Chapter Eight: Not Alone Anymore
When they returned from dinner, Harry and Hermione were chatting happily, and the light in those green eyes was back, the darkness faded from them. And for that, Hermione was glad to see.
It was even some more hours later when they were both yawning widely. Hermione slowly rose, smoothing her skirt down. "I'll see you in the morning, Harry."
Harry looked at the young witch, his eyes suddenly becoming hooded and the darkness began to return. "Goodnight, Hermione."
She stopped in the doorway when she saw he had yet to move. "Aren't you going to bed?" e shook his head without looking at her, prompting her turn around and walk back over to him. "And why not, Harry James Potter?"
The, well, not anger yet, but annoyance, caused him to cringe slightly. "Because I see them when I sleep, Hermione."
The cryptic statement was not entirely absurd, considering Harry's history with depression. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. You couldn't've known what Ginny was going to do." Hermione's eyes flared with anger, but not directed at him. "You did your best," she said softly, reaching out and putting her hands on his.
He tore his hands away. "That doesn't matter. I still wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough."
Hermione climbed onto the couch and gripped his hands harder, so he could not as easily pull away. "Harry, no one expected you to save everyone…"
He glared into her eyes, and to her surprise, she felt a sudden rush of heat behind her from the fireplace as his anger boiled out of him. "I did. They all did. I was the Boy-Who-Lived." He sneered as he spat the title. "I could do no wrong.
"Harry, staying awake and trying to figure it out isn't going to help you," Hermione said desperately. "You can't beat grief by logic." She looked into his eyes. "I know, I've tried." He opened his mouth to object, but a fierce shake of her head cut him off. "Harry, I know you have so much more grief than I can ever dream of. But those we lost in the Ministry, they were my friends too. Mister Weasley, Ron, Ginny, I loved them just as much as you did. All the people we lost, I see them at night too. You're not alone in that. You've never been alone, Harry." A tear leaked down her cheek again. "You'll never be alone."
Harry gently reached out wiped her tear away, the sight of her crying, her caring, instantly destroying his anger and grief. "Hermione, I…" He had been alone, though. For twenty-seven years. Now, now he was not alone any more. Now that he had her back. Tears rolled down his cheeks as well, silently, like those of the young witch who wrapped him in her arms. There was no need for weeping or sobbing. These were tears that cleansed a soul, two souls, of grief, of loss, of the pain of a war they had never wanted to fight.
After a long while, Hermione raised her head from Harry's shoulder and looked at the clock. It was very early in the morning. Harry was wide awake still, somehow, but Hermione was fighting desperately to stay awake, wanting the green to sparkle one more time before she did. "Have you not slept at all?"
His reply was instant. Despite the far away look in his eyes, he was obviously right there in his mind. "Not since the other night."
"Which one?" she prompted gently.
"After the funeral, when we fell asleep here on the couch."
At that, Hermione came instantly awake. "How have you stayed awake for four days?" Her face was burning with curiosity, her liquid brown eyes pleading with him to tell her.
Harry chuckled roughly. "It won't let you study more, if that's what you're thinking, Hermione."
She slapped him. Hard. As he pulled back from her, she felt instantly sorry. Amusement was fading quickly from his eyes, which had had some of the sparkle. He had been trying to joke with her, a recovery of sorts, and she had driven it down, driven it back. The pain and shock in his eyes tore at her soul, and she collapsed towards him, mumbling apologies through her tears.
Harry ran his fingers down her back, holding her trembling form close. "'Mione, I'm sorry. I know you only asked because I'm your friend and you're worried about me." He lightly kissed the top of her head.
She shivered in his arms at the touch of his lips. Not just a friend, Harry. So much more than that. After a long moment, she looked up into his eyes. "So?" At his raised eyebrows, she prompted, "How did you stay awake?"
"Oh, yeah, of course. If I play with the fire, I can rest my body, and it lets my mind project there. It's the same as sleeping, when you get down to it, but the dreams aren't in my head." Harry smiled down at her.
Hermione was confused, at it showed on her face. "How can it be restful? Doesn't it take a lot of focus and energy to direct your wand and create your dreams that aren't dreams in the fire?"
His smile grew understanding and gentle. "I don't use my wand, Hermione. I just think about it."
Her breath drew in sharply, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. "How long?" she whispered.
"Have I been able to do this? Twe…" …nty years. Shit. He could not tell her that. "I'm not exactly sure."
Hermione would not have normally missed his slip, but this early in the morning, without sleep, and distracted by the revelation of his power, she missed it, and Harry let his next breath be one of relief. "Show me," she asked softly.
So he did. He showed her things, the battle from his perspective, skipping pieces, like it was a dream, made out of red and yellow flames. She did not see Ron die. By the time, Voldemort went through the veil, though, Hermione's breathing against Harry's chest was even and regular. She was fast asleep. Harry, for the first time in days, followed her within minutes.
And that night, neither of them noticed Hermione's face constantly appearing in the flames of the fire. But every one was a good memory. Harry had no nightmares, sleeping there on the couch with the witch he loved in his arms.