He looked tired.
She recognized it as the same look people get after a certain age, and it scared her. He wasn't supposed to have that look, not for a long long while, and yet, at twenty three Harry somehow managed to look older than their old Transfigurations teacher.
It scared her because she knew what it meant when those eyes met her own, she knew exactly what he was saying through those tired, green eyes. She doubted he knew himself, because that was always how it had been, she always knew what Ron and Harry were thinking before they knew themselves, it was just the way the trio functioned.
Ron.
He was in Harry's eyes, and in their hearts and thoughts, but no where else. The fall of Voldemort had consequently been the fall of Ron, and now it weighed heavy in Harry's eyes. Bellatrix always managed to get the last laugh in.
It just sucked to be the brainy one, because she knew what Harry was going to do that night, she just knew. He met her eyes, wearily, and she knew. She didn't have to hear Molly question why Harry left his wand to know that he'd done it. She didn't hesitate in offering to take it to him, she couldn't slow down her train of thoughts, and as per usual Hermione refused to let her heart lead the way. She'd thought with her heart and not her brain with Ron and that relationship had been a disaster.
So she took the wand with a well practiced smile, pocketed it, and after a sleepy chorus of farewells from the considerably smaller Weasley clan, she left. She wouldn't floo home that night, or even apparate, no, she would walk. Not necessarily home because she wasn't sure where home was, her childhood home was vacant, her parents having been evacuated to a safe house on the coast somewhere, and anywhere else was just too full. Too full of them.
So she walked, trying not to let her thoughts follow her straying heart.
She thought of the teaching position open to her at Hogwarts, of her mother and father, of anything really. She hated to fail, hated being weak. Hated being alone.
Her six years at Hogwarts were marred, however slightly, by a fear of being alone. Being an amateur genius was well and all, but however hard she tried books couldn't replace people, especially now. There has always been a fear in her that her boys would stop needing help with Potions, or her never depleting supply of quills, that one day they'd realize she wasn't as needed as they used to think.
It was silly, but it was her fear, and even now she clung to it. Because it had happened. They had finally left her. Maybe not the same way she'd always dreaded, but regardless, she was alone.
...Or was she?
Startled by the sudden train of thought Hermione paused mid-step, brushing away chilled tears she didn't remember escaping. Her mind ran over the new epiphany, checking and rechecking her calendar mentally, searching for any flaw in the new window of of hope. There wasn't one.
Despite her grief, despite it all, Hermione laughed. An odd laugh, because it was choked and strangled by sobs, but it was a laugh.
She twirled, fingering Harry's wand, letting her tears freeze in the night air as quickly as the ducts could produce them. She laughed and laughed, sobbing in random intervals, because they hadn't left her alone.
For the first time since she could remember Ron and Harry had outsmarted her. She was for once the last to catch on.
With a final dieing laugh, which was bordering on a whimper, Hermione pressed a gloved hand to her fluttering stomach. As was the way of the Trio, it seemed her boys knew her better than she knew herself, and it was glorious.
They had given her the gift of never being alone.
AN: Ack! I'm re-posting this, because I took it down on my shy-girl impulse, and regretted it, I need to remember to act first, think later.
Anyhow, I know it's confusing, and hard to understand, but, it's not over. Any helpful suggestions or anything would be useful, and very much appreciated.