Empathy

I’m back after a long time of not posting anything. I’ve come back with a very lengthy experiment that I hope you will enjoy. I’ve never written anything this long and my wonderful beta Aline told me it was very entertaining. Whether you like it or not I urge you to please review. Enough of me babbling; On to the story!

Christmas time always brought back that awful feeling in Harry’s stomach. Christmas is a time to celebrate, to be with family, but Harry didn’t have any. Not the family that everyone else had. He loved the Weasley’s with all his heart, but there was only so much a surrogate family could do. He could only feel jealous as he walked down the streets watching others smiling brightly. Why couldn’t he be happy? He had good health, a decent job, amazing friends…To others, a perfect life.

At Hogwarts it was different. There were feasts and friends surrounding him and he didn’t have time to think about such things. He wished he could once again be back in the common room with all of his friends. He saw Ron and Hermione at least every other day, but it just wasn’t the same. Hermione worked in the Experimental Charms Department, down the hall, Ron was trying to break into Professional Quidittich and Harry, as expected, was training to become an Auror. When he graduated, in June, he entered the Academy and was scheduled to graduate six months in advance. He was just beginning, but everyone knew he had talent for the job. He had finally rid the world of Voldemort but there were still a few of his supporters still lurked in the shadows. The Wizarding World was safer than it had been in over two centuries and yet he still felt vulnerable.

Walking past the church and hearing the faint sounds of Christmas Hymns, he stopped. He had never really considered himself to be Catholic or anything else for that matter. He could only remember going to church twice and he would rather forget both experiences. The first was when he was still living with the Dursleys and they dragged him off to Christmas services. Dudley was an altar boy so he didn’t sit with them, to Harry’s great enjoyment. The service was over and everyone was leaving when a lady gave out a piercing scream; the entire Sunday Collection had gone missing and no one had a clue as to how or why. Harry saw Dudley smiling, trying to hold in his snickers when a rather plump old woman abruptly came over to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia; she openly accused Harry of taking the money. Even after a rude search she found noting, but was determined to prove the boy had taken the money. Evidently the money was never recovered; Harry was asked never to return and Dudley somehow purchased himself a new bike. The other service was last Christmas. Voldemort’s power was in full swing and no one was safe, not even the Grangers. They had been under complicated spells, but somehow he managed to break through them. It was heartbreaking to watch Hermione mourn. Harry felt her pain and so he had spent many nights comforting her… The wind was picking up his grey scarf and, flingging it over his shoulder, he continued to walk down the street.

He passed many beautifully decorated stores and a few sets of carolers, making him fall deeper into his despair. Seeing the swinging sign above the storefront, Harry broke into a sprint and opened the door. The bell above his head chimed. As he walked into the flower shop, he was greeted by a small, balding man, and asked politely for a bouquet of red and white roses with lilies and lilacs. The man looked at him strangely, “Your girlfriend surely has strange taste, young man. Those flowers are out of season. They’re going to cost you a pretty penny. ”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said rather coldly.

“Shame, nice young bloke like you must have girls lining up around the block,” he said, sifting through the flowers.

“Actually no,” Harry said just wanting his flowers.

“Look, I have a niece about your age-”

“Sir, if you don’t mind I would just like the flowers.”

The man looked rather taken aback that Harry had refused his niece, but went on gathering the flowers. “Might I ask what these flowers are for, then?” the man asked handing Harry the finished bouquet.

Handing him the money Harry answered, “They’re for my parents’ grave.”

The balding man stood in shock as Harry abruptly left the store.

The trip to the seminary was short, but Harry had taken his time. He glanced down at his watch, noting he was long over due at the Weasley’s Christmas Eve party. Opening the gate he found himself in a sea of headstones. The sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and a chill run to his bones. So many had died and it was unnerving to think about the half of what happened. He walked down row by row and was horrified to recognize the names that decorated the marble and granite stones. Seeing the monument that Dumbledore had said would be there Harry walked to it and paused, making a visual contact with the object he had been avoiding for too long. Calming his breath, he slowly walked over and kneeled before the headstone of his Parents. The grass around was dead and the rose bush Remus had planted years ago with so much care was hidden under a fresh blanket of snow. With the sleeve of his clock he wiped away what had settled over the writing, revealing first the family crest and then the names of the people he had long dreamed of meeting. Under the names there was an inscription, but Harry could not read it, it had taken all his strength just to be here and already he had felt the effects of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block the unavoidable from occurring, but he could not stop it. His breath became ragged and staggered causing, him to lean on the stone for support. For several moments the only sounds audible in the old graveyard were of a man finally coming to terms with those he has lost.

He had planned this entire experience in his head, but he did not realize what the reality of being here would bring him to. He was so painfully close and yet they were still out of reach. He would never know those that had created him and had no recollection of them at all. He had been told stories, but stories only went so far. He needed to feel them - he needed to remember something that would bring him comfort- he needed something other than tales told by second-hand sources. He needed to know what it felt like before his world spiraled out of control. Before he was unjustly stripped of the only people in the world that he was apart of. The only people in the world that he could not meet.

Harry hastily rubbed his eyes before taking the bouquet of flowers and placing them against the cold marble stone. With one last glance Harry stood up and began to walk away. Several paces later he stopped and murmured Merry Christma,s Mum and Dad into the death silence.

The Burrow was packed with people Harry had never seen, but judging by their red mops they were all Weasleys. The only ones that didn’t belong amongst the sea of red were him and Hermione. Ron had welcomed Harry and quickly run off to cater to the needs of Great Aunt Marie, letting Uncle Sam and Cousin Jason snatch him up. They were nothing like the others. Ron had told him to stay away from the Yorkshire Weasleys and now he knew why. They were a conceded lot that reminded him of the Malfoys, minus the dark magic, of course. They went on and on about trivial things, even making fun of Arthur and Molly’s home. After excusing himself rather rudely Harry pushed through the mob of red and managed to get outside. There were a few people outside, and Harry thought he saw one of Fred and George’s fireworks go off in the distance. Looking around he caught sight of Hermione sitting in the swing. She looked as if miles away and Harry felt another pang in his heart. He stepped closer and sat down. She lifted her head from her hand and turned to him. Her face was red and puffy; she had been obviously crying. Before Harry had a chance to say anything she leaned on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Startled at first, Harry closed his arms around her, and started the gentle rocking motion of the swing. She was tense and Harry knew what she had been thinking about. He had always imaged Hermione as a strong and brave young woman, and now Harry knew those words did not cover her at all. Hermione was beyond that, he had no words in his vocabulary to describe this wonderful woman. Harry had never been good with words so he said nothing. For almost an hour they sat, swing gently as Harry gently stroked her hair. The silence comforting them both, no words were needed.

As the sun went down, the Weasleys gravitated into the kitchen for Molly’s feast. When all but Harry and Hermione sat down for dinner Ron went looking for them. He found them in a position that he would have made jokes about, but looking at their solemn faces he decided against it. They followed him inside and the feast began much to Ron’s pleasure.

Harry was in a trance and hadn’t noticed when Ron asked him a question. Seeing Ron’s hand wave frantically in front of his face, Harry snapped out of his daze and looked up. “You all right, Harry? You seem far off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, did you say something?”

“I was asking you if I could have the gravy,” he said, pointing to the gray boat just to Harry’s left.

Harry was as quiet as quiet was associated with Harry nowadays. Harry was no longer a young boy; He was entering adulthood, he was a young man, wise beyond his years. Ron had tried inadvertently to arouse Harry into a conversation, but to no avail. Now, after he roused Harry’s favorite subject, Quidittich, Ron had all but given up hope. When Ron had broken away from all conversations he watched Harry. He had been worrying about his best friend lately. Harry had been eating and sleeping less, and it showed in his demeanor more and more. He was very concerned and could only feel as if he was slowly but surely losing a part of himself. He and Harry had been together for so long it was difficult to decide were one ended and another began. Ron could only watch as the once strong and impenetrable force of Harry Potter cracked and crumbled. In watching his best friend, he had noticed the innate behavior he had now expected from Harry. Every six and half minutes Harry’s eyes slowly found the other untidy brown mop that belonged to no other but his other best friend.

The dinner had gone surprisingly well despite Ron’s failure to arouse Harry from his social coma (as no one found this alarming except Ron). Molly’s cooking was as expected, magnificent, and the all-around atmosphere of the night was joyous and gay. Glancing around the room Harry found his eyes wandering to Hermione, making sure she was alright. At the moment Hermione was having a conversation with Ginny on what seemed to be Elfin writes, as her mouth was upturned slightly and her hair securely tucked behind her ears. Harry felt ease for a moment, knowing that at least for now, Hermione was not dwelling on the past.

As her conversation with Ginny dwindled and fizzled to an end, Hermione sat back on her chair and the images and thoughts that had evaded her moments before came crashing back to her subconscious. She plastered a smile as Molly asked her if she was alright, noticing her sudden change in facial expressions, but could not fool another one at the table. His green eyes watched precariously as the façaded brunette accepted her dessert.

Hermione was nervously poking at her pumpkin pie while mostly everyone was involved in a livid conversation. As she contorted the orange pie into a swirling mush she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Harry’s concerned eyes on hers. She immediately looked away, finding the mush rather interesting. Harry placed his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Hermione, are you all right?”

She closed her eyes; she could not lie to him. Tears were threatening to escape and she shook her head indicating no. Instantly Harry whisked her outside receiving strange looks from many of the guests.

The night was warm for an English Christmas but that did not stop those whishing for a white Christmas. As the screen door swung back on its hinges Hermione took a few paces and stopped. She glanced up at the moon and closed her eyes. The tears that had been threatening to flow had come and she had not tried to stop them. Harry stood next to her but did not want to encroach on her. He had learned her boundaries when the loss was known and she shut herself off from the world. She lowered her head and reopened her eyes knowing Harry would be there. “Do you ever wonder…” she began, but trailed off.

Harry stepped closer and pushed away her tears with his thumb. “Do I ever wonder what?” he asked, his voice soft and angelic.

She swallowed and looked down at the grass before looking back to him. “Do you ever wonder if they are all right?” her voice shaky and cracked.

“All the time…but I know they are,” he said, bringing her into a distant embrace.

She pushed him off forcefully. “How do you know? You don’t know what happens after this cursed life ends. They could be in eternal damnation for having an evil child!” Ther thoughts that she had hidden so diligently had finally slipped through. She stepped back again and brought her arms around her chest, fingers clenching to the fabric of her sweater.

Harry stepped closer trying to calm her, “You are not an evil child, Hermione. You are a wonderful person-”

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes, answering with a voice as sharp as a honed knife, “I let him kill them! …I killed the only people that ever loved me!” she screamed as a stream of tears poured from her eyes. She collapsed to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

Harry stood for a moment to register what he had just heard. Of course he knew Hermione had felt some guilt for her parents’ death, but he did not know that she had placed the blame entirely upon herself. He descended to meet her and pried her hands away from her face. She would not look at him so he held her face in his hands. “Hermione, look at me! You did not kill your parents nor did you lead them to their death. The only one you should be angry at is me,” his voice was forceful and filled with the need to make her understand.

She looked at him with disbelief. “How can you say such things, Harry? Their death are entirely my fault, not yours!” her voice airy and breathless.

Harry readjusted himself and grabbed Hermione’s hands. “You should never be angry at yourself for anything,” he paused. “You should be angry at me. Never blame yourself for what happened.” Harry’s voice was so forceful and full of anger that it was frightening.

He rose from his knees and stood erect. His face was contourted with anger and another emotion Hermione could not name. He seemed almost mad and as she rose from her crouching position to tame his anger, but before she could Harry’s icy voice had cut through the chilly night air, “They weren’t the only ones.”

Hermione stood immobile, holding tightly to the hem of her skirt. Had Harry said what she thought he had? She was so confused and her vision was blurred from her tears. Unaware of the door slamming back on its hinges, she stared once more out into the night.

“Are you alright?” came the familiar voice of Luna Lovegood.

From the moment she heard her voice, she had wanted to leave. Hermione had never really known Luna and now that she and Ron had began their relationship she wondered why he would love someone so, well, loony.

“I heard yelling and I was worried… Are you alright, Hermione?” she said, coming closer into Hermione’s view.

Quickly wiping away the rouge tears and rubbing her cheeks, she put on the smile she had learned in these many months. Seeing the smile generally gave everyone the illusion that nothing was wrong and she was hoping it would work again.

“It’s nothing. I was just chatting with Harry about Quidittich and he just got a little to enthusiastic.” She had to admit that was the dumbest excuse she had ever conjured up, but seeing this was Luna she didn’t care.

Luna was still walking towards her and before she could utter another word Luna gave another smile and turned back towards the house, humming the melody to ‘Weasley is Our King.’

Hermione exhaled a sigh of relief and after a few minutes reentered the house. She was not hungry and didn’t want to be confronted by the family, so she quietly made her way up the stairs into the room she had roomed in whenever she had stayed at the Burrow. Ginny’s room had not changed much over the years, and the sight of lavender walls and teddy bears comforted Hermione a bit. As she laid down on the bed she thought a rest would do her good.

Downstairs at dinner, the shouting had gone virtually unnoticed and those that heard it could not decipher the muffled words. Ron, however, knew that Harry and Hermione never fought. He was worried and even after Luna’s reassurance he wanted to see what had just occurred. Harry had returned flushed and angry only to wish everyone a good night. He mumbled something about paperwork and left with only Molly’s protest. Harry was always a terrible liar and he held true to it. Harry had two week off from school and had told him earlier that the professors had been merciful on the homework this holiday.

Though his instincts told him something major had just occurred, he hoped that whatever it was would blow over soon. He would not be able to pull their friendship back together again.

The night was warm and inviting, and Harry found himself ambling around, not caring where he was going. As far back as he could remember, he had always found solace in the outdoors. Tonight was no different. It was here, in the open air, that he felt most in tune with everything around him. His head was still swirling and the blood still pounded in his ears but he felt somewhat relived and at the same time totally and completely scared. Hermione was on the edge, actually they all were, and the events of tonight only proved that. He was still unsure of why he said what he said, but he knew somewhere, sometime it would make sense.

The area surrounding the Burrow was uninhabited and barren. The dusty country road was unnerving quiet, but it made no difference. Harry did not know what he was doing, nor what he was going to do. He was never good with words or analytical things. Hermione was, he was the one that fought and protected. As he pondered the events of the night he could not help but wonder why. Why did this happen? Why does anything happen…

Sometime later, as stars shone their brightest and wind picked up a great deal, he had turned around in hopes of making it back by daybreak. He walked along the dusty road and he came to a place that looked unfamiliar to him. Had he gone the wrong way? Certainly not, he had just traveled straight the way he came. The wind blew violently, knocking his glasses from his face. As he scrambled around looking for them he felt something sharp tear his skin. As he recoiled he heard the crunch of glass. Cursing under his breath, he picked up the broken frame and shoved in his pocket. He felt as the blood poured from his cut and ignored the sensation. He walked on struggling to see the outline of the road illuminated by the tip of his wand. As he walked on, the path became narrower and the brush on the side of the roads, more thick and lush. Strangely, as he went on, his eye sight grew weaker until the point where he could see no more paths before him. Looking around in all directions he saw nothing that could help him steer his way back home. He couldn’t risk apparation, the wards around the Burrow were strong and would cause everyone to fret. Still he walked on, into the strange, unfamiliar brush, and found himself in daylight. He glanced around at this strange area only to find a small creek with flowing water and strange plants growing alongside its banks. He wanted to find the Burrow, but curiosity got the best of him. Throwing caution to the wind he came closer to the banks of the creek and touched one of the peculiar flowers. Its leaves were multicolored and the stem seemed to hover in mid air. When the leaves of this plant were in the grasp of Harry’s hand, he felt as if something was pulling him, or rather pulling something out of him. He quickly threw the plant down and made a sprint out of the strange clearing. As soon as he had left the sun poked out along the horizon and he saw the crocket tree that he and Ron had passed many summers ago. As he came closer to the tree he found the strange need to prod his wand inside its knoll. Much to his dismay the wand started to vibrate, violently, and before he knew what happened he found himself standing in the hallway of the Burrow; more specifically, in the hallway in front of Ginny’s bedroom door. He turned around slightly glancing each way, trying to come up with some rational explanation for what had just occurred.

The house was quiet save for the ghosts that haunted the attic. They sang their Christmas carols, in their shrieking voices, but the sound was not unpleasant. He stood in the hallway for quite some time as he saw the sky brighten to its usual morning glow. The inhabitants of upper floors began to stir and it was not long before Ron rushed past him sporting a rather attractive pink robe. “Morning, Har,” he mumbled. He reached the staircase landing, stopped and turned around. “You look awful. Where have you been?”

“I went for a walk and sort of got lost…By the way did you know about the tree-“

“That teleports you into the hallway? Yeah, we found it a while ago. Seems Ginny used to sneak up guests after hours,” he said, sounding disgusted.

Harry smiled, somewhat relieved and curious.

“Yeah, I guess dad forgot to uncharm it…What I am standing here for? I have presents to open. Coming, Harry?”

“Later,” he said, thinking that his friend had not grown up much since they were twelve.

The red head made a sprint down the stairs calling out over his shoulders, “Suit yourself!”

As his smile wore away Harry drew his attention back the door in front of him. He tentatively reached out his hand, but as soon as his fingers gripped around the brass sphere it turned. The door was swung open and revealed a very dishevled Hermione. The puffiness around her eyes were gone, replaced by the faint lines of purple and blue. There was an awkward silence between the two before Hermione stepped back and gestured for him to come in. The door clicked closed and silence had reared its ugly head again. Neither knew how to begin the conversation, but somehow they managed to think alike. “I’m sorry,” they chorused at the same time.

They both smiled, real smiles, reminding them that things were not as they used to be. Their smiles faded and Hermione sat down on the bed. “You look horrible, Harry. Where have you been?” she asked with the brutal honesty she loved to voice.

“You don’t look so attractive yourself at the moment,” he snickered back.

Silence

After several long minutes, Harry spoke aloud, “You know we do have to talk about this sometime. I know neither of us want to but, we need to.”

She sighed heavily and laid back onto the pillows of the bed. “Hermione, there is no getting around this. You-Me, we both need to talk about it. We can have Ron and the others there if you wish but…” he trailed off and looked at her. He knew she wasn’t asleep but her eyes were closed and her palms were pressed against her forehead.

“Are you alright, Mione?” he asked sitting down at the edge of the bed. It sagged under his weight but she did not move. “I understand-” She sat up putting her fingers to her lips and laid back down. She patted the spot next to her, indicating she wanted him to lie down next to her.

As he leaned down and propped himself on one side, he looked at her face. Hermione was beautiful- not the kind of beautiful Cho or Flur was- but a simplistic beauty that left you in awe. Looking at her he knew how tired she felt, the restless nights and hours of wonder and self incriminating hate. He wished he could tell her this would all end -that everything would be the way it used to be- but he couldn’t. To this very day Harry could not say that his visions had stopped, or his unwillingness to accept the fact that what come will come, and what has come has already come. There is nothing to change the past; there is only hope for the future. Harry knows he nor Hermione is a seer. Therefore their future will remain a clouded mist, only to lift when the time comes. They will have to take life as everyone else, one day at a time.

He knows the conversation cannot be forgotten, but he knows she is not up to it now. The holidays bring back so many painful memories and to open the deepest wound would be almost unbearable. For a while all that came to be heard is the rythmatic breathing of the two, and as Hermione stares into Harry’s eyes he feels a strange understanding. Though needed to be spoken, right now was not the right time. There will come a time when it will be discussed. She blinks and her serious expression softens as she places a kiss on his forehead and snuggles up to him. There is nothing sexual about the gesture, just the need for another’s touch; someone to comfort her. They have never been this close before and to Harry it does not feel strange, nor is it unwelcome. He wraps his arms around her, rubbing his hand in small circles on her back. Finally content and at ease she lets herself rest. The first peaceful rest she had had in a year.

The absence of Harry and Hermione did not go unnoticed to the gathering of Weasley’s around the tree. “I bet they are up there snogging,” George stating blantingly what many of the others thought. The others gave him evil eyes, “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t think that as well.”

“George, just don’t say it, alright? I don’t need the picture of Harry and Hermione snogging in my room.” Ginny said, throwing a roundish box at her brother.

With a shake, George’s hopeful smile dissipated to an upturned smile. “It’s just another sweater.”

With his eyes firmly shut Harry could see the scrambled eggs, hash, pancakes, waffles, bacon...He couldn’t wait to take a bite. Opening his eyes just enough to make out the numbers on Ginny’s alarm clock, he closed his eyes again, trying not to disturb Hermione. For a moment she fidgeted and he thought he had woken her up, but her hand wrapped tighter around his torso and she relaxed once more. In all the years Harry had know Hermione he had never felt as close to her as he did now. And as his hand pushed back a few loose strands of her bushy mop, he smiled. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly realized how close they were. Her hand that was not firmly around his torso was embedded in his hair, her feet were draped atop his feet and the tip of her nose was mere centimeters away from his own. He didn’t know why it had taken him this long to notice this. but for some strange reason his heart began to race. He felt as the beads of sweat dripped down from the crease of his forehead, down his cheek and onto the pillow; narrowly missing Hermione’s forearm. His head began to swirl with visions he couldn’t quite comprehend, and he felt as if someone had turned the heat well above normal. He felt the sudden need to get out of the room. He couldn’t wake Hermione, she needed to rest, but he needed to get out of the room. Gently he removed Hermione’s hand from around himself and placed it around a pillow, her hand slipping easily out of his hair, and her feet were carefully moved. Securing his glasses on his face, he made his way to the door. As he opened the door to leave he heard a raspy voice, “Harry...where are you going?”

Damn. “I just needed to use the loo...I didn’t want to disturb you.” he said, walking back towards her. “Go back to sleep.”

In an instant her head was resting on the pillow and she had undoubtedly fallen asleep. Smiling he walked closer and pulled the covers tighter around her, placing a kiss on her forehead. With the sudden need to leave forgotten, he stood there watching as her chest rose and fell; each time in sync with his own breathing pattern.
***
Quietly he slipped down the stairs into the foyer and was looked upon by familiar eyes. “Late night there, Harry?” George said, receiving a knock in the ribs from Ginny.

Harry ignored his comment and sat down in one of the chairs opposite the tree. His blank expression gave him away. “Everything alright there, Harry?” Arthur asked, handing Ron another box.

Harry sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m just really worried...”

“About Hermione,” Molly finished, looking very concerned

Ron wanted to ask him what had happened, but his better judgment stopped him. However, Harry continued. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought she was getting back to normal and then last night...” he trailed off hearing footsteps overhead.

“Harry, can I see you in the kitchen?”

Harry widened his eyes. She had been asleep not two minutes ago, what had happened? The others sat silent as Hermione entered the kitchen and Harry followed. As the door hitched Fred and George were on there feet. “Don’t you dare.” Ron said shortly. As the twins sat back down he fixed his eyes on the door, wondering what they were talking about.
***
As soon as they both were in the kitchen Hermione stood, arms folded, waiting. “Hermione, I’m worried about you...we all are,” Harry said, stepping closer.

Instantly her arms shot out and her temper fared. “I’m fine, Harry. There is nothing bloody wrong with me! I don’t understand why everyone thinks I need to be examined like some sort of bleeding experiment.”

Harry could not hold himself back. This conversation had long been coming, “No, Hermione, you’re not. We’ve- I’ve let you be for far too long. You may be able to fool them, and maybe even Ron, but you can’t fool me. I know what you’re going through. I know when you lie about not sleeping. I know when you smile and want to cry...I’ve been there.”

“No you haven’t! I’m sick of you saying you’ve been through what I have.” The prickling sensation was returning to her face. “You don’t know what it’s like...”

“Then tell me what’s it’s like,” Harry said, grabbing her hands.

She upturned her face to look at him. She opened her mouth as if to speak but wretched her hands out of his grasp and ran out of the kitchen and through the front door.
***
Outside was cold and neither Harry nor Hermione had warm clothing or shoes on. He needed to find her before she froze to death. Even though Hermione had gotten a head start, Harry was undoubtedly faster. The years of Quidittich had reaped many rewards and it was now that he thanked the unfathomable Oliver Wood. As he ran past the tree he had encountered the night before, he caught a glimpse of the satin he was searching for. He saw as she ran into the clearing that had mystified him yesterday. He stopped as he saw her looking widely around, trying to comprehend where she was.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Harry said, walking closer.

“Where are we? What is this?” she asked, obviously out of breath.

But he ignored her question. He came so close that if she took off running again, he would be able to catch her. “You must be cold,” he said, taking off his shirt and putting it over her. Indeed she was, for such a mild winter this weather was bitterly cold. “Harry, have you lost you mind? You’ll bloody freeze. Put your shirt back on at once!” she said, thrusting the garment at him.

He pushed her hand back towards herself and said, “put it on.” It was not a request.

“Why did you run out, Hermione?” he said, seeing his own breath in front of him.

She tugged at Harry’s shirt, that hung loosely on her small frame. “I don’t know.” Her arms came around herself and began rubbing out the cold. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what? You are not afraid of me, are you?”

“No, of course not! I just ...I just don’t know anymore,.” she said, looking at him with gazed eyes that spoke what she could not.

He stepped closer and encircled her with his arms. She did not cry, but merely stood there feeling the warmth of Harry’s body against hers. “Hermione, I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” he murmured into her hair.
***
The Weasley’s looked stupidly at one to another, wondering what had just occurred. “Should we go after them?” Ginny asked to no one in particular.

“No. They need to sort things out,” Ron said with his vacant expression.

“But they’ll freeze. They barely have any cloths on,” Molly said standing up.

“I said let them be, Mum. You don’t get how hard this is? I thought- hell- we all thought she was back to normal but look at what’s happened. I’m not going to ruin the chance of getting the old Hermione back.”

Hearing her youngest son Molly sat back down in her chair.
***
“I need to get you back inside,” Harry said to Hermione, rubbing her arms.

“I don’t mind the cold.”

“No? Well, you feel like ice.”

“But I’m not the one with no shirt on...You’re the one that feels like ice.”

They both turned to exit the clearing but Hermione stopped in her tracks. “What is it?”

Then Harry saw the first real smile from his friend in a long time, “It’s snowing.”
***
As the door opened and revealed the two people missing from the gathering many thoughts ran through their heads. As Molly hurried pushed the two upstairs to change, Arthur ran the tea, Ron gathered the cloths and Ginny and the twins looked for anything that could generate heat.

The bathroom was covered in a fog of steam warming the two almost hypothermic people. After a few minutes in the warm room the shivers stopped but the cold still remained. After a mighty scolding from Molly, Harry and Hermione laughed at their current situation; cover head to toe in terry cloth and anything fuzzy soft. The blankets were puffy and it was hard to tell where the actual body of the person was. Sometime later, as they were bustled out of the bathroom and into one of the bedrooms down the hall, their blankets became interwoven and inseparable.

As Mrs. Weasley secured the comforter to the chins of the once escapees, she secured their bed tidings with a mother’s kiss. Without another word the door hitched and the two laid silent in the room; each body feeling the aurora of warmth from the other, each mind thinking the same strange, unnerving thoughts; but neither finding it within themselves to speak.

This is the resubmitted and unbeta-ed chapter. My Beta has yet to see this so there are bound to be some mistakes. I hope you enjoy this little-big experiment.

Empathy

Christmas; a time to celebrate, be cheerful. That time of year everyone loved and anxiously waited for; the time of year that made Harry sick to his stomach. Christmas always brought the cheerful persona of Harry Potter to a crashing halt. Over the years he had become a skilled magician in hiding what he felt but this year, things were almost too much. He didn't mind the handshakes of countless strangers or praise and thanks but what got to him were those closest to him.

He knew it wasn't their fault but he couldn't help himself. He knew he should be proud when people spoke those words but it instilled such a deep ache it nearly drove him mad.

At Hogwarts it was different. There were feasts and friends surrounding him and he didn't have time to think about such things. He wished he could once again be back in the common room with all of his friends chasing away such thoughts. He saw Ron and Hermione at least every other day, but it just wasn't the same. The war had changed them all and it scared him to think what they all had become. Ron lost his childish ignorance and his laughter seemed almost forced. Hermione had become a shell of the person she once was. The war had hit all hard but for her the blow was catastrophic hit to the heart. In the final days of the war the Grangers were killed; victims of the heartless creatures of Voldemort.

Hermione worked in the Experimental Charms Department, on the adjacent floor of the Auror building; in the small cramp offices of near genius workers. Ron was trying to break into Professional Quidittich, trying to hold strong to childish dreams and Harry, as expected, was an Auror. He became an Auror almost by default, seeing that the matter in which he fought was far greater than any training the Academy could have ever produced.

There were those that said the world was finally safe but Harry new better. There would be countless others trying to better the legacy of Voldemort. And as he said, "One can never really defeat all evil unless there is no good."

Walking past the church and hearing the faint sounds of Christmas Hymns, he stopped. Harry had no religion. He thought it trivial to pray to silent Gods. He believed in people. He believed in fate. But most importantly he believed.

As he walked past many beautifully decorated stores and several sets of carolers, he fell deeper into his despair. Seeing the swinging sign above the storefront, Harry broke into a sprint and opened the door quickly; happy to be rid of the noise. The bell above his head chimed and a man popped almost magically out from under the counter. As he approached the small, balding man, he asked politely for a bouquet of red and white roses with lilies and lilacs. The man looked at him strangely, "Your girlfriend sure has strange taste young man. Those flowers are out of season. They are quite expensive."

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said rather coldly.

"Shame, nice young bloke like you must have girls lining up around the block," he said, sifting through the flowers.

Harry ignored the man's comment shifting uncomfortably on his heels.

"Look, I have a niece about your age-"

"Sir, if you don't mind I would just like the flowers." Harry said in a harsh voice unlike his own.

The man looked rather taken aback at Harry, but went on gathering the flowers. "Might I ask what these flowers are for, then?" the man asked narrowing his eyes.

Handing him the money and grabbing the flowers from the man's outstretched hand Harry answered, "They're for my parents' grave."

The balding man stood in shock as Harry abruptly left the store.

***

The trip to the seminary was short, but Harry had taken his time. He glanced down at his watch, noting he was long over due at the Weasley's Christmas Eve party. Opening the gate he found himself in a sea of headstones. The sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and a chill run to his bones. So many had died and it was unnerving to think about the half of what happened. He walked down row by row and was horrified to recognize the names that decorated the marble and granite stones. Seeing the monument that Dumbledore said would be there, he walked to it and paused; making a visual contact with the object he had been avoiding for too long. Calming his breath, he slowly walked over and kneeled before the headstone of his Parents. The grass around was dead and the rose bush Remus had planted years ago with so much care was hidden under a fresh blanket of snow. With the sleeve of his clock he wiped away what had settled over the writing, revealing first the family crest and then the names of the people he had long dreamed of meeting. Under the names there was an inscription, but Harry could not read it, it had taken all his strength just to be here and already he had felt the effects of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block the unavoidable from occurring, but he could not stop it. His breath became ragged and staggered, causing him to lean on the stone for support. For several moments the only sounds audible in the old graveyard were of a man finally coming to terms with those he has lost.

He had planned this entire experience in his head, but he did not realize what the reality of being here would bring him to. He was so painfully close and yet they were still out of reach. He would never know those that had created him and had no recollection of them at all. He had been told stories, but stories only went so far. He needed to feel them - he needed to remember something that would bring him comfort- he needed something other than tales told by second-hand sources. He needed to know what it felt like before his world spiraled out of control.

Harry hastily rubbed his eyes before taking the bouquet of flowers and placing them against the cold marble stone. With one last glance Harry stood up and began to walk away. Several paces later he stopped, "Merry Christmas Mum and Dad."

***

The Burrow was packed with people Harry had never seen, but judging by their red mops they were all Weasleys. Ron had welcomed Harry only to quickly run off to cater to the needs of Great Aunt Marie, letting Uncle Sam and Cousin Jason snatch him up. They were nothing like the others. Ron had told him to stay away from the Yorkshire Weasleys and now he knew why. They were a conceded lot that reminded him of the Malfoys, minus the dark magic, of course. They went on and on about trivial things, even making fun of Arthur and Molly's home. After excusing himself rather rudely Harry pushed through the mob of red and managed to get outside. There were a few people outside, and Harry thought he saw one of Fred and George's fireworks go off in the distance. Looking around he caught sight of Hermione sitting in the swing. She looked as if miles away and Harry felt another pang in his heart. He stepped closer and sat down. She lifted her head from her hand and turned to him. Her face was red and puffy; she had been obviously crying. Before Harry had a chance to say anything she leaned on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Startled at first, Harry closed his arms around her, and started the gentle rocking motion of the swing. She was tense and Harry knew what she had been thinking about. He had always imaged Hermione as a strong and brave young woman, and now Harry knew those words did not cover her at all. Hermione was beyond that, he had no words in his vocabulary to describe this wonderful woman. Harry had never been good with words so he said nothing. For almost an hour they sat, swing gently as Harry gently stroked her hair. The silence comforting them both, no words were needed.

As the sun went down, the Weasleys gravitated into the kitchen for Molly's feast. When all but Harry and Hermione sat down for dinner Ron went looking for them. He found them in a position that he would have made jokes about, but looking at their solemn faces, decided against it. They followed him inside and the feast began.

Harry was in a trance and hadn't noticed when Ron asked him a question. Seeing Ron's hand wave frantically in front of his face, he snapped out of his daze and looked up. "You all right, Harry? You seem far off."

"Yeah, I'm fine, did you say something?"

"I was asking you if I could have the gravy," he said, pointing to the gray boat just to his left.

For the entire dinner Harry was as quiet and withdrawn; speaking only when necessary. Ron had tried inadvertently to arouse Harry into a conversation, but to no avail. Now, after he roused Harry's favorite subject, Quidittich, Ron had all but given up hope. When Ron had broken away from all conversations he watched Harry. He had been worrying about his best friend for quite some time. Harry had never been the same since the war, and it showed in his demeanor more and more. He was very concerned and could only feel as if he was slowly but surely losing a part of himself. He and Harry had been together for so long it was difficult to decide were one ended and another began. Ron hoped he could find the old Harry before the once strong and impenetrable force of Harry Potter cracked and crumbled. In watching his best friend, he had noticed the innate behavior he had now expected from Harry. Every six and half minutes Harry's eyes slowly found the other untidy brown mop that belonged to no other but his other best friend.

The dinner had gone surprisingly well despite Ron's failure to arouse Harry from his social coma. Molly's cooking was as expected, magnificent, and the all-around atmosphere of the night was joyous and gay. Glancing around the room Harry found his eyes wandering to Hermione, making sure she was alright. At the moment Hermione was having a conversation with Ginny on what seemed to be Elfin rights, as her mouth was upturned slightly and her hair securely tucked behind her ears. Harry felt ease for a moment, knowing that at least for now, Hermione was not dwelling on the past.

As her conversation with Ginny dwindled and fizzled to an end, Hermione sat back on her chair and the images and thoughts that had evaded her moments before came crashing back to her subconscious. She plastered a smile as Molly asked her if she was alright (noticing her sudden change in facial expressions) but could not fool another one at the table. His green eyes watched precariously as the façaded brunette accepted her dessert.

Hermione was nervously poking at her pumpkin pie while mostly everyone was involved in a livid conversation. As she contorted the orange pie into a swirling mush she felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn't need to look up to; she knew his touch. She kept her gaze, finding the mush rather interesting. Harry placed his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Hermione, are you all right?"

She closed her eyes; she could not lie to him. Tears were threatening to escape and she shook her head. Instantly Harry whisked her outside receiving strange looks from many of the guests.

The night was warm for an English Christmas but that did not stop those from whishing for a white Christmas. As the screen door swung back on its hinges Hermione took a few paces and stopped. She glanced up at the moon and closed her eyes. The tears that had been threatening to flow had come and she had not tried to stop them. Harry stood next to her but did not want to encroach on her. He had learned her boundaries when the loss was new and she shut herself off from the world. She lowered her head and reopened her eyes knowing Harry would be there. "Do you ever wonder…" she began, but trailed off.

Harry stepped closer and pushed away her tears with his thumb. "Do I ever wonder what?" he asked, his voice soft and angelic.

She swallowed and looked down at the grass before looking back to him. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if I-…?" her voice shaky and cracked.

"Hermione don't…Don't do this to yourself," he said, bringing her into a distant embrace.

She pushed him off forcefully. "How can I not think of it? It's is my fault they're dead!" The thoughts that she had hidden so diligently had finally slipped through. She stepped back again and brought her arms around her chest, fingers clenching to the fabric of her sweater.

Harry stepped closer trying to calm her, "None of this is your fault Hermione."

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes, answering with a voice as sharp as a honed knife, "It's because of me they're dead! If I had never gotten that blasted letter they would have been safe." she screamed as a stream of tears poured from her eyes. She collapsed to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

Harry stood for a moment, thinking of what to say. He descended to meet her and pried her hands away from her face. She would not look at him so he held her face in his hands. "Hermione! Hermione, look at me. Don't say such things. You know they're not true. The only one you should be angry at is me," his voice was forceful and filled with the need to make her understand.

She looked at him with disbelief. "Harry… " her voice airy and breathless.

Harry readjusted himself and grabbed Hermione's hands. "You should never be angry at yourself for anything," he paused. "You should be angry at me. Never blame yourself for what happened." Harry's voice was so forceful and full of anger that it was frightening.

He rose from his knees and stood erect. His face was contorted with anger and another emotion Hermione could not name. He seemed almost mad and as she rose from her crouching position to tame his anger, but before she could Harry stormed off into the house.

Hermione stood immobile, holding tightly to the hem of her skirt; thinking she might collapse again. She was so confused and her vision was blurred from her tears. Unaware of the door slamming back on its hinges, she stared once more out into the night.

"Are you alright?" came the familiar voice of Luna Lovegood.

From the moment she heard her voice, she had wanted to leave. Hermione had never really known Luna and now that she and Ron had begun their relationship she wondered why he would love someone so…loony.

"I heard yelling and I was worried… Are you alright, Hermione?" she said, coming closer into Hermione's view.

Quickly wiping away the rouge tears and rubbing her cheeks, she put on the smile she had learned in these many months. Seeing the smile generally gave everyone the illusion that nothing was wrong and she was hoping it would work again.

"It's nothing. I was just chatting with Harry about Quidittich and he just got a little to enthusiastic." She had to admit that was the dumbest excuse she had ever conjured up, but seeing this was Luna she didn't care.

Luna was still walking towards her as she spoke but before she could utter another word Luna gave another smile and turned back towards the house, humming her melody of 'Weasley is Our King.'

Hermione exhaled a sigh of relief and after a few minutes reentered the house. She was not hungry and didn't want to be confronted by the family, so she quietly made her way up the stairs into the room she had roomed in whenever she had stayed at the Burrow. Ginny's room had not changed much over the years, and the sight of lavender walls and teddy bears comforted Hermione. As she lay down on the bed, holding tight to one of the teddy bears, she thought a rest would do her good.

***

Downstairs at dinner, the shouting had gone virtually unnoticed and those that heard it could not decipher the muffled words. Ron, however, knew that Harry and Hermione never fought. He was still worried after Luna's reassurance. He wanted to know what had just occurred. Harry had returned flushed and angry only to wish everyone a good night. He mumbled something about paperwork and left with only Molly's protest. Harry was always a terrible liar and he held true to it. Harry had two week off from work and had told him earlier that the Unspeakables had been merciful this holiday.

Though his instincts told him something major had just occurred, he hoped that whatever it was would blow over soon. He knew a house divided could not stand.

***

The night was warm and inviting, and Harry found himself ambling around, not caring where he was going. As far back as he could remember he had always found solace in the outdoors; tonight was no different. It was here, in the open air, that he felt most in tune with everything around him. His head was still swirling and the blood still pounded in his ears but he felt somewhat relived and at the same time totally and completely scared. Hermione was on the edge, they all were, and the events of tonight only proved that.

The area surrounding the Burrow was uninhabited and barren. The dusty country road was unnerving quiet, but it made no difference. Harry did not know what he was doing, nor what he was going to do. He was never good with words or analytical things but he had an innate understanding of others; a sort of empathy. As he pondered the events of the night he could not help but wonder why.

Sometime later, as stars shone their brightest and wind picked up a great deal, he had turned around in hopes of making it back by daybreak. He walked along the dusty road and he came to a place that looked unfamiliar to him. Had he gone the wrong way? Certainly not, he had just traveled straight the way he came. The wind blew violently, knocking his glasses from his face. As he scrambled around looking for them he felt something sharp tear his skin. As he recoiled his hand to his chest he heard the crunch of glass under his foot. Cursing under his breath, he picked up the broken frame and shoved in his pocket. He felt as the blood poured from his cut but ignored the sensation. He walked on, struggling to see the outline of the road illuminated by the tip of his wand. As he walked the path became narrower and the brush on the side of the roads, more thick and lush. Strangely, as he went on, his eye sight grew weaker until the point where he could see no more path before him. Looking around in all directions he saw nothing that could help him steer his way back home. He couldn't risk apparation; the wards around the Burrow were strong and would cause everyone to fret. So he walked on, into the strange, unfamiliar brush, and found himself in daylight. He glanced around at this strange area only to find a small creek with flowing water and strange plants growing alongside its banks. He wanted to find the Burrow, but curiosity got the best of him. Throwing caution to the wind he came closer to the banks of the creek and touched one of the peculiar flowers. The tendrils of color flowed down its pedals as if liquid as the stem seemed to hover in mid air. As he held the strange flower, trying to think back to Neville's herbology rants, he felt as if something was pulling him, or rather pulling something out of him. He quickly threw the plant down and made a sprint out of the strange clearing. As soon as he found himself in the morning glow of a country sunrise. Along the horizon and he saw the crocket tree that he and Ron had passed many summers ago. As he came closer to the tree he found the strange need to prod his wand inside its knoll. Much to his dismay the wand started to vibrate, violently, and before he knew what happened he found himself standing in the hallway of the Burrow; more specifically, in the hallway in front of Ginny's bedroom door. He turned around slightly glancing each way, trying to come up with some rational explanation for what had just occurred.

The house was quiet save for the ghosts that haunted the attic. They sang their Christmas carols, in their shrieking voices, but the sound was not unpleasant. He stood in the hallway for quite some time as he saw the sky brighten to its usual morning gold. The inhabitants of upper floors began to stir and it was not long before Ron rushed past him sporting a rather attractive pink robe. "Morning, Har," he mumbled. He reached the staircase landing, stopped and turned around. "You look awful. Where have you been?"

"I went for a walk and sort of got lost…By the way did you know about the tree-"

"That teleports you into the hallway? Yeah, we found it a while ago. Seems Ginny used to sneak up guests after hours," he said, sounding disgusted.

Harry smiled, somewhat relieved and curious.

"Yeah, I guess dad forgot to uncharm it…What I am standing here for? Mum's cooking a full breakfast! Coming?"

"Later," he said smiling, thinking that his friend had not changed his views on food since they were twelve.

The red head made a sprint down the stairs calling out over his shoulders, "Suit yourself!"

As his smile wore away Harry drew his attention back the door in front of him. He tentatively reached out his hand, but as soon as his fingers gripped around the brass sphere it turned. The door was swung open and revealed a very disheveled Hermione. The puffiness around her eyes were gone, replaced by the faint lines of purple and blue. There was an awkward silence between the two before Hermione stepped back and gestured for him to come in. The door clicked closed and silence had reared its ugly head again. Neither knew how to begin the conversation, but somehow they managed to think alike. "I'm sorry," they chorused at the same time.

They both smiled, reminding them that things were not as they used to be. Within seconds their smiles faded and Hermione sat down on the bed. "You look horrible, Harry. Where have you been?" she asked with the brutal honesty she loved to voice.

"You don't look so attractive yourself at the moment," he snickered back.

Silence.

After several long minutes, Harry spoke aloud, "You know we do have to talk about this sometime. I know neither of us want to but, we need to."

She sighed heavily and laid back onto the pillows of the bed. "Hermione, there is no getting around this. You-Me, we both need to talk about it. It would be nice to have Ron and the others but…" he trailed off and looked at her. He knew she wasn't asleep but her eyes were closed and her palms were pressed against her forehead.

"Are you alright, Mione?" he asked sitting down at the edge of the bed. It sagged under his weight but she did not move. "I -" She sat up putting her fingers to her lips and laid back down. She patted the spot next to her, indicating she wanted him to lie down next to her.

As he leaned down and propped himself on one side, he looked at her face. Hermione was beautiful- not the kind of supermodel beauty - but a simplistic beauty that told you of her kindness even before she opened her mouth. Looking at her he knew how tired she felt; the restless nights and hours of wonder and self incriminating hate. He wished he could tell her this would all end -that everything would be the way it used to be- but he couldn't. It would never be the same. And he felt almost hypocritical to want to help someone when he had the same internal conflicts, if not more so.

He knows the conversation could not be forgotten, but he knows now is not the time. The holidays bring back so many painful memories and to open the deepest wound would be almost unbearable. For a while all that came to be heard is the rythmatic breathing of the two, and as Hermione stares into Harry's eyes the both feel a strange understanding. Though needed to be spoken, right now was not the right time. There will come a time when it will be discussed but now both are content in silence. She blinks and her serious expression softens as she places a kiss on his forehead and snuggles into his chest. There is nothing sexual about the gesture, just the need for another's touch; someone to comfort her. They have never been this close before and to Harry it does not feel strange, nor is it unwelcome. He wraps his arms around her, rubbing his hand in small circles on her back. Finally content and at ease she lets herself rest. The first peaceful rest she had had in over a year…

***

The absence of Harry and Hermione did not go unnoticed to the gathering of Weasley's around the tree. "I bet they are up there snogging," George stating blatingly what many of the others thought. However the others gave him evil eyes, "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you don't think that as well."

"George, just don't say it, alright? I don't need the picture of Harry and Hermione snogging in my room." Ginny said, throwing a roundish box at her brother.

With a shake, George's hopeful smile dissipated to an upturned smile. "It's just another sweater."

***

With his eyes firmly shut Harry could see the ham, goose, cherry pies and the many tidbits that made Molly's cooking so extravagant...He couldn't wait to take a bite. Opening his eyes just enough to make out the numbers on Ginny's alarm clock, he closed his eyes again tightly, trying to hold on to the last seconds of sleep. For a moment she fidgeted and he thought he had woken her up, but her hand wrapped tighter around his torso and she relaxed once more. In all the years Harry had know Hermione he had never felt as close to her as he did now. And as his hand pushed back a few loose strands of her bushy mop, he smiled. He didn't know why, but he suddenly realized how close they were; both mentally and physically. Her hand that was not firmly around his torso was embedded in his hair -that only she felt had a certain character-, her feet were draped atop his and the tip of her nose was mere centimeters away from his own. He didn't know why it had taken him this long to notice this but for some strange reason his heart began to race. He felt as the beads of sweat dripped down from the crease of his forehead, down his cheek and onto the pillow; narrowly missing Hermione's forearm. His head began to swirl with visions he couldn't quite comprehend, and he felt as if someone had turned the heat well above normal. He felt the sudden need to get out of the room. He couldn't wake Hermione, she needed to rest, but he needed to get out of the room. Gently he removed Hermione's hand from around himself and placed it around a pillow, her hand slipping easily out of his hair, and her feet were carefully moved. Securing his newly repaired glasses on his face, he made his way to the door. As he opened the door to leave he heard a raspy voice, "Harry...where are you going?"

Damn. "I just needed to use the loo...I didn't want to disturb you." he said, walking back towards her. "Go back to sleep."

After several seconds of struggling to fight off her fatigue she fell back against the pillow and sleep had conquered her. Smiling he walked closer and pulled the covers tightly around her, placing a kiss on her forehead. With the sudden need to leave forgotten, he stood there watching as her chest rose and fell; each time in sync with his own breathing pattern.

***

Quietly he slipped down the stairs into the foyer and was looked upon by familiar eyes. "Late night there, Harry?" Fred said, receiving a knock in the ribs from Ginny.

Harry ignored his comment and sat down in one of the chairs opposite the tree. His blank expression gave him away. "Everything alright there, Harry?" Arthur asked, handing Ron another box.

Harry sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. "I think we all need to have a talk."

"About Hermione?" Molly asked, looking very concerned.

Ron wanted to ask him what had happened, but his better judgment stopped him. However, Harry continued. "I don't know what to do anymore. I thought she was getting back to normal and then last night..." he trailed off hearing footsteps overhead.

"Harry, can I see you in the kitchen?"

Harry widened his eyes. She had been asleep not two minutes ago, what had happened? The others sat silent as Hermione entered the kitchen and Harry followed. As the door hitched Fred and George were on there feet. "Don't you dare." Ron said shortly. As the twins sat back down he fixed his eyes on the door, wondering what was transpiring.

***

As soon as they both were in the kitchen Hermione stood, arms folded, waiting. "Hermione, I'm worried about you...we all are," Harry said, stepping closer.

Instantly her arms shot out and her temper fared. "I'm fine, Harry. There is nothing bloody wrong with me! I don't understand why everyone thinks I need to be examined like some sort of bleeding experiment."

Harry could not hold himself back. This conversation had long been coming, "No, Hermione, you're not. We've- I've let you be for far too long. You may be able to fool them, and maybe even Ron, but you can't fool me. I know what you're going through. I know when you lie about not sleeping. I know when you lie. I know you, Hermione."

"No you-! I'm sick of you saying you've been through what I have." The prickling sensation was returning to her face. "You don't know what it's like..."

"Then tell me what's it's like," Harry said, grabbing her hands.

She upturned her face to look at him. She opened her mouth as if to speak but wretched her hands out of his grasp and ran out of the kitchen and through the front door.

***

Outside was cold and neither Harry nor Hermione had warm clothing or shoes on. He needed to find her before she froze to death. Even though Hermione had gotten a head start, Harry was undoubtedly faster. The years of Quidittich had reaped many rewards and it was now that he thanked the unfathomable Oliver Wood. As he ran past the tree he had encountered the night before, he caught a glimpse of the one he was searching for. He saw as she ran into the clearing that had mystified him yesterday. He stopped as he saw her looking widely around, trying to comprehend where she was.

"Strange, isn't it?" Harry said, walking closer.

"Where are we? What is this?" she asked, obviously out of breath.

But he ignored her question. He came so close that if she took off running again, he would be able to catch her. "You must be cold," he said, taking off his shirt and putting it over her. Indeed she was, for such a mild winter this weather was bitterly cold. "Harry, have you lost your mind? You'll bloody freeze. Put your shirt back on at once!" she said, thrusting the garment at him.

He pushed her hand back towards herself and said, "Put it on." It was not a request.

"Why did you run out, Hermione?" he said, seeing his own breath in front of him.

She tugged at Harry's shirt, that hung loosely on her small frame. "I don't know." Her arms came around herself and began rubbing out the cold. "I was scared."

"Scared of what? You are not afraid of me, are you?"

"No, of course not! I just ...I just don't know anymore," she said, looking at him with gazed eyes that spoke what she could not.

He stepped closer and encircled her with his arms. She did not cry, but merely stood there feeling the warmth of Harry's body against hers. "Hermione, I'll always be here for you, you know that," he murmured into her hair.

***

The Weasley's looked stupidly at one to another, wondering what had just occurred. "Should we go after them?" Ginny asked to no one in particular.

"No. They need to sort things out," Ron said with his vacant expression.

"But they'll freeze. They barely have any cloths on," Molly said standing up.

"I said let them be, Mum. You don't get how hard this is? I thought -hell- we all thought she was back to normal but look at what's happened. I'm not going to ruin the chance of getting the Hermione I know back."

Hearing her youngest son Molly sat back down in her chair, thinking for the first time how much he had changed.

***

"I need to get you back inside," Harry said to Hermione, rubbing her arms.

"I don't mind the cold."

"No? Well, you feel like ice."

"But I'm not the one with no shirt on...You're the one that feels like ice."

They both turned to exit the clearing but Hermione stopped in her tracks. "What is it?"

Then Harry saw the first real smile from his friend in a long time, "It's snowing."

***

As the door opened and revealed the two people missing from the gathering many thoughts ran through their heads. As Molly hurried pushed the two upstairs to change, Arthur ran the tea, Ron gathered the cloths and Ginny and the twins looked for anything that could generate heat.

The bathroom was covered in a fog of steam warming the two almost hypothermic people. After a few minutes in the warm room the shivers stopped but the cold still remained. After a mighty scolding from Molly, Harry and Hermione laughed at their current situation; cover head to toe in terry cloth and anything fuzzy soft. The blankets were puffy and it was hard to tell where the actual body of the person was. Sometime later, as they were bustled out of the bathroom and into one of the bedrooms down the hall, their blankets became interwoven and inseparable; making it them virtually a walking wad of cloth.

As Mrs. Weasley secured the comforter to the chins of the once escapees, she secured their bed tidings with a mother's kiss. Without another word the door hitched and the two laid silent in the room; each body feeling the aurora of warmth from the other, each mind thinking the same strange, unnerving thoughts; but neither finding it within themselves to speak.

***

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