A Hard, Hard Thing...

Disclaimer: The characters and any dialogue you recognize are JKR’s as I borrowed words from OotP.

Notes: For the brilliant Goldy, as ‘When She Realizes’ partially inspired this.

~A Hard, Hard Thing…~

She remembered one time when she’d been 6 years old and she’d dropped a plate on the ground. It had shattered and she’d cut herself when she tried to pick up the pieces, shards of glass cutting into her palm. She’d begun to cry from the pain.

Her grandmother, whose house she was at, had soothed her and carefully picked out the small shards, cleaning her hands and putting band-aids on the cuts. And it was only later, when her hands were no longer stinging so badly and covered with band-aids that she realized her grandmother had tears in her eyes and her grandmother had flinched too whenever she had sucked in her breath or cried out from the pain when her grandmother had been picking out the shards of glass.

“Nana, why are you crying? Are you cut too?” A little girl, with big brown eyes, looking up and asking her grandmother a question…

And she never forgot what her grandmother told her. “No, my dear, I’m not cut. I’m crying because I love you and you’re crying.” Her grandmother had gathered her into her arms, holding her as she continued. “It’s a hard, hard thing to see someone you love in pain, Hermione. So when you cry because you’re hurt, it hurts me too. Do you understand that, my dear?”

She’d thought it over for a little while and then nodded solemnly. “Yes, Nana. And I don’t like to see you hurting either.”

Her grandmother had smiled and kissed her forehead. “I know you don’t. I love you, my very dear little girl.”

“I love you too, Nana.”

~*~

Ten years later…

“The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,” Professor Umbridge said quietly.

The Cruciatus! She felt the words go through her with a jolt. “No!” she shrieked without even thinking about it. “Professor Umbridge--” she thought frantically for something the woman might listen to, some consideration that might give her pause, “it’s illegal!” Surely someone who worked at the Ministry would care about the laws… Surely…

It didn’t work. Umbridge didn’t appear to have heard. She was looking at Harry in a way that positively sickened Hermione; she looked—she looked eager to do this. She wanted to use the Cruciatus on Harry!

Hermione tried again, forgetting everything but that Umbridge wanted to use the Cruciatus on Harry. She forgot about Millicent Bulstrode, forgot about Malfoy, forgot everything except that Umbridge wanted to use the Cruciatus—and she had to stop her somehow. “The Minister wouldn’t want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!” she tried again, desperately. Surely the opinion of the Minister would mean something…

It didn’t. “What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” was Umbridge’s answer, as she pointed her wand at Harry.

She only vaguely heard Umbridge’s confession to having sent the Dementors to attack Harry. She was remembering her grandmother saying, “It’s a hard, hard thing to see someone you love in pain, Hermione.” A hard, hard thing… someone you love…

And she knew. She remembered how she’d felt seeing Harry falling off his broom in 3^rd year, how she’d felt on seeing him faint facing the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express, how she’d felt seeing him facing the Hungarian Horntail last year… All the times she’d seen him hurt or in danger… She’d known she hated to see it; she worried about him almost constantly. God knows, she ought to know better than anyone how much she hated to see him hurt. But it was only now, with Harry threatened with the Cruciatus and knowing she would have to watch it, helpless as she was, that she knew.

She would die if she had to watch Harry under the Cruciatus. She would die!

She could see in her mind the spider the fake Professor Moody had cast the Cruciatus on, the obvious agony of the spider—and she could imagine Harry, crumbling, falling, screaming, in pain, tortured…

Oh God!

She would die if she had to watch it happen.

Because she loved him. And not just as her best friend; it went deeper than that, filling her heart. She loved him as- as—she just loved him! Loved him more than anyone else. She loved him and she suddenly knew, knew with a certainty that reached her soul, that she would do anything for him. Anything. She would lie, cheat, steal, kill… die for him, if it would help him. For Harry, she would do anything.

And she needed to save him now.

Umbridge had raised her wand, taken one final breath, begun. “Cruc--”

“No!” she screamed, not sure what she was going to do, not sure of anything except she had to stop this somehow. She couldn’t let Harry suffer the Cruciatus. Nothing else mattered at that moment. “No—Harry—we’ll have to tell her!” she screamed out, finally hitting on the one thing that would stop Umbridge. Pretend to be cooperating.

She didn’t know exactly what she would invent to tell Umbridge. The truth wasn’t an option; she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, betray Harry like that. But she had to stop Umbridge somehow.

“No way!” Harry yelled.

Hermione cringed at the horror, the betrayal she heard threaded through his protest. Trust me, she thought, desperately willing him to somehow understand, somehow believe…

Trust her? A small part of her mind that was somehow detached enough to comment spoke up. Trust her? She didn’t even know exactly what she was doing. She had no set plan, was acting on instinct and sheer panic! Trust her! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d acted on something so impulsively, with no plan, no idea what she was really going to do.

But she had to do something, say something. “We’ll have to, Harry, she’ll force it out of you anyway, what’s… what’s the point?” she forced herself to lie convincingly. She was lying. She knew Harry, knew he wouldn’t have broken even in the face of the Cruciatus. He’d have died before he told Umbridge anything.

That thought stiffened her resolve. Umbridge wanted to use the Cruciatus (the sadistic, evil woman); she would use it and Harry would suffer it, rather than tell. She couldn’t let that happen.

She let herself sag as if in defeat and forced sobs to come from her throat.

One positive effect that had immediately was that Millicent promptly moved away.

“Well, well, well!” Umbridge sounded, as she looked, triumphant. She thought she’d won. “Little Miss Question-all is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!”

Answers… what could she tell Umbridge that Umbridge would believe… Think, Hermione, think! You’ve come this far; you’ve got to keep on with this. For Harry.

For Harry.

“I’m—I’m sorry everyone. But – I can’t stand it –”

And for just the briefest of seconds, though she kept pretending to sob miserably into her hands, she thought her eyes met Harry’s. He was still staring at her but there was something else in his eyes now. Something that almost looked like hope, tentative, cautious, but burgeoning, nonetheless. Something that looked like trust. He did trust her, now. Did understand that she wasn’t really betraying him. And he believed that somehow, she had a plan that would get them out of this. He believed in her…

The knowledge strengthened her somehow. He believed in her; she couldn’t fail him now. She had to come up with something.

“That’s right, that’s right, girl!” Umbridge exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her into the empty chair and leaning over her. Hermione restrained the impulse to back away from Umbridge- loathsome woman—or to attack her with her bare hands. She had to keep up this act…

“Now then… with whom was Potter communicating just now?” Umbridge demanded.

And Hermione suddenly knew. The one person Umbridge would definitely fear Harry being in contact with, the one person whose name would make all of this far-fetched lie which was beginning to take vague shape in her mind, seem plausible.

“Well, well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore.” She tried to sound as if the truth were being forced from her after a struggle.

Umbridge leaped on it. “Dumbledore? You know where Dumbledore is, then?”

“Well… no!” she gave another sob on that answer. At least that was the truth. “We’ve tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog’s Head—” she continued, randomly naming any place she could think of—except the one place which Harry had been contacting.

“Idiot girl—Dumbledore won’t be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry’s looking for him!” Umbridge screeched now, deflating from her earlier triumph.

For a moment, Hermione felt a flicker of resentment. I’m not the idiot; you are, you evil woman! She swallowed back the automatic reaction she always felt to sneers at her intelligence, the one thing she truly believed in about herself.

Keep going; Umbridge is listening!

“But- but we needed to tell him something important!” she cried through her hands, still covering her face, putting every ounce of desperation and fear into her voice to make it seem as if she were truly sobbing, hating that she’d broken down like this.

“Yes? What was it you wanted to tell him?” Umbridge sounded even more excited than she had over using the Cruciatus on Harry just minutes earlier, Hermione noted with disgust.

She only hoped this vague semblance of an idea worked… Please, God, let this work… This had to work, for Harry’s sake. He was counting on her, believing in her… This had to work…

“We… we wanted to tell him it’s r-ready!” she choked out desperately, sagging further into her chair as if in despair.

Come on, you evil stupid woman. Believe me.

“What’s ready?” Umbridge demanded, shaking Hermione’s shoulders. “What’s ready, girl?”

And she could have cheered at the eagerness in Umbridge’s voice. Umbridge had believed it! This plan, insane as it seemed, was working…

“The… the weapon,” she stammered, again keeping any trace of her sudden flare of triumph and hope from sounding in her voice.

You want to believe Dumbledore’s conspiring against the Ministry; you’ve got it. I’ll make you believe it too.

The vague outlines of the plan were falling into place now in her mind. It should get her and Harry away from everyone else, away from Umbridge’s minions, and then they could figure out how to get rid of Umbridge herself.

She hadn’t thought beyond that and for a moment she allowed herself a flicker of apprehension. It was uncertain, at best, a plan hinging on many things out of her control.

Would Umbridge believe her?

Would Harry trust her?

Would everything happen according to her ideas?

It had to work. It just had to.

She ruthlessly stifled her doubts. This had to work. For Harry. To help Harry and get him out of Umbridge’s clutches.

She pictured the look in Harry’s eyes again, or at least the look she thought she’d seen a few moments ago. The look that said, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re doing but I believe you know what you’re doing. The look that said he trusted her…

He trusted her right now, at this moment, when she didn’t even really trust herself. And so she would pull this off.

Umbridge could not be allowed to hurt Harry any further.

She stole a glance at Harry through her fingers and in that moment she made a silent promise to herself and to him. I won’t let you be hurt more. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, to keep you safe. I promise you, Harry, I won’t leave you.