Chapter Six
He watched her quietly from the corner of the room, absentmindedly picking at the threads of his sweater, rubbing the strands between his fingers. She was curled up against the couch again, reading an old copy of Jane Eyre by the light of the dimly glowing fire. Her knees were tucked under the tartan wool blanket; her hand rested lightly on Crookshanks's back, absently stroking.
"You don't have to stay up, you know." she said suddenly, breaking the sleepy silence.
He looked up, taken aback.
"I know." he said after a pause, "I want to."
The fire cast a rather golden-orange glow on her face, illuminating the familiar smile dimpling her cheeks. "If you're sure."
"Yeah."
She paused, took a deep breath, and said, almost timidly, "You don't have to stay all the way over there, if you don't want to. It's warmer over here."
"I know." he said, though he could not stop his eyes from flicking over to the pale figure lying on the couch behind her. "I know I don't."
Feeling rather obligated, he stood and came to settle beside her. She eyed him uncertainly, and then glanced down at her book.
"Harry, I--" she said, giving up on the book and putting it aside. She lowered her gaze and went on, eyes fixed on the carpet. "I realize you think what I'm doing is pointless."
"What? Of course I--" he began, but she waved a hand.
"Let me finish." she said, cutting him off. Then as if to soften her words, she lowered her hand over his. She shifted so that she could peer up into his face, the firelight reflected off her brown eyes. "I just-- I know that everyone thinks that I'm putting way too much into this and I can see why."
"Hermione--"
"Harry, please." He felt a light pressure on his hand. "I can see it in your faces whenever I talk about it. It's this-- this pity, as if you think that I'm just headed for... for pain and-- as if I'm fighting a lost cause."
He wanted so badly to interrupt, to assure her that he hadn't given up on her yet, but she went on, "I wanted you to know... at least you-- just you..." she trailed off, unaware of the pleasant feeling that the words `just you' had sent rushing through his body, "I want you to know that I... that if it really doesn't-- work-- I would rather it happen when... when you believe that it could happen, too. Not that I'd want you to be hurt more... but I just don't want--"
"I understand." Harry said quickly, seeing the flustered expression on her face. She looked away.
"I'm sorry." she said after another pause, clearing her throat and turning away, staring determinedly at the fire.
A hard lump had formed in Harry's gut, as he stared at the side of her face. She was gazing unseeing at the fire, a flush covering her cheek as she curled her arms around her knees.
"Hermione, I'm sorry." What else was he supposed to say? He couldn't lie to her, not about something that was obviously so important to her.
She dropped her chin on her knees.
"It's okay." she said quietly, without looking at him. "I didn't really expect..."
Hermione could feel the corners of her eyes burning rather fiercely. She let her voice trail off. What had she expected? This was Harry, after all. She couldn't honestly expect him to express complete faith in her; in something that everyone seemed to think was doomed for failure.
The sad part was, that was what Hermione had expected. Harry was her best friend, her supporter-- the one who had bought her the house sitting at the end of the lane.
She wanted his trust. The trust that she had lost in her horrible sixth year.
"You should expect it." he spoke from behind her, in a rather miserable voice. "I'm your best friend; I'm supposed to--"
"I'd rather you do something because you want to, for once." she spoke, and then snapped her mouth shut, realizing how harsh the words sounded out in the open.
"I'm sorry." Even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow from overuse. She heard Harry let out a breath. She ventured a glance at him and felt her heart lurch.
His face was tight, though his jaw was working rather hard under his skin.
"It's okay." he said finally, in a voice of deliberate calm. "You didn't mean it."
She lowered her eyelids slightly, causing a warm darkness to fall over her. She let her arms drop to the carpet, leaning her back against the couch.
The unresolved tension nearly killed her. She was used to it with Ron, but she had always felt infinitely unsettled when she and Harry argued, especially silently, like this. She never knew what was left or right in the arguments when they didn't talk, which were seldom.
"I think I'm going to get a drink." Harry said abruptly. "Can I get you anything?"
She opened her eyes then, and she stood up with him, eyes trained on his thin face.
"I'll come with you."
Harry tensed, sensing the challenge. She stuck out her chin stubbornly, her eyes fixed challengingly on his own. I'm not going to let this go until we figure it out.
"All right, then." he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "If you're sure he's not going to need you."
He saw her flinch as he brushed passed her to tread into the kitchen. He reached into the cupboard, quite slowly and deliberately.
"Harry!" she said sharply, her voice slicing through the heavy atmosphere like a well-sharpened knife. "Is that what this is about?"
"Is that what what's about?" he said, instantly on his guard.
"You know what I'm talking about." she said fiercely, and Harry suddenly found himself face to face with her. She had stood firmly in front of the tap, arms crossed over her chest and chin still firmly jutting out.
He tightened his hold around the glass.
"No, Hermione." he said, very slowly, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're a horrible liar." she said angrily, eyes flashing. "You're afraid that I'm going to stop spending time with you, is that it?"
"No!" he insisted, feeling himself turn very red.
Idiot, a very irritated voice inside his head spat, you'll only make it worse.
She grasped his shoulders in her small hands and glared at him. He flinched and looked away.
"Harry," she said, softly but quite sternly. "You look at me, directly in the face, and tell me that I'm wrong."
He lowered his head, avoiding her gaze, and refused to speak.
He felt two fingers push insistently at his chin, and he looked up. His eyes landed on hers as she let out a deep breath and bit her lip.
"Harry." she said levelly, "You know I'd never let anything get in between us."
She dropped her hands from his shoulders and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.
"Why don't you go lie down?" she suggested quietly, pushing him toward the stairs. "You've had a long night."
He nodded mutely, put the glass down on the counter, and shuffled up the stairs.
Hermione watched him go with a mixture of confusion and sympathy.
"Well," she muttered to herself in a very dry tone, "I suppose you could say that went well."
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