Chapter 15: Unbottled
When Harry tried to enter the bedroom, he was greeted by an unpleasantly bright light emanating from the tip of a very frustrated looking Hermione's wand.
"Reparo! Reparo!! Reparo Reparo Reparo!!!"
Hermione flung her wand at the tattered remains of their door flap as attempt after attempt of her repairing spell fizzled against the canvas. Harry somehow managed to catch it after a bounce, simultaneously scared and confused at Hermione's sudden tantrum. He watched as her shoulders slouched, burying her hands in her face as she let out an aggravated groan.
He gingerly approached the bed she was sitting on, walking on pine needles in fear of triggering her wrath again. Attempting to calm her down, he placed a hand on her shoulder, which she quickly brushed off as if it were an annoying bug. He silently brought the hand to his side as he stared at her. The events of the day had both of them physically and emotionally drained, and it was beginning to show. Her hair was even messier than usual, the occasional twig tucked unintentionally within the mishmash of waves and curls. Her skin was marred by various bumps and bruises. Harry was sure that he too looked like he had been thrown off his broom during an intense quidditch match. At least he felt that way. He rubbed a particularly nasty welt which had grown above his left ear as he attempted to talk to Hermione, this time without physical contact.
"Want to tell me what that was about?"
"Not really," she mumbled from behind her knees, which were now tucked tightly in front of her chin.
"Hermione..."
"Harry, today has just been...ughhh," she let out another upset roar as she shook her head. A sudden urge to throw the closest object welled up inside her, but she let it pass.
"Too much? Yeah, tell me about it," Harry finished for her. They sat in a strained silence. Although no words were spoken, Harry could sense that they both had much to say. He could tell that Hermione was like a shaken bottle, on the edge of erupting but unable to do so due to a multitude of emotions and overwhelming exhaustion sealing her lips.
"I was trying to repair the door," Hermione said after a minute, her voice still muffled as she continued to brood from her compact position. It took Harry a moment to realize that he was being talked to, his own thoughts slowly encompassing him in an unpermitted slumber.
"Oh yeah? How did that go for you?" Harry replied half-awake, not even realizing what he was saying. He heard shifting next to him, followed quickly by the familiar feeling of Hermione's glare piercing a hole into his brain.
"If I wasn't so tired, I would give you a lecture about how stupid that question was," Hermione said, giving up and leaning her head on his shoulder. The action snapped him out of his trance, the familiar smell of strawberries now laced with the bitter scent of mud and shrubbery. "Obviously, it's not working, and I have neither the patience nor the mental energy to even fathom an explanation. It seems like everything today is just going from bad to worse."
Both of them stared through the gaping hole where the wall had once been. They watched as Ron struggled to bring the last of his belongings into his new abode. He was still limping, muttering curses under his breath. Hermione couldn't help but let a sadistic smirk find its way onto her face.
"We can think about that later, but right now I think you need to rest," Harry patted her back consolingly before getting up and pulling one of their sheets off the bed. Hermione watched as Harry managed to pin two corners of the linen in the crease between the tent ceiling and wall. It was a shoddy job, the form of Ron's body pacing between the entrance of the tent and his room still visible via the fire in the main foyer projecting his silhouette toward the fabric, but it did manage to give them some semblance of privacy.
"It's not perfect, but until we figure out what's wrong with fixing it magically, this will have to do," Harry said as he marveled at his handiwork before flinging himself back onto the bed, this time lying down so he could stare at the shadows which danced on the canvas rooftop.
"Thanks, Harry," she responded genuinely, standing up. She raised her hands high above her head and cracked her back, a deep yawn escaping her throat involuntarily. As she slowly opened her eyes, she turned her attention to the mirror which sat atop one of the dressers in the room. The rusted bronze frame of the artifact deeply contrasted the polished shine of the glass, the once beautiful floral pattern of the border now chipped and worn out with age. She sympathized with the trinket, her usual clean and organized demeanor now diminished by the trials of the day. Hermione frowned as she turned her head slightly to get a fuller view of herself. Her face had become haggard, bags having formed under her eyes while small, scarlet cuts on her chin made it seem like Crookshanks had mauled during one of her studying blitzes. Although she was not the type to over-obsess about her appearance like other girls her age, she still felt like a disgusting wretch.
While her eyes continued to wander over herself in an attempt to gauge the damage the day had wrought on her body, the corner of her eye caught a glimpse of the spectacled boy who was slowly dozing off on the bed behind her. In her self-inspection she had almost forgotten that she was not alone. Hermione looked away, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her looks, an unusual feeling seeing as how Harry had seen her in much worse condition several times during their life. In all honesty he was probably not even paying attention, but his presence paired with her current state of filthiness made her blush in embarrassment. Deciding to brush it off as the fatigue playing tricks on her yet again, Hermione twirled her wand and casted a simple cleaning spell to remove the blood and dirt from herself, making her feel, at the very least, a bit less like a savage.
"Scourgify!"
Harry leapt up as the familiar cooling sensation spiraled through his body like a wave.
"What was that for?" Harry said, scowling at Hermione as his surprised heart raced in reaction to the unexpected spell suddenly being hurled towards him.
"Trust me, you needed it," Hermione replied curtly, placing her wand next to the mirror before rummaging through the top drawer.
"You could have at least warned me," Harry said under his breath. A part of him was grateful to her for cleaning him up, but his grumpiness was intensified by lack of sleep. Hermione ignored the retort.
Harry watched as his counterpart removed a clean, pearl-colored nightgown from the dresser drawer. He had become familiar with it, as it was her pajama of choice for the relatively warmer nights on their journey. Although it was cold enough outside to easily cause swift frostbite to unprotected flesh, somehow he too felt as if the tent had become almost uncomfortably warm with the arrival of Ron and Luna. Lost in his musings, Harry suddenly found himself in eye contact with a tired and agitated Hermione, who had her hand wrapped tightly around the garment while the other one sat roughly on her hip.
"Out, please," she said firmly, restraining the inexplicable desire to yell at him for no reason at all except for wanting to collapse under the sheets as fast as possible. She did not like being so irritable and restless, but she was too tired to care at the moment. At least she had the decency to say please.
Harry sighed and pushed himself up. He ignored the Ron-like voice in his head trying to persuade him to tell her off so he could sleep. Carefully, he snuck under the curtain, praying for everyone's sake that it would not tumble down at an unfortunate time. The last thing he needed was Hermione thinking he was trying to peek at her changing, especially after all they had been through before Ron and Luna had joined them.
He was surprised to find Ron still in the living room, pacing between the closed entranceway and the flap to his own room, now zipped shut. He seemed very distraught about something.
"What's wrong, Ron?" Harry asked, awakened slightly by the curious scene unfolding in front of him.
"Oh, Harry," Ron responded, startled at the sudden company. "What are you doing up?"
Harry pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Hermione's changing."
"I see," Ron said, giving Harry an awkward smirk. Harry had no idea what emotion he was trying to convey with the gesture.
"What about you? Same?" Harry asked, pulling one of the armchairs closer to the fire and sitting in it.
"Not quite," Ron said aghast, dragging a seat of his own over and joining Harry. His face contorted as if he was having an internal struggle of some sort. Harry couldn't help but look at him, confused.
"What's up, then?" Harry said, repeating his initial question.
"It's Luna," Ron replied, staring off into the ash piles forming at the foot of the fire.
"What about her?" Harry replied, his interest piqued.
"Well..." Ron trailed off, debating whether or not to tell Harry about the bombshell she had dropped on him after the other two had scurried off to their room. He eventually decided that getting advice from a separate party would be the best course of action. Admittedly, he wasn't exactly an expert when dealing with issues having to do with the opposite sex. He beckoned Harry closer, bashful about what he was about to tell his best mate.
"Luna said that she sleeps," he paused for dramatic effect, "nude!"
Harry blinked, taken aback. He did not expect that, although it was the sort of weird kink that Looney Lovegood would be hiding under her sleeve. She had only been there a few hours and already her simply odd nature was beginning to change the mood of the tent.
"What do you mean, nude?" Harry asked incredulously. Images of Luna in her natural state began to form in his head, images which he berated himself for imagining. Harry had to use every remaining ounce of mental energy to prevent the inappropriate thoughts from coming to complete fruition.
"You know...starkers, naked!" Ron cried, still whispering in fear of either of the girls hearing them. "How do you respond to something like that?!"
Harry gaped, unable to find words. True, as of late this sort of awkward type of dilemma had become his unfortunate forte, but this was something he could not begin to rationalize like he had with the other incidents. He began to wonder what he would do if Hermione had declared that she would start sleeping in their shared bed with no clothes on.
Harry immediately regretted letting his mind wander down that alley, as now all too vivid images of a naked Hermione began to swarm into his sleep-deprived brain. He could feel the blush crawl onto his face as he pushed the scandalous thoughts to the darkest depths of his head.
"Wait," Harry said, his eyes crunched together as the portraits of their two female companions tried to sneak back to the foreground of his imagination, "you two have been staying together for weeks and now this comes up?"
"Well she certainly kept her clothes on then!" Ron confirmed. He was almost hysterical now, chuckling while running both hands through his tattered hair. "What should I do? She said that she was freshening up for bed, but what if I unzip that door and she's sitting there with her bits and pieces flailing about?"
Ron made some crude gestures with his hands to illustrate his point. Harry did not appreciate the visual aid.
"Alright, breathe for a second," Harry said, racking his brain for a resolution. They both stared at the door, half-expecting Luna to burst out of the room and strut around with no clothes on like there were no eyes watching her. "I'm sure that she has enough decency to not just climb into bed with you without anything covering her up."
"Right," Ron agreed. He laughed again, each syllable laced with anxiety and nervousness. "You're absolutely right. She's crazy, but not that crazy!"
Harry simply nodded, watching as his friend attempted to convince himself that there was nothing but a normal Luna waiting for him behind that closed door. There was a pause as Ron finally seemed to come back to his senses, but Harry felt as if the root of Ron's fear lay somewhere else. It wasn't long before the tension returned to Ron's face, a new set of worries furrowing his brow and starting a second panic attack.
"But I have to sleep with a girl!" Ron blurted out, almost pouting. Harry was scared he was about to start weeping from fright.
"Oh please Ron, it's not that bad," Harry said, rolling his eyes at the red head's melodramatics. He was sure the words came out quite Hermione-like. "It's only for a few hours a night. Besides, you're going to be asleep through most of it. Just make sure you try to stay on your side of the bed and eventually it won't even feel like she's there, trust me."
Harry purposely left out any mention of pillow walls, spooning, and the horrendous aftereffects of natural male occurrences. He knew that it was for the best for Ron to think of sharing a bed as nothing more than a juxtaposition of bodies. The roller coaster of awkwardness was something he could discover on his own. It was a few silent minutes before Harry stood up and patted his friend comfortingly on the shoulder.
"You gonna be alright, mate?"
Ron simply bobbed his head up and down, biting his lower lip in contemplation. Harry half-heartedly said his goodnights before making his way back toward his room.
He gently tapped the canvas to inform Hermione of his arrival, taking extra caution not to touch the fragile entrance cloth.
"Come in, I'm all done."
Harry lifted the flap and climbed his way into their bedroom. Hermione had finished changing, her dirty robes from the day now folded neatly on top of the armchair on her side of the room. She was directly in front of the foot of the bed, adjusting the pile of pillows which were previously stacked in the corner into a sturdy little separator wall over the sheets. It was a nightly ritual. Whoever was in bed first would make the barrier before getting in, the buffer now more a precaution than a necessity. Hermione turned her head.
"Hey, can you hand me that last pillow over there? I'm almost done."
Harry turned his head toward where she was pointing. He took two brisk steps toward the corner of the room and picked up the last remaining pillow, the once pristine white fabric now sullied by dust and dirt. After brushing it with the corner of his sleeve in a vain attempt to clean it, Harry placed it in Hermione's outstretched hand. She grunted at him in thanks.
He watched as Hermione bent over to place the final piece onto their fluffy wall. The motion caused her nightgown to rise up her back slightly. Harry's eyes immediately focused on the unexpected movement, a survival instinct he had developed ever since his first year at Hogwarts. He had trained himself to prepare for the unexpected at a moment's notice.
But no amount of training had prepared him for the sight of Hermione's underwear peeking out from under the hem of her nightgown.
Harry had turned his entire body as soon as he realized what he was looking at, but it was too late. The damage was done. The previous thoughts that he had been attempting to repress, the naughty images of Hermione completely nude under their covers, came rushing to his consciousness as if a dam had burst. It felt to Harry as if he were committing a cardinal sin for thinking of his bedmate in such a way. He almost felt incestuous for seeing his strictly platonic friend in such an unfriendly way. Although the images weren't nearly as filthy or erotic as they could have been, Harry still could not shake the overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame which blended with the hormonal excitement. The combination elicited emotions he would have preferred not to be having about the girl behind him.
"Harry?" Hermione said gently. She poked Harry's arm in puzzled concern. The contact sent pure electric up Harry's shoulder and down his spine. He felt as if the room was on fire, a thousand different pictures flashing in his mind's eye like a movie. All he could do was keep his eyes focused on his dresser, unable to decide how he would react if he turned to face Hermione.
"It's nothing," Harry waved her off as she attempted to circle around him to see his face. His words came out almost angry, causing her to back off. He sighed and rubbed his scar, the pulsing beginnings of a migraine starting to make his vision blurry.
Hermione tucked herself under a thick comforter as she watched Harry's tense form, her breath held in concern. It seemed to her as if he was about to explode. She feared that his mind was being invaded by the perverse thoughts of the Dark Lord once again. Under the sheets she gripped the smooth fabric of her nightgown, the tension almost snapping the shoulder straps clean off.
It was several prolonged minutes before Hermione saw Harry's shoulders relax. Somehow he had managed to pacify the battle occurring in his brain, at least to the point where he could think clearly. He turned around and gave her a smile which affirmed his well-being. She sighed in relief, releasing the stranglehold on her clothing.
"Want to tell me what that was about?" Hermione asked cautiously, an almost perfect rendition of the same exact question he had asked her earlier.
"Just Ron getting into my head, that's all," Harry replied smirking. He undid the clasp of his robe and slid the garment gently onto the back of a nearby chair. "Nothing I'm sure you don't know about already."
Hermione smiled and rolled over slightly, now facing away from Harry as he continued to undress. Although they rarely slept together at the same time due to the rotating guard shift, they had developed a routine for the exceptionally cold or unusually safe nights where they both could nap simultaneously. Hermione would change first, forcing Harry to leave the room in the process, then when she had finished Harry would reenter and perform his own attire swap.
She had scolded Harry the first time he had started to undress with her in the room, feeling as if the act was breaching the unwritten rules of their male/female friendship contract. Harry had turned around and looked at her unbelievingly.
"Hermione," he started, "how old are you?"
She did not appreciate his berating tone, the irony of the reversal of usual roles lost on her for the moment.
"Let's face it: you've already practically seen me naked back during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament," Harry reasoned with her, his shirt half undone by that point.
"Did not!" Hermione fought back. "Or did you forget that I was unconscious and practically drowning the entire time?"
Harry cringed. She had him there. But still, he could not see why she was getting in such a rut about it. "Alright, fine," he conceded, "but still, you have seen me shirtless in the hospital wing after all the accidents I've had, haven't you?"
"Yes but..."
"And you've seen me in shorts before in the common room after quidditch practice, have you not?"
"Well, true but still..."
"Well there you go, then! Boxers are practically the same. Put the two together, and it's no big deal, is it?"
Hermione wished she could hex the victorious smile off Harry's lips. She cursed herself for teaching her two boys to learn to fight with logic as well as they could with weapons and magic. Although she sneered at him, she raised her hands in surrender.
"Fine, go ahead," she surrendered, "but at least let me roll over. I swear I don't know how I've put up with you boys for this long..."
Hermione smiled at the memory as the noise of Harry slipping on his sleeping shorts and worn-out T-shirt mingled with the sound of the breeze outside their wall. Soon after, she felt her side of the bed rise up in a swell as Harry joined her under the comforter. His entire body disappeared behind the pillows as he used his wand to dim the small torch that hung near the entrance flap. Even the shadows from the foyer had seemed to dwindle, a tell-tale sign that Ron and Luna had also settled in for the night. Hermione smiled. The day was finally over. It was finally time to rest.
The night hushed as private meditation overtook the inhabitants of the tent. A gentle, cool breeze replaced the harsh winter gusts which had plagued the area the previous handful of days. The small cackling flame from the vigilant night lamps entwined with the pitter-patter of snowflakes against canvas, creating an ambiance reminiscent of a distant Christmas morning. Despite the solemn atmosphere and the cry of weakened flesh for well-overdue regeneration, both Harry and Hermione stared at the ceiling with squinted, exhausted eyes.
Harry was the first to break the lull which had surrounded them, now able to reflect on the eventful day as a whole.
"Hermione?" he whispered through the wall, somehow knowing that she was awake without being able to see her.
"Yes?" she responded in an equally soft tone.
"When did you make the hole?" Harry smiled to himself. He had been shocked when Hermione had told him to show Ron the imaginary hole which had supposedly caused the scandalous sleeping arrangement fiasco. However, after having time to think about it, she had probably predicted all along that Ron would need to see the evidence to believe their lie. Even when he thought they were working in unison, Hermione was always one step ahead. Harry felt an odd sense of pride toward her ability to lie so diligently. Hermione smirked mischievously.
"While I and the dolt were having our chat outside," Hermione started, her hatred for Ron so high at the moment that she even found grammatical ways to put herself above him, "he ducked out of the way of one of my canaries which were flying straight for his eye. The poor thing barreled right into the wall, causing the rip you saw. The idiot was probably too scared to realize it."
"One of your small canaries? A bird that tiny must have been travelling at deadly speeds to create a hole that big," Harry said, astonished that Hermione would be going for a kill shot. The sudden shifting of the sheets under him suggested that Hermione had shrugged indifferently at his observation. "Well either way, thanks."
Silence fell between them once again, the spurt of mirth caused by their secret deception now lost amongst more serious thoughts. Harry looked skyward as he relived the emotions of the day. Instantly he once again felt the exhilaration of following the silver doe straight to Gryffindor's sword, the fear of watching Hermione fall victim to the scarlet beam of the accursed locket, and the happiness he felt upon laying his eyes on Ron for what felt like the first time in ages.
It had come to Harry as a surprise how positively he had reacted to his other friend's heroic return. Ever since Ron had abandoned them he had been seesawing between hatred and longing toward him. Seeing Hermione yearning for him to come back had ripped his heart out of his chest and intensified his anger toward the red-headed wizard, but deep down Harry knew that he wanted him back as much as she did.
His thoughts now turned toward the girl on the other side of the mattress. Although she had lashed out at Ron that night and vented a bit of her frustration, Harry could feel the anguish still radiating from her every pore. He frowned at himself. As happy as he was that Ron was back, he knew that his arrival reopened the gaping wounds which Hermione had been trying so desperately to mend.
"Hermione?" Harry called her name once again, this time more tender and serious. The air in the room suddenly disappeared as he felt the sheets curl towards the pillow wall.
He knew that she was thinking about it too.
Harry paused, debating if he should ask the question that was on both of their minds. Was he overstepping his boundaries with his concern for Hermione? Part of him told him that it wasn't his business. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. But ever since Ron had left he had taken upon himself to be her crutch. She had never asked for it, but he felt bound to do everything he could to never see her soul so tortured ever again. It hurt him more than he could have ever anticipated seeing Hermione, the strong and independent young woman he had known for seven years, turned into nothing more than a scarred and demoralized wreck.
Much like she had never left his side when he was at his worst, he too vowed to always be there for her in her time of need.
"Hermione, are you ok?"
"Yes, Harry..." Hermione started to speak but her voice cracked, her words being quickly replaced with gasps as she felt the tears well up inside her. She promised herself that she was done crying over this. She told herself countless times, almost chanted it to herself like a mantra that she was over the suffering that had occurred when Ron had left. But seeing him again that day made it all come back to her tenfold. Now, with nothing left to distract her mind from the painful whispers of the past come back to life, the calloused fortress around her heart began to crumble. She could feel that she was about to break.
As soon as the first pristine tear streamed down the side of her cheek, the sound of pillows flying through the air and landing on the ground echoed through the room. Harry did not have to wait for the sound of the painful, sorrowful gasp to know that Hermione needed him. Like magnets, their bodies came together, her head landing on his chest as the first wave of powerful sobs took over. He grabbed her, placing one hand gently on the back of her neck while the other wrapped around her waist under the covers. She clenched his shirt as if clinging to life itself, the convulsions so powerful she felt as if she were generating earthquakes.
Harry did not speak. He did not rub her back and tell her that everything was going to be fine. Not this time. He knew that all she needed to do now was let out every emotion she had been bottling up since she had realized who had saved them from the opening in the forest. She was falling, and he had to be her net.
"I hate him! I hate him so much, Harry, I hate him!" Hermione said between unsteady breaths. He listened intently, knowing that this was a one-sided conversation. "I hate him for leaving, I hate him for coming back! I hate him for everything he did to you and me! For everything he forced us to do alone!"
She let another fresh set of tears loose, staining Harry's faded blue shirt a damp shade of gray. Hermione gripped onto him tighter as her words continued to flow out of her swollen throat.
"But most of all I hate myself, Harry. I hate myself so much for letting him affect me this way. I hate myself so much for what I let myself turn into because of him. But most of all, I bloody hate myself for being glad that he is here now. I really want to hate him, spit on him and forget him forever, but I can't! And it hurts so much! It hurts so much, Harry..."
Harry held her closer as Hermione lost her ability to speak, a single teardrop of his own rushing into her hair with sympathy. He wanted so bad to take away some of her pain, to somehow burden himself with her broken heart. But he couldn't. This was her battle, and he could only embrace her as the sorrow snaked its way out of the depths of her soul.
"I know, Hermione," he responded softly as her exhaustive tears lulled her into the world of dreams.
"I know."