid-step. We're silent for a second.

"It was here. This is where you and Harry…" he lets that sentence trail off.

My back still too him I nod slowly surprised that he picked up on that. Maybe Ron is just a lot more insightful than I first thought.

I hear Ron move back to the doorway and to my surprise I don't hear the door close. I turn to see Ron sitting with his back against the door jam, one leg raised pushing against the opposite side of the doorframe. His head was turned toward me watching, waiting for something to happen.

"I don't want to talk," I tell him hoping he would get the hint.

If he did he ignored it.

"I know."

Such a simple statement. So many meanings behind it.

I didn't get to ponder that as Ron continued to stare at me, his eyes tracking my slightest movement. It was like he was trying to read a book… a book written in latin.

Sighing I turn my attention back to the black ink of the night sky searching for comfort. I didn't find it.

It wasn't the same. Wallowing in self-pity with someone was staring at you like you were a fascinating potions experiment.

"What do you want?" I ask him quietly. I was never good at this, always preferring to keep my emotions quite. Sure I cried in public, but very rarely explained the reasons. Harry and Ron had always known it best not to ask.

"I don't want anything."

I turn to him shocked by the sincerity in his voice. His wide, blue eyes staring up at me, gauging my reaction, challenging me. I wasn't going to back down. Not when so much was at stake.

"Tell me about him," Ron asks quietly.

I blink. His question catches me off guard.

"Wha-, what do you mean?"

Ron shrugs looking kind of embarrassed. "I don't know. Tell me something no one else knows. Something that happened with just the two of you."

I stare at Ron utterly dumbfounded. What happened to the tactless goof I'd grown so fond of?

Ron shrugs again before dropping his head to stare at his hands, fidgeting nervously. "I thought -". He clears his throat. "I thought, maybe, it might help. I don't know. Everyone has been asking you how you are and wanting to know what happened that I thought, maybe you just needed to talk about Harry."

Maybe he was right. Maybe if I just talked about Harry it wouldn't hurt so much. I wouldn't feel that horrible stab in my chest every time I breathe.

I shake my head slowly, trying to jumble my thoughts around.

It didn't seem right. It may have helped but it didn't seem right. Talking about him here, it was a betrayal of sorts. Up here we trusted each other completely. I wasn't going to desecrate that for the slim chance of feeling better.

I gazed at Ron, my jaw set in determination, willing myself not to take out my anger and frustration out on him. Slowly I slide off the window sill feeling more sincere when my feet hit thudded on the wooden floor.

"I can't," I tell him quietly. Quickly I avert my eyes, unwilling to give him a chance to read me, call me on whatever I was trying to hide.

Still gazing at the floor I leave the room stepping over Ron when I reach the doorway. As soon as I had done so I bolted. I didn't want him to come after me. It was just too hard.

I'm halfway down the corridor when I hear Ron behind me, trying desperately to catch up.

I stop dead. I can feel the lump in my throat. I always hated crying in public.

Behind me I hear Ron slow to a walk stopping about a metre from me. If I reached back I could have touched him.

"I'm drowning," I whisper keeping my back toward him. "There's nothing else Ron. I'm drowning."

I don't look back as I walk off but I can feel his eyes tracing my every movement. He doesn't move to follow. He knows I won't let him help me now.

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