I honest to God have no clue where this fic came from. I just decided to open a word document and...this resulted. Originally I intended to write a piece concerning the epilogue (well, not the epilogue, per say, but the life described in it), in which, somewhere along the way, Hermione accidentally describes the love of her life to Rose, who is shocked to discover that this man sounds nothing like her father. Nonetheless, I'm still pleased with what I came up with. Not exactly my best work, but it will do, especially considering the slump I've been in as of late. And yes, this is another angst piece. Don't be too surprised. I recently went through a rather emotional experience, and I'm in no mood to write a happy story (no, it was not a break-up...well, not technically anyway...no boyfriends were involved at any rate). Anyway, most of you should recognize this scene as the one from the chapter, "The Silver Doe." Technically it works in canon if you want it to, but let's just play it safe and call it AU.
All dialogue uttered by Harry is taken word for word from DH. Don't worry - that's only a sentence or two. A warning: if you don't like H/Hr and are going to be a jerk about Hermione having feelings for Harry, then On that wonderful note, let's move on to the story...
Hermione opened her eyes, greeted by complete darkness. Something had awoken her, though she couldn't place what. She shivered at the chilly night's air and hugged her sweatshirt tightly to her body.
Arms still crossed against her chest, she stared in front of her and willed herself to fall back asleep. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, only to open them once more. It was then that she realized that success wasn't in her near future.
Sighing, she reached for her wand, deciding that she might as well get some more reading done. With a frustrated sigh she remembered her wand was with Harry, and her frustration was quickly replaced by guilt as she remembered Harry's face when she presented his broken wand.
I hope he isn't still upset, she sighed to herself, turning on her side. I wonder how he's doing? She glanced at the mouth of the tent. If she wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon, she might as well relieve Harry of his duties and let him get some rest. She swung her legs over the bed and hoped down. Exiting the tent, she softly called Harry's name, only to receive no response. Blinking, she looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Fear swelled within her. Had a Death Eater found him? But then why did they leave her? Had he run off without her? Hermione swallowed. Of course he had. He was probably off on some midnight crusade.
"You're going to get yourself killed, you know, Harry," she mumbled to herself. Merlin, what if he did get himself killed? Wandering off into the woods like that, he would be easy prey for anyone…
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "What were you thinking?" Gritting her teeth against the cold, she began her trek through the forest, praying she wouldn't get lost, and more importantly, that Harry would be safe when she found him. The very idea of him harmed…
She didn't think she could stand another night by his bedside, wondering if this would be the night that he wouldn't survive; another night of robotically caring for him as, "Don't leave me, don't you dare leave me," drowned out the rest of her thoughts. Her feet stung as they pushed into the newly fallen snow (in her panic she had forgotten shoes), and she willed herself to go on, constantly murmuring, "Don't be dead."
After some time she spotted Harry's messy hair, framed by the moon's light. Relief swept over her, only to be replaced with confusion. There, next to Harry, was…Ron? Hermione squinted, and she could make out the red hair. Her jaw dropped, and she was about to walk over there and give Ron a good slap when she realized that the two were deep in the middle of a conversation. Frowning, Hermione found a nearby tree and hid, listening intently. Harry's voice drifted over to her.
"…she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see." Were they talking about her? "There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other." Well that settled it. The nerve of those two, talking about her behind her back! She missed the end of Harry's sentence, but what he said next seemed to silence her thoughts and left her breathless. "She's like my sister. I love her like a sister, and I reckon she feels the same way about me…" The rest of his words were lost once more, and Hermione felt herself sinking slowly into the snow. Like his sister? Like his sister? She was like his sister? Her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. His sister?
She tilted up her head, resting it against the bark of the tree. Hot tears ran down her face. After everything they had been through, he thought of her as a sister? She knew he was still involved with Ginny, despite their public break-up, but she had always assumed that it was just lust… After all, his feelings for her had come about so suddenly; it was only rational that it wasn't really…that it wouldn't…
How stupid could she have been? She was no Ginny Weasley or Cho Chang. She should've realized years ago that Harry could only ever think of her as his bookish, nosy friend.
But still, to hear him say that he thought of her as a sister… Though she had resigned herself to the fact that her feelings were unrequited, she never imagined how much it would hurt to hear such words come from his mouth.
And then, she thought angrily, for him to decide her feelings for him, her feelings for Ron. To announce to the world that she loved him as a brother, that her actual intentions were for another… Hadn't he listened to her speech all those years ago before he went through the fire to face Voldemort? Hadn't he noticed how she had run straight to him after she was unpetrified? Hadn't he seen how red her eyes were following his fall, felt how tightly her arms had clung to him as they flew across the night's sky? Hadn't he wondered about the kiss she gave him at the end of fourth year? Hadn't he felt the ice in her voice as she discussed Harry's ill-fated kiss with Cho Chang, realized why she had raced to Grimmauld Place during the winter holiday? Hadn't he comprehended why she and Ginny argued over him, why the two girls rarely spoke to one another anymore? Hadn't he sensed anything when she gripped his hand in hers, when they walked through the star-studded Christmas night in one another's embrace?
No, of course not. Why should he? After all, she was just his sister, the woman who would make a speech on his wedding day declaring to the entire world how thrilled she was that he had finally found the love of his life, while silently mourning the loss of hers.
Wiping away the last of her tears, she ran back to the tent. Only grief would result if they knew she had been there. At least she wouldn't have to pretend shock or reinvent her anger at Ron's return. After all, projection was a form of denial.
A form of denial that would last her for many years to come.