Notes: For my fandom friends (who know who they are)- thanks for all the support these past few weeks. *hugs*
~Rest~
"Minerva, go!" Dumbledore's voice was taut even as he seemed to grow in stature until he looked like another wizard entirely, the wizard even Voldemort feared. Gone was his usual benign demeanor, the gentle humor twinkling in his blue eyes. In its place was the man Harry had only seen a few times before, the fearsome, commanding presence of the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald.
Harry noted this transformation only in some corner of his mind. It was too much. His head felt as if it might split open; his scar burned, searing pain on his forehead. He could sense Voldemort was coming, was nearly here. Here, actually approaching the grounds of Hogwarts. Here, where everyone had said they were safe. All the other students had been sent away and only the core group, those most affected and the members of the Order who'd come, remained.
Professor McGonagall, too, seemed to have grown in stature somehow, become taller, more formidable. But there were white lines of strain around her mouth and something very like fear in her eyes as she looked at Dumbledore. "Dumbledore, we cannot leave you!"
"You can and you must!" Dumbledore snapped. For just a moment, his gaze flickered to Harry and his expression softened ever so slightly. "Harry," he began and then stopped, before continuing, "don't be afraid. You have more power than you know."
Dumbledore swept them with a glance that encompassed them all, from Professor McGonagall facing him, to Harry struggling to stay on his feet, to Ron, to Hermione dividing her worried gaze between Harry and Dumbledore, to Remus, to Hagrid, to Bill Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks and then returned to McGonagall. "Go!"
She hesitated again and then seemed to make a decision. "This way!"
The rest of that escape seemed to pass in a blur; Harry was too tired, too drained to recall much of it afterwards until they found themselves stumbling into Grimmauld Place. And for the first time since the end of 5th year, he was too numb, too exhausted, to think of Sirius.
They all were and preserved a stunned, rather grim, silence, simply going up to their respective rooms. Dumbledore was gone. All the ramifications of his death would come later and, no doubt, nearly crush them all but right now, all they knew was that he was gone, the old man whom all of them had somehow believed would always be there, with his wisdom, his knowledge, guiding them… He was gone.
A footstep sounded outside in the hallway and somehow she knew it was Harry. How she knew it she didn't know; she just did and immediately, she slipped out of bed, careful not to make any noise that would disturb Ginny, and out of the room.
She just caught a glimpse of Harry vanishing into what had used to be Buckbeak's room and followed him quietly.
He was sitting on the floor against the bed in the corner when she entered and she stood there for a few minutes, simply watching him, unsure whether to join him or not, when he suddenly seemed to crumble.
His head went down to his knees and a muffled sob escaped him. And immediately she was at his side, sitting beside him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. She didn't say anything, wasn't quite sure what she could say and only waited.
He flinched when she touched him but didn't move away entirely, only sat there, his face averted.
Until finally, he said, in a muffled voice, "I can't do this."
She passed her hand over his hair and back in a comforting gesture.
"I can't do this without Dumbledore. I always thought he would be here to tell me how I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort. Without Dumbledore, I don't know. I have no special powers. I can't!" His voice cracked on the last word and she flinched at the combination of misery, sorrow and defeat in his voice.
Her heart broke for him, as she realized that what was truly troubling Harry now wasn't even grief over Dumbledore's death. He couldn't even allow himself to grieve for Dumbledore as a Mentor; he was too preoccupied with worrying over the fate of the world to react to how Dumbledore's death would affect him personally. And it was such a burden, too much of a burden for one 16 year old boy.
"Ssh, Harry," she finally said, softly. "Don't worry about it right now. Don't. We'll all help you, you know that. We'll think of something. But right now, don't think about it. Just get some rest. You don't have to be a hero all the time."
And somehow those words gave her pause. That was what it was. Harry felt he had to be a hero. From the moment he'd stepped into the wizarding world, he hadn't really been allowed to be normal because everyone looked at him differently. Even as he resented his hero status (as he had last year), he had, deep down, accepted it as his fate.
She couldn't even claim to have always thought of him only as a normal boy; it was difficult when things just seemed to happen around him and because of him. But he was just a boy. Before he was a wizard, a Hogwarts student, the Boy Who Lived, a hero- he was simply a boy.
Gently, she placed her hand on his cheek, turning his head so he had to look at her and meet her gaze. His eyes were wet with tears which he blinked back furiously.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and yet somehow intense too. "You don't have to be a hero right now. Don't worry about the fate of the world for a while. Just think about yourself, like any normal boy. You're a boy, Harry, first and foremost, and that's all you need to be. Just yourself. Harry." She paused and then finished, even more softly, "I love you."
He sucked in his breath and stiffened, staring at her. "What?" he breathed.
"I love you," she repeated simply. And that was all she needed to say, for that moment. There was no expectation of a response, no need for more words. There were only those three words, three simple words that somehow summarized everything she had been saying. Those three words that spoke of a simple, unconditional acceptance that meant more to him than everything else she'd said. It was the ultimate expression of acceptance, of knowing and appreciating him for himself. Not as a hero, not as the Boy Who Lived but simply as himself. A boy. The boy she loved.
And that was all he needed or wanted to be at that moment. Just the boy she loved.
He let out his breath in a soft sigh, feeling the tension leave him as well, and let his head rest on her shoulder as he closed his eyes. For the first time in what seemed like years, he didn't worry about what the next day would bring. For that moment, that night, he was just a boy, the boy Hermione loved.
The world could wait. And he could rest, forgetting to worry about dangers and Dark Lords and prophecies and all the other things. He could rest…
~*~*~
Peace
A silence fell but it was a comfortable silence, a peaceful one.
She could be quiet when she was alone with Harry, never needed to try to talk if she didn't feel like it. It was so different in the few occasions she was alone with Ron; then she always felt the need to talk, about something, anything to keep a silence from falling. Because when it was quiet, she was always tense, wondering what Ron would next say to annoy her and wondering where Harry was and what he was doing and thinking. There was no peace for her when she and Ron were alone. It got very tiring after a while, she admitted to herself. Much as she cared about Ron, she didn't like being alone with him. With Harry she was comfortable, could simply be herself.
Peace. And in these dark times, peace of mind or heart were rare sensations. But it was peaceful now, here with Harry leaning on her shoulder, even in this house where so much darkness, so many sad memories lingered.
He didn't say anything and for a moment she wondered if he had fallen asleep. She rather hoped he had. He never slept very well these days, always had dark shadows underneath his eyes in the mornings.
"This is nice," he said softly. He paused, then continued in a small, almost sad, voice, "I used to sit on the floor in the closet under the stairs and rest my head on my bed and I'd imagine it was my Mum I was leaning on. There was never anyone to lean on."
And she knew he meant it in both the literal and the figurative. He had never had anyone to lean his head on when he was growing up or anyone to depend on for anything. He'd learned to deal with everything alone.
But now he had her. And she wouldn't leave him, she promised herself (and him) silently but no less fiercely for all that. She wouldn't leave him. She wouldn't let him be alone again.
And yet underneath all her pity for him and her anger at the Dursleys, she was suddenly conscious of something very like relief, something almost happy. This was the most personal thing she'd heard Harry say in years it seemed like, this confession that had little if anything to do with the rest of the world or having to save it or Voldemort. It was only the confession, surprising in its poignance, of a 16 year old boy who'd never known his parents and who'd grown up alone. He was, finally, thinking only of himself. This was just Harry, the boy, talking.
And for that moment it didn't even matter that she knew he would, at any other time, probably have rather cut out his tongue than make such an admission. Or that he very well might regret it tomorrow. But right now, tonight, in this room, he was just being Harry, not thinking about the rest of the world or his destiny or any teenage boy-ish horror of sentimentality and showing weakness. And she loved that he could be so open with her.
"I know," she answered, equally softly and gently. "But now you can lean on me."
"Thanks," was all he said but it was enough. All the gratitude, the loyalty, the affection of the past 5 years of friendship was in that one word.
Again, there was silence and soon she knew Harry had fallen asleep, his head still resting on her shoulder.
She smiled to herself, letting her cheek rest on his hair and closing her eyes as well. She would let him rest. They could worry over what to do now that Dumbledore was gone later.
For now she just allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of peace. She had one of her moments of certainty that Harry would be fine; he would survive. And thought, once again, how Harry's presence tended to have this effect on her; she couldn't feel too despairing or hopeless when she was with him. He seemed to bring some sort of strength, a spirit of hope even, with him. She felt stronger, more confident, more hopeful in his presence.
And so she could stop worrying for this one night, close her eyes, and be at peace.