Some Things

[Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know, the last thing we all want to read at the moment is angst, but I simply had to get this out of my system before I could settle back for humor again. So sorry, folks! Hope you might like it nonetheless. Just something that came to me when I glanced out the window a few moments ago.]

Some Things

by: Azure

He was gone.

Hermione moved, slowly, to place her fingers along the window. She could see, through the glass, though the rain and through the wind, the distinct outline of a castle, some great stone memory on the horizon. It was amazing, really, how everything had changed, how Hogwarts was quiet and empty, and it hurt the most, now, shortly after midnight, when she was left alone to wonder why.

A violent snore erupted from somewhere to her left. Not entirely alone, then - Ron was there, curled in his blanket, looking tired and worn in the pale light coming through the window. Hermione watched him with a mixture of jealousy and affection; she was tempted, for a moment, to wake him - Ron, Harry's gone again - and bring herself a bit of company, but the minutes came and went and she turned with a sigh to sink back into her chair. It was her job to worry. Always had been, for that matter, and, if she had any say for it, always would be.

And he was missing. She liked to think that maybe he was in the loo, or some other simple and plain sort of place, but she had checked their hideout thoroughly, three times over, knowing Harry wouldn't brave the weather unless there was something vitally important he had to do. She was angry, naturally, that he would just slip off and leave without waking her, but then the thought came that he had been doing that quite often as of late - almost as if he thought he could handle things just fine on his own.

Hermione didn't like to think about that.

She - she was useful, of course, and she did everything she could, and maybe he - with a sigh, she let her head drop into her hands, willing herself to simply stop thinking. There was danger, there, when she thought too much about Harry, when she stopped to wonder when his eyes had seemingly lost their fire. She had missed it, at first, and felt terribly guilty, knowing she could never ask. Asking meant accepting - accepting that she had lost him somewhere along the way and that their friendship had never quite seemed the same.

Ron was still snoring. Hermione raised her head, a moment, her hair falling in front of her eyes, watching her friend tossing and turning in his sleep. She was closer, now, than ever before, to that point of desperation, to moving to his bed and shaking him awake, to finally just crying and telling somebody what she had done. Ron would understand. Ron would understand - and Harry would too, if he were here, and, for a long second, Hermione thought she could hear his footsteps coming down the corridor.

The creak of the door broke her from her thoughts. Harry -

He was suitably drenched, covered entirely with water, though his glasses had remained strangely dry. He looked - tired, Hermione thought, but still satisfied, as if whatever he had left to do had been done quite well.

"Harry," she said, softly, standing, not entirely sure how to react.

He turned, slowly, towards her, his eyes gloriously bright, and stepped closer, bringing a small bag into view. "Hermione," he said, just as quietly, a light grin touching on his lips, and for a moment he didn't quite look the adult he was forced to be. "What are you doing up?"

"I - I heard you leaving," she said, before shaking her head and feeling something like irritation creeping into her words. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was? Why didn't you wake me? Merlin, Harry, you know we're in this together, you can't just keep strolling off whenever you please - "

"Stop." Harry's face had hardened, gradually, beneath her reprimands, and fallen into the Harry of new - the Harry who didn't really smile and the Harry who seemed much too old for his eyes. Slowly, he brought the bag up, glancing at it for just a moment, and then thrust it into her hands, backing away so that she could only partially see his face in the wavering light. "For you," he said, plainly, and for a quiet second he looked like he still wanted to smile.

Hermione sank into her seat, finding her legs trembling. She hadn't meant to do that. She hadn't meant to snap at him, but she was worried, and he was always leaving, and - she could feel her eyes filling with tears as Harry moved closer towards the door. "Harry - "

He interrupted her once again. "Some things," he said, holding her eyes for all the while, "should never be forgotten." And, still dripping, he stepped into the hallway, letting the door slip shut behind him.

Hermione listened, at first, to her heartbeat, and to the sound of his footsteps as they faded down the corridor. Things had changed. Again. And - she had the bag in her hands, still, though it was a long time before she opened it up and pulled the book from inside. She couldn't help but smile. Hogwarts, A History. The original edition - something she had read in first year, when things had actually been simple. She had been forced to leave her copy behind when they had first started upon their quest.

Ron was still snoring.

She cracked the cover open, on a whim, not in the least surprised to find Harry's familiar scrawls tucked inside.

Happy Birthday, Hermione.

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