Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Here's the latest chapter in which we see a little more of Ron and in which I indulge my love of the Marauders a little. Enjoy!
Living Past the End
~Chapter 5~
Harry had stilled.
He had just finished putting up a ward when he'd just… stopped. Hermione glanced at him, a question on her lips, when she realized what he was staring at. She caught her breath in sudden understanding.
The full moon.
Quickly, she finished putting up the last of the wards and then moved to stand beside him. She didn't speak-somehow, it didn't feel like a moment to break the silence-but she lifted her hand to touch his arm for a moment before letting her hand fall. He didn't respond to her touch, didn't react in any way, so that in anyone else, she might have wondered if they were even aware that she was there, but this was Harry. So she only waited, standing next to him, seeing the way his features had tightened into an expression of grief.
And after a minute, his hand-but only his hand-moved, sought hers, and then curled his fingers around hers.
They stood there like that, holding hands, for another few minutes and then he blinked, sighed, and turned his head to look at her.
"Let's go inside," she said gently. "I'm beginning to get cold," she fibbed.
He didn't respond in words, only turned, not releasing his grip on her hand, so they could walk back into the cottage.
He released her hand when they were inside, settling on the couch in the front room as they had every night for the past few nights.
Harry leaned back against the couch with a soft sigh, closing his eyes briefly.
She stayed quiet, sensing that he didn't feel much like talking, and so they sat in silence for a while. A silence that was comfortable but somehow sad as well, as for a fleeting, uncharacteristically fanciful moment, she could almost imagine that the spirits of all the people who had died in the War were crowding into the room. So many people, many of whom she'd never even met, and some-like Fred and Professor Lupin and Tonks and Headmaster Dumbledore-whom she had known and cared about.
Oh, how much they had lost… Not just the people that had died but something else, more delicate and infinitely precious-a sense of innocence. Not even innocence as in an ignorance that evil existed in the world but innocence in the sense of a youthful confidence that right would prevail and any sort of belief in their own longevity. She had expressed it to Harry in one of their nights at the Burrow, this feeling that she had aged beyond her years, and she knew, better than anyone almost, that Harry had aged too.
She glanced at him, noting yet again the physical marks the stresses of the last year had left on his face and seeing the shadowed-haunted- expression, so familiar now, in his eyes.
Yes, they had lost so much. Lost so much that they could never get back and all they could do was hope, in that blind way of people who didn't know what else to do, that what they gained would somehow prove to be worth all they had lost.
But finally, he broke the silence. "A sickle for your thoughts," he offered quietly.
She looked at him, hesitating with sudden reluctance to tell him, to say anything that might add to his own grief, before she settled for responding, "How do you know I'm thinking anything at all?"
He gave her a look. "You're always thinking."
She gave up the futile attempt to be evasive and admitted, "I was thinking of everyone that we lost, what a high price we paid for peace."
"It was a high price, too high…" He looked, and sounded, bleak.
But somehow, strange as it was, given what they had been talking about, she felt her heart lifting a little. They had paid a high price-but at that moment, hearing him say it had been too high, all she could think was that it wasn't true. For all that they had lost, the price had not been too high because… because Harry had survived.
She felt guilt twist inside her at the thought-it seemed so selfish, so wrong-but there it was. In spite of everything else, in spite of the fact that so many other people-even people she had truly liked and cared for, like Fred and Professor Lupin and Sirius-had been lost, at that moment, she could only feel gratitude and, yes, relief that the price had not been higher, that Harry had survived.
Harry-and Ron and the other Weasleys, of course.
They had all paid a price and even the survivors would never be the same again, she knew, but in the end, she thought, all that really mattered to her was that Harry had survived. Not the same-he would never be a boy again, she knew, had seen too much, suffered too much, that even if the nightmares improved, even when he learned to relax and move forward, he would do so as a man, older than his years. But he was alive, could finally live a life without the constant threat of Voldemort hanging over him, could finally do whatever he might want to do without fear. He could be happy.
And for the first time, she felt, not only that the War was over and that they were safe, but that they had won. Odd to feel that now, weeks after the fact, and yet perhaps not at all. At first, they had all been too exhausted to feel much of anything and then, the immediate aftermath had been too full of grief over those they had lost and the lingering nightmares and fears to feel much in the way of relief or anything else. But now, after all the years she had spent wanting nothing so much as she wanted Harry to be safe-now, he was safe so how could she feel anything but relief?
She glanced at Harry and felt another swift curl of guilt, promptly scolding herself for her own selfishness in thinking only about her own feelings over Harry having survived when Harry himself was grieving for people they had both known and cared about.
"He was the last, real link to my parents."
"I know," she murmured quietly-and as always, concern for him swiftly drowned out anything she felt for herself.
"He was the first person who really talked to me about them, gave me any sense of what they had been like." Harry blinked rapidly and then sighed. "I just… he had only just gotten some happiness and then…"
She said nothing-after all, what was there to say? Harry wasn't speaking in order to get a response, was more thinking aloud.
She thought of Professor Lupin-Remus-too, remembering how tired he'd looked whenever the full moon had come around, and more than that, remembering the way he had looked at Harry sometimes, from the moment they had met in their Third Year and after that, as if he were seeing not Harry at all but an odd reincarnation of James. Every once in a while, usually after Harry had done or said something characteristic, Remus had looked at Harry oddly, and Hermione had realized that what she knew as a characteristic look or gesture of Harry's was something Harry had inherited from his father and that was what Remus saw.
She suddenly remembered, too, that lesson with the boggart in their Third Year and wondering why Professor Lupin would be frightened of a crystal ball. A faint, rather sad smile curved her lips at the thought. Frightened of a crystal ball- not exactly.
"What is it?"
She looked up at Harry. "I just remembered the boggart in Third Year and how I wondered why Remus would be frightened of a crystal ball."
"But you figured it out. When did you figure it out, Hermione?"
Hermione frowned a little. "I don't remember exactly when. I just… knew it one day when everything came together in my mind, his looking tired and Snape's potions and everything."
"You never thought to tell me and Ron?"
She made a wry sort of face. "If I remember correctly, it may have been around the time when neither of you liked me much because I had gone to Professor McGonagall about your Firebolt."
Harry grimaced. "Oh, right. I'm sorry about that."
She glanced at him with a sudden smile. "Don't look so guilty, Harry. I'm not mad at you over that and anyway, it's ancient history."
"Yeah," he agreed and then was silent for a moment. "You never told Remus that you'd figured it out either, did you?"
"No. I didn't mention it to anyone."
"Why not?"
Hermione lifted her shoulders into an almost-shrug. "What was the point? I liked Remus and we all trusted him and it wasn't my secret to tell. It was his. He didn't want people to know and I thought he wouldn't be happy to know that I knew, even if I wasn't going to tell anyone, so I didn't mention it."
She felt Harry's glance. "You're very clever," he blurted out.
She had to laugh and gave him a teasing look. "Thank you but did you just figure that out?"
He smiled briefly. "No, but it's worth repeating." He paused and then added, "Remus told me once that you reminded him of my mum a little. My mum figured out about him and didn't mention it to him for a while either."
Hermione straightened a little. Harry so rarely spoke about his parents at all. Even for her, she tried to avoid any references to his parents. It was one of the few-really, the very few-topics that were generally off limits between them, she knew.
"Oh," was all she ventured to say, carefully.
He was silent for a while, for so long that she'd begun to think he would say nothing further about either Remus or his mother, but then he began, speaking slowly, a little less than fluidly, "It was at Christmas of their Sixth Year, Remus told me. Mum and Remus were friends… but Mum mostly just tolerated my Dad then. Remus, Dad and the… others… were in Gryffindor common room."
Hermione nodded, her heart pinching a little at how Harry avoided mentioning Sirius's name, out of grief, and Pettigrew's name for the obvious reasons.
"Mum came up and gave Remus a Christmas gift. It was… one of those chain necklace-type things that some fellows wear, more common back then, Remus said. It was silver. And before Remus or anyone else could react, Mum said she wanted to see him try it on and put it on him. Remus said… he said he expected it to burn and almost leaped to his feet… but then, it didn't. It didn't hurt him at all."
"It was white gold," Hermione guessed.
He glanced at her. "Yeah. I'd never even heard of it before Remus told me this story. He said he and everyone else just stared at Mum for a minute and then Mum said… Mum just smiled and said, 'it's white gold. Did you really think I would be silly enough or mean enough to get you anything silver?' And that was when Remus realized that Mum had figured it out and just not mentioned anything to him or anyone until then."
Hermione smiled. "That's… nice."
"Remus said that was really when Mum started to become friends with all of them, not just him."
"That makes sense. There's nothing like sharing a secret to become friends."
"Oh, I don't know. I've also found that fighting a cave troll is a pretty good way to become friends," Harry commented with a faint smile.
She slanted a smile at him. "That works too."
His returning smile was fleeting before he sobered, looking away for a long few minutes. The silence stretched on until Hermione started to think that, after all, he wouldn't say anything more. He had already said more about his parents than she ever remembered him saying in all the years she'd known him.
"I don't know…" he finally began haltingly, "many stories like that about… my parents… you know… It-it meant… something… that Remus had known them so well… I just… miss him now…" His voice trailed off with the faintest tremble, something she wasn't sure she'd ever heard from him before.
She sighed but didn't say anything, could not think of anything to say. A swell of sympathy, of understanding, closed up her throat.
She couldn't speak but she reached over and grasped his hand.
And so they sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts, but connected by their joined hands.
Hermione stared at the floor, her heart aching for Harry and the thought of all he had lost.
And yet mingled in with her pain was a poignant thread of happiness that Harry had shared all he had with her just now. She knew better than anyone that Harry generally didn't talk about those wounds that cut the deepest, which was why Harry never really talked about his parents, only rarely spoke about Sirius anymore. So the fact that Harry had talked to her as he had now… meant something. It spoke of a level of trust that went deeper, perhaps, somehow, than even she would have expected, a level of trust that Harry didn't quite feel with Ron. She knew, treasured the knowledge-although it was never spoken in so many words-that Harry tended to be more open with her alone about those things which troubled him most. She wasn't sure exactly when it had begun or even why it was so, but for once in her life, she didn't try to analyze it further. She could only be thankful for it, keeping the belief that Harry could confide in her tucked safely into a corner of her heart.
She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, in silence, but it was long enough that the grief that had seemed to thicken the air dissipated somewhat, leaving just a simple sense of comfort behind.
The sound was faint, just barely recognizable as a strangled shout. And it shattered the silence and the comfort in an instant.
Their eyes met, both of them instantly tense and alert.
"Ron." She was never sure which of them said the name aloud, which of them only mouthed it in sudden dismay. But it didn't matter. They were both on their feet and running for the door and up the stairs before the single syllable was finished.
Harry thrust open the door of Ron's room, rushing inside with Hermione following just on his heels.
"Ron!"
Now the name did escape both their lips in messy unison and Ron jerked awake with a start and a gasp, looking around a little wildly before his gaze focused on the two of them.
She sensed Harry's tension abruptly relaxing as he sank into a chair while she crossed the room to sit at the foot of the bed.
Ron lifted a hand to push his hair back, his breath still coming somewhat fast. "Did I cry out?" he finally asked after a long minute, his voice not quite himself.
"Are you okay?" she asked in response.
He sighed even as he nodded. "It was just a nightmare."
"I didn't-I didn't know you had nightmares," Harry spoke up, his voice almost cracking in spite of his effort to sound calm.
Ron glanced at Harry, the ghost of a wry smile just touching his lips. "I don't, not that often. But I guess I've spent too much time with you and nightmares are contagious."
Harry sucked in his breath and Hermione somehow sensed him stiffen. "I'm sorry," he blurted out and then abruptly stood up and left the room with almost as much suddenness as he'd entered it.
Leaving Ron to stare after him with surprise and dismay written large on his features.
Hermione sighed, torn between the wish to follow Harry and make sure he was okay and the sense that she should stay with Ron, at least a little longer. "Oh Ron, did you have to say that?"
"It was a joke!" Ron protested, his expression changing to defensiveness. "I didn't really mean it, not like that."
She sighed again. "I know that." And she did-she had from the moment he'd said it. Ron could be blunt but unless he lost his temper, it wasn't like him to be intentionally cutting. For the most part, when Ron said something hurtful, it was out of thoughtlessness, even obliviousness, not malice.
And she suspected Harry would have known that too-or he would, once he got over his instinctive hurt. But would he-could he-get over his hurt?
"Did Harry have to overreact like that?"
"That's not fair, Ron. You may not have meant it like that but you didn't sound like you were joking either."
"Oh come on, Hermione!" Ron flared with some irritation. "Harry's known me for 7 years now; he ought to know when I'm joking and when I'm not."
"Maybe he would if he were really himself, but he's not himself. Not really. Not yet. You know that. Can't you see that?"
Ron's expression settled into a rather mulish one. "Don't you ever get tired of having to treat Harry like he's made of glass and will shatter if anyone so much as looks at him funny? We're his friends but we shouldn't have to babysit him."
She glared at Ron. "Honestly, Ron, you can be such an insensitive clod. You know all that Harry's been through in the last couple years. If ever anyone was entitled to being a little fragile right now, it's him! And if you don't want to be around to help Harry get back to normal, then you can just leave!"
Their eyes clashed for a long, fraught moment and for a second, she thought Ron might actually decide to do just that and leave. She held her breath-but then he gave in, his eyes dropping as he slumped back. "Okay, Hermione, you win," he conceded. "Don't look at me like that. I couldn't really desert Harry now, you know."
She relaxed, unbending enough to give Ron the faint beginnings of a smile. "Good."
He gave her a sideways look. "Y'know, you're really scary when you're angry."
"Well, don't say stupid things and I won't need to get angry."
"Sorry." He paused and then sighed. "I know Harry's still having a bit of a hard time but it's a little wearing to have to tiptoe around him."
She sighed. "It's only been a couple weeks since everything ended. Give him some more time."
"How much more time will he need? The War ended almost a month ago now. I could understand the first couple days but really, I thought he'd be over it by now."
And there Ron went again, showcasing his masterful insensitivity. She sternly bit back her annoyance-getting into a fight with Ron wasn't going to help, would only trigger Ron's stubbornness-and said with forced calm, "You of all people know that Harry's been fighting this War for years and a month is not that long a time." She paused and then added more softly, "You know everything was so much harder for Harry than it was even for us."
"Yeah, I suppose," Ron admitted with something less than grace but admitting it nonetheless.
She could have quibbled with his grudging acknowledgment but changed the subject instead. "What do you still have nightmares about?"
Ron shrugged a little, his fingers picking absently at the covers. "Things that happened in the War." He paused and then added very quietly, "Fred."
"I'm sorry," was all she could think to say, equally quietly.
"I know." He was silent for a long moment and then said with a visible effort to sound unaffected, "I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"You didn't," she assured him. "Harry and I were just talking."
Ron's eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the window and the darkness outside. "It's the middle of the night!"
She hesitated, a little reluctant to say that she and Harry had spent almost every night in a while together talking. It wasn't a secret, of course, but it was also not something either of them mentioned during the day or to anyone else. "It's the full moon tonight," she settled for saying instead. Which was true. And if Ron took that to mean that tonight was unusual for that reason, well, there was nothing technically untrue about that. Tonight had been different-sadder-than the other nights. She pushed aside the little niggle of discomfort at her parsing her words.
Ron's expression blanked as the implication of this hit him and then he winced a little. "Was Harry all right?"
"He misses Remus and everyone else."
Ron winced again. "And then I had to make that joke about my nightmares. You-you'd better go make sure he's okay now."
"Will you be able to go back to sleep?"
Ron lifted his shoulders, his expression turning to one of manufactured insouciance. "I'm an insensitive clod, remember? Nothing can keep me awake at night for long."
She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. "You're only an insensitive clod some of the time. Seriously, Ron, will you be able to sleep?"
"I'll be fine," he said firmly and more seriously. "One nightmare a night is usually my record."
She managed a slight smile. "Okay, then."
Ron waved a hand. "Go make sure Harry's not beating himself up."
"Goodnight, Ron." On an impulse, she bent forward and kissed his cheek quickly before standing up.
Ron pretended to make a face at her. "Night, Hermione."
She gave him a last, small smile before she left to find Harry.
Harry wasn't in his room. Nor was he in the front room.
She hesitated and then tried the front door-unlocked-and stepped outside, her heart clenching a little at this evidence of how badly Harry had reacted to Ron's thoughtless words. Harry didn't like being outside at night so for him to have fled the cottage had a significance she hated to think of.
He was outside.
He had transfigured something into a bench-which, she noted, he had placed just inside the wards they had put up-and he still had his wand in his hand, looking rather as if he were guarding the cottage.
He also looked as starkly, forbiddingly alone as she could ever remember seeing. So alone that she hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was one of those times when Harry needed to be left alone, before she figuratively stiffened her spine and went to join him.
"Nice job at transfiguration," she commented with studied casualness as she sat down on the bench.
He didn't respond, his silence for once as unwelcoming as a physical blow could have been.
She sternly suppressed the flicker of hurt she felt. It wasn't about her. Harry wasn't trying to hurt her.
She discarded any idea of trying to pretend either of them didn't know what had driven him outside. "He didn't mean it the way it sounded," she ventured softly, carefully.
Harry still didn't respond, was silent for another excruciatingly long minute. But then just as she began to think he wouldn't respond, he did.
"I know," he admitted briefly.
Her heart squeezed painfully at this proof that Harry had been able to see past his own reaction, had been able to think clearly in spite of his emotions.
"He might not have meant it but he was right."
"No, he wasn't. His nightmares aren't your fault."
"How could it not be my fault?!" he exploded, leaping to his feet in agitation. "It is my fault that you and Ron were in so much danger! It was because of me, because you were friends with me. Other people-Terry Boot, Justin, Cho, everyone else at Hogwarts-weren't nearly as involved as you were. Even Ginny-she was safer because I pushed her away so she wasn't a part of it all. You-you were in danger because of me so of course it's my fault!"
"No, it's not," she objected, deliberately not raising her voice, trying, hoping, that her own calm would calm Harry as well.
"How can you say that! Can you honestly tell me that you would have been in just as much danger if we'd never become friends?" he demanded hotly.
She wanted to lie. But she met his eyes-she couldn't lie to him, not about this, not about anything so important-"No, I can't."
"Then don't tell me it's not my fault!"
She stood up as well, her ability to pretend to be calm abruptly leaving her. "Stop it, Harry! Just stop it!"
He blinked, apparently surprised enough that she was yelling at him-a change to be sure since she usually went out of her way to be sympathetic, even when she disagreed with him-that he abruptly closed his mouth and just stared.
"Saying we were in more danger because we were your friends does not mean that it's your fault we were in danger! You didn't force us to stay with you and let me tell you something, Harry, nothing you said could have stopped us from helping you! So don't you dare blame yourself for our being in danger! Yes, we stayed with you because we're your friends but we chose to stay. I chose to stay with you and help you and I did it knowing that it would be dangerous but I also knew it was the right thing to do. Not everything is about you!"
"I don't think that!" he shot back. "But being friends with me made you targets, made Voldemort want to come after you, and it haunts me!" His voice cracked slightly on the intensity of the last words. "The thought of what could have happened-what did happen to you and Ron-because of me. I can't forget it and I can't stop caring that it was because of me! I can't―"
"I would have been a target anyway, even if we hadn't been friends! I'm a Muggle-born and I was head of our class; do you really think Voldemort would have just let me alone? And it's not like any of the Weasleys have ever exactly been on the list of Death Eaters' favorite people. It wasn't about you, Harry, so you shouldn't blame yourself. We were your friends before any of this even started so what were we supposed to do? Just abandon you in the middle of a war?"
"Yes! Maybe you should have!" he flared with fleeting anger before it was replaced with weary despondence. "It would have been better-you would have been safer if you had."
Any last traces of annoyance at Harry's stubbornness and his persistent self-blame dissipated at the look on his face, the stark torment, on it. She closed the distance between them to grip his arms, her tone softening. "You have to believe me, Harry. Ron doesn't blame you. I don't blame you. Nothing that happened to any of us was your fault. If you could have, wouldn't you have protected us, saved us?"
"You know I would have."
"You see? It wasn't your fault. You would have done anything-you would have taken any curse or hex to save us. You would have died," she added very softly.
He stiffened and jerked a little but her hold on his arms prevented him from moving away.
"Listen to me, Harry. Nothing that happened to us was your fault, none of the danger, none of our nightmares."
Harry let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them to meet her gaze. "That's… easy to say but it's harder for me to believe. I can't-I can't feel that it's not my fault."
"Then just believe me. I say it's not your fault and you shouldn't blame yourself. Trust me, Harry."
"I do trust you. I'll-I'll try to believe it."
"Okay." She managed a faint smile. "Try… and when you have trouble, I'll remind you."
His lips twitched slightly. "That, I can believe." He paused. "I guess we'll have this argument again and again." He managed a self-deprecating semblance of a smile. "I'm thick-headed, you know."
"How about whenever I think you're starting to blame yourself, I'll say something to remind you not to blame yourself?"
"Like 'don't be a prat, Harry'?"
"That won't work. I'm sure I'll have other reasons to say that than just because you're starting to blame yourself again."
He gave a glimmer of a smile. "Okay, then what will you say?"
"How about I say, 'remember Damon and Pythias'?" she suggested on sudden inspiration.
He frowned. "What's Damon and Pythias?"
"Damon and Pythias are legendary best friends from a story about ancient Greece who were each willing to die to save the other's life." She lifted one shoulder. "It seems fitting for you."
"I'm not that good a friend. If I were, I wouldn't have been constantly dragging you and Ron into danger with me."
"Harry, remember Damon and Pythias."
He grimaced. "I know, sorry. I just…"
"You forgot," she finished for him.
"And you reminded me, just like you said you would," he returned.
"You know me. I'm always right so it would save time if you would just listen to what I say all the time," she said lightly.
She was rewarded for this by a brief laugh that sounded rather as if it had been startled out of him before he sobered. After a moment, he tipped his head back, with a motion as if his neck was too tired to continue holding his head up, and sighed.
"Thank you," he said abruptly, breaking the brief silence and meeting her eyes again.
"For what?"
"For… staying with me in spite of everything, for helping me. For telling me when you think I'm being a prat."
She shrugged off his words, abruptly self-conscious from the sudden intensity of his gaze, in spite of the attempt at lightness in his words. "It's what friends do."
"No. It's not. It's what best friends do." He hesitated. "You've-you've been the best friend anyone could ever have."
Her first instinct was to make some quip, make light of it-and in all honesty, what else could she have done? Leaving Harry had never been an option.
But any sort of bantering response died in her throat at the look in his eyes. She wasn't sure-she found it hard to think-but she didn't think he'd ever looked at her like this before, not with this sort of focused intensity, this warmth of affection. He looked at her as if, just for this moment, she was the only other person in the world.
"You're welcome," she finally settled for murmuring, for lack of any better response.
He managed a slight twist of a smile. "You don't have to look so shocked that I'm thanking you. After all you've done, thanking you is the least I can do."
"I wasn't expecting to be thanked."
He grimaced. "I know I've been an ungrateful-"
"No, that wasn't what I meant," she interrupted him. "I meant that I didn't help you because I wanted gratitude. It was never-you saved my life too, you know."
"If you're talking about the cave troll…"
"It's not only that. What about the basilisk in Second Year or -"
"The basilisk was you saving me; if it hadn't been for you figuring it out, I would have gone into the Chamber not knowing what I was going up against and I'd have been snake food in a minute."
She waved off his interruption with her hand. "Anyway, whatever I might have done to help you, I had my own selfish motivations too."
He gave her an openly skeptical look. "What possible selfish reason could you have had for risking your own life to help me?"
She glanced away, suddenly-irrationally-a little uncomfortable and unable to hold his gaze as she answered. "I'd never really had friends before you and Ron. Before Hogwarts, I was basically always alone. It's why I got used to having books as my main company. Then I met you." She finally looked back at Harry, managing a somewhat shaky smile. "You and Ron were the first friends I'd ever had so what was I supposed to do? Just let some barking mad Slytherin get to you, leaving me alone again?" She tried for a joking tone but was aware that she was only marginally successful.
"Hermione, I-" he closed his mouth and then opened it again, visibly rethinking whatever he'd been about to say before he finally responded, "You and Ron were my first friends too."
She gave him a real smile which he returned. "See? So we're even."
"When you put it like that, yeah, I guess so."
She linked her arm with his in a companionable gesture. "Come on, let's go back inside. You weren't planning on keeping watch out here all night, were you?"
He didn't answer in words, just kept pace beside her as they returned inside and, again, settled on the couch in the front room.
A brief silence fell that he broke by asking, "Was Ron okay?"
"Yeah, he'll be fine. As he put it, one nightmare a night is usually his limit."
He let out a brief huff of laughter that somehow sounded only half-amused. "Lucky him."
"Ron's going to be okay, you know, Harry. We're all going to be okay. The nightmares will go away and we can just get on with our lives. We're safe now and we'll be able to live and have fun."
"I know."
He sounded certain, almost amazingly certain, as if she had just informed him what year it was rather than assuring him of something she knew he worried about. She gave him a questioning look but before she could ask, he added, with a commendably straight face, "You just told me so and I know you're always right."
She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. "Good boy, you're learning."
His lips quirked. "I do have fleeting moments of intelligence."
She would have grinned at him but instead found herself yawning.
"We should probably try to get some sleep," he offered.
"Aren't you tired too?" she asked as they walked upstairs.
He sobered, his face abruptly changing to make him look older. "Always," he said briefly.
She mentally kicked herself for the inane question. Of course he was tired. She could see it in the shadows under his eyes and aside from all that, she of all people knew how little sleep he generally got.
"I think I've forgotten what it feels like not to be tired," he admitted, his voice low, almost as if he were more speaking to himself than to her.
"Oh, Harry…" was all she could say, the two words little more than a sigh.
They had reached his door and paused as she studied him, suddenly swamped with a tidal wave of concern for him. She wished she could wave her wand and bring him peace, for a fleeting moment even thought wildly of casting a spell on him or erasing his memories or something-but no, she couldn't do that to Harry.
"Do you think you'll be able to sleep a little?"
He met her eyes and his face softened, his eyes warming. "I think so. You don't have to worry about me so much."
"I can't seem to help it," she blurted out unthinkingly, her thoughts scattering as she felt her cheeks flushing, her heart fluttering at the way he was looking at her, the affection in his gaze. In the dim hallway, she was suddenly incredibly, breathlessly conscious that it was the middle of the night, that they were alone, and standing closely enough together that it would take less than a step, a mere shifting of bodies, before they would be close enough to kiss…
He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Good night, Hermione."
"Good night," she managed to say automatically before she turned and walked down to her own room.
She felt abruptly let down, her spirits deflated, not so much because of what had not happened but at the possible significance of it not happening. She knew what she felt-but what about him? Oh, she knew he trusted her and cared about her but how much did that mean?
She pictured his expression again, heard the affection in his voice.
It could have been nothing more and nothing less than the fondness of a brother.
In fact-she tried to remember-hadn't Harry's expression looked rather like what she'd occasionally seen in Bill's or Charlie's face when they looked at Ginny? Even the way Ron treated Ginny, the careless ease mingled in with the affection, affection that was so engrained that it was never even thought about or questioned or put into words.
She sighed as she got into bed, telling herself it didn't matter. She hadn't lost anything; nothing was different between them if Harry thought of her like a sister.
Like a sister. Funny, growing up alone, Hermione had spent the better part of her life wishing for a sibling. Now, the thought that she might be like a sibling to someone only hurt.
Which was silly and irrational, she told herself briskly. She was Harry's best friend; she was like a sister to him. As she'd always been.
And that was enough. It would be enough for her. Really, it would.
And if her throat felt uncomfortably tight, her eyes abruptly pricking a little… well, that had nothing to do with anything.
She turned over onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
She was Harry's best friend. As she always had been, as she always would be. And that would be enough for her.
~To be continued…~