Into the Night
Hermione knows he is in the hospital wing the moment she wakes up.
Ron's been released already, his injuries healing fast and easy. She on the other hand, according to an unnervingly concerned Madam Pomfrey, needs to stay for at least another day or two. Her battles wounds from the Department of Mysteries ach most of the night and were scarring rather slowly.
She blinks and then sighs, her eyes adjusting slowly to the quiet darkness. He's here. She knows he's here. She knows that he's hiding from her. The solace the night offers is a comfort to him. And that in itself brings a terrifying ach in her heart, worse than any wound from a battle with a Death Eater.
"Harry," she whispers. "Harry, what are you doing out past curfew? You're going to get into trouble."
Silence.
Not even a rustle of fabric.
"Harry," she tries again. "I-I know you're here. Please. I feel rather silly talking to air."
Hermione shifts and then stumbles out from her bed, deciding that if he's not going to come to her that she'd rather search blindly through the room for him. Her nightgown brushes gently against her legs as she moves silently through the room, her hand outstretched and waiting to yank the invisibility cloak off of him. She fumbles slowly, the searing pain in her shoulder screaming at her to stop and go back to bed because she'll drive herself to another three days under Pomfrey's care.
But her concern lies in the boy whose friendship with her had slowly develop into this bizarre, unpredictable, and frightening feeling. Almost a burden, but not nearly enough. She has an irrepressible desire to force him to listen to her because she can feel his numbing withdraw from her.
She trips over someone's discarded Quidditch gear and lurches forward, falling to her knees on the cold floor. "Bloody hell," she curses.
Suddenly, two hands grab her by the arms and help her to her feet.
"Are you all right?"
Her lips tremble at the rising pain in her body. She should have stayed in bed. She swallows, her eyes meeting his troubling gaze.
"I knew you were here," she whispers.
A bitter laugh escapes his lips. "Can't hide anything from you can't I?"
"Harry…" But she doesn't know what to say. The anguish in his gaze is too painful to even formulate a comforting response. She finds she can only stand and stare, gripping his arms like a lifesaver.
"Let's get you back to bed," is his only response and she nods. It's all she can do, but she feels a need- an obligation to say something. Their tie, their bond is slowly getting strong by the day. Sometimes she feels those invisible ribbons winding together into knots.
He manages to lead her back to her bed, the one overlooking the Quidditch Pitch, with his eyes anywhere but looking into hers. He sits in the seat that has been occupied by an assorted amount of people. From Neville to Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones to Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall, her stay's been nowhere near empty- but not as comfortable as she'd like it to be. There's still him.
"How did you know-"
"-it was you?" She finishes. "I don't know. I just do sometimes, I guess."
A heavy silence falls between them, he's staring off into empty space and she's ringing her bed sheets between her hands. She's got so much she wants to say and that he needs to hear, but she wants him to be able to hear her. She wants him to want to listen. But it's neither the time nor place.
"Oh," he mumbles.
Her heart breaks when she finally begins to see the reemergence of the lost little boy in Harry. She bites back her tears. She won't be any use to him in shambles.
"Why- Why are you even around me, Hermione? Why are you even bothering?"
She's silent for a moment, her lips trembling and her eyes beginning to water. She can see the secrets in his eyes, the self-destructive guilt he's begun to burden himself with.
She sighs softly, praying for the right words. "Because I care," she whispers. "I care far too much to let anything happen to you."
"Yeah, well. Look at what happened to- to- Sirius," he murmurs acidly. He tears his gaze away from hers. "He cared and now he's dead."
"Don't do this to yourself," she pleads. "Don't blame yourself for something that you had no control over."
He rubs his eyes tiredly and then growls. "You don't understand. You don't understand what it's like."
"Well, maybe I don't," she snaps finally, forcing him to look back into her direction. "Maybe I don't understand, but don't presume to know how I feel about you, Harry Potter. I know where you're going with this. I'm quite capable of making my decisions. And don't tell me that you're at fault here… we're in a war. People die every day and families are torn apart. Sacrifices are supposed to be made, unfortunately, and sadly, lives are lost. And maybe I can't understand what you are going through, but I certainly understand the importance of your life in mine."
She leans forward, tangling her hand in his. "I cannot see a world without you. I cannot see my life without you and I will protect that. I will protect what we have because it means that much."
He says nothing and she's beginning to feel exhaustion. Sighing, she releases his hand from hers and waits for him to leave. She feels the tears beginning to burn.
Maybe there's no way to reach him.
"Hermione?"
Maybe there's no way to-
"Yes," she responds carefully. "You don't have to-"
She turns and her eyes go wide. He's sitting there, looking so terribly lost and alone. He looks at her as if she's the one person who could bring him out of this self-imposed prison he's being held captive in.
He's crying.
She knows her heart's breaking into even smaller pieces.
"Oh, Harry," she whispers, opening her arms.
And he buries himself in her embrace.
"I'm sorry," he sobs. "God, I'm sorry."
She makes a silent promise that night, to him and to herself. If he needed someone there to catch him, she would be there, on her knees and waiting. She'll stay holding him, no matter how far into the night.
AN: This was written at the request of Victoria Tonks, who asked me to post this here on Portkey. I love you, Justyna!