If there was one thing that Hermione enjoyed reading just as much as books, it was faces.
She was good at it – especially when it came to Ron. Coming from a passionate, eccentric, tightly-bonded family, he had never had any reason to hold back what he was feeling. In some ways, that was good. Hermione knew how dangerous it was to repress emotions, especially when one had magical tendencies. It also meant that she could, to an extent, play to them – when he was cheerful, he was more likely to agree to Hermione's orders to go and get some fresh air out on the quidditch field, and when he was angry, to go to his dorm room and, as she liked to so tactfully put it, 'mull things over'.
It wasn't that she didn't like Ron. It was more that where Hogwarts was an idyllic country walk on a balmy evening, with dusty paths and wild plants whispering in the hedgerows, Ron was that pedantic truck driver who insisted on going down the 'back routes' with his fog lights on full blare.
It just didn't take long for her to have her daily dose of him. And, on the first day back at Hogwarts after the Triwizard tournament, she had gone up and over what she would've seen as her daily limit.
It was turning out to be a beautiful day at Hogwarts, despite the despondent atmosphere. Hermione and Harry were sitting side by side in the Great Hall with Ron opposite them. Beams of sunlight filtered through the grand windows, bathing Hermione's face. She turned to Harry. He still hadn't eaten a thing.
She looked over to Ron, who, despite the trauma of the other day, was cheerfully reading out sections of the Daily Prophet whilst shoveling a full English breakfast into his mouth.
"'Ere's one for you, 'Ermione,' Ron piped up, whilst chewing a piece of sausage. 'C'ever witches n wizards wanfed immefidiately by the Minftry of Magic.'
Hermione grunted her disgust. 'Ron, at least finish your mouthful before you speak. I didn't catch half of that'. She picked up her napkin and delicately dabbed at her wrist, where a piece of sausage had landed.
Ron gulped audibly, and repeated himself. 'The Ministry of Magic wants Wizards and Witches of all age groups. Must have either gained 'excellent' grade marks in their O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S., or are predicted them. So that's you, basically.'
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. She quickly glanced over to Harry, who was staring into his empty plate. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was ticking. "How inconsiderate can you be? Did it ever occur to you why they want intelligent witches and wizards?"
Ron looked at her, and then to Harry, and back to Hermione again. He shrugged. He really does have no clue, Hermione thought angrily, feeling her heart rate rise and fingers beginning to shake. She took in Ron's expression. Eyes blank with a hint of a frown in his eyebrows, his mouth set in a firm, obstinate manner, the newspaper in one hand and a fork loaded with sausage in the other. She took a deep breath, and composed herself.
"If you may remember, Ronald, our friend Harry was recently part of tragic events which are surely going to affect the Wizarding World as we know it. Voldemort is back. But do you think that that's what people want to hear? No. Of course not. If they hire a band of wizards and witches who have no reason to be doubted because of, let's say, their intelligence, not only can they go round telling others that You-Know-Who's return is a lie, but they can also work as spies to collect important information for the Ministry."
Hermione's little spiel did not achieve the desired affect. Ron lowered his forkload and grinned, his face full of wonder. "Wow. It's no wonder they call you a genius, Hermione. To work all of that out from a little article poked in the corner. I think you should consider working there; they need people like you who always have their thinking caps on…"
"It did not take a thinking cap to work that out, Ronald, it only took bloody common sense. I'll see you two later." She angrily stacked her used breakfast cutlery into one pile, where it swiftly disapparated to the kitchens. She grabbed her book bag, swung it over her shoulder, and got up to leave. Although she desperately wanted to be alone, somehow, she was just as desperate for Harry to come along. He'd been with them the entire time, and yet he had not eaten a single crumb. He had become so gaunt recently. Hermione's heart ached for him and his losses. He looked up for a second, and Hermione felt her demeanor shift slightly, despite her pumping heart.
"Coming?" She softly asked.
He hesitated, but then started nodding. He nodded a farewell at Ron, who had forgotten the last few minutes of commotion and had already loaded his plate up with seconds, and was reading the sales section of the paper.
As the two left the hall, Hermione automatically took a turn to head to the Black Lake. As soon as she realised where she was going, she turned to Harry. It was futile. Despite his face being a whole lot harder to read than Rons', she could tell that he was miles away.
"Harry…" He jolted back to the present. "I-I'm sorry. I was just heading to the… Black Lake, and I just wanted to check if-if it wasn't too-"
"Traumatising for me?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded.
"It will be okay. Thanks for thinking of me. Are you going there because of your thing?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes. It's not as bad today, but then again, my emotions are all over the place. I just want to be sure that I've got it all under control."
As they started to walk again, both subconsciously picking up the pace, Harry turned to look at her. "You always have it under control. I've got faith in you."
Hermione smiled and lightly touched his arm as a gesture of thanks. What she wasn't expecting, however, was how the softness and warmness of it was going to make her feel. It was weird, but it felt like the most comforting thing in the world.
Harry had felt the same thing. As she'd touched him, his disturbed mind had felt just a little bit more at ease. Bloody hell, as if I'm now going to have to find every reason to be close to her! He thought to himself, smiling weakly at the situation.
As the pair stepped outside, they were engulfed in sunlight and birdsong. Dandelion seeds drifted to and fro, and dew hung like artisan beads on the long grass. Hogwarts really was the most beautiful place to be in the world.
It only increased in beauty as they reached the Black Lake. Despite its' unforgiving name, sunlight dappled off the greeny-blue water, sending a kaleidoscope of colours onto the two friends and the surrounding trees. Hermione pulled out a chunky knitted blanket from her bag, and the pair flopped down. They lay back for a few minutes, taking in the twinkling birdsong and the deep plops of water as fish jumped through the air.
"How are you feeling?" Enquired Harry dubiously. He'd been down here enough times with Hermione enough times to know how it went.
Hermione smiled. "Incredibly enough, not too bad. My heart's beating to the millions and I'm a little bit shaky, but I don't think I'm going to need more than one." She pulled out a tiny leather pouch from her bag, which she proceeded to unzip and ungracefully fish out a tray of tablets. Oh, how she hated living with such a horrible muggle illness. As always, Hermione read the instructions carefully (to which she received a 'surely you know it off by heart now?' look from Harry), and then popped out one pill.
After taking it, she lay back and waited for the effects to kick in. Of course, being in such a tranquil place helped her as much as the tablets, and, as she had now learnt from past experience, one without the other just really didn't work.
After a few minutes of silence, Harry cleared his throat.
"Hermione – what's it like? Having anxiety?"
Hermione sighed slowly, composing her answer. "You know how you feel right before a quidditch match, yes? You have powerful magic coursing through your body, making you feel like you're going to simultaneously fly into the sky and fall to the floor. Your legs feel like jelly. You could cry knowing that you're either going to win or lose. It's so intense that it makes you feel delirious. You almost want to cancel the match."
Harry nodded quietly, letting his mind take him back to the most incredible quidditch games, where Hermione had just described how he'd felt before them with fine accuracy.
"Now imagine feeling that all of the time. Well, not all of the time, but whenever your friends are in trouble – even just a tiny amount – or when you're about to have potions, or when I see you on your own, or when you wake uop and just feel that something is going to happen. Or before the… the Triwizard games. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring them up again. I had to take four of those tablets before each challenge; I couldn't bear it."
A deep pain seared through Harry, but only half of it was due to the mentioning of the tournament. He was so sure that he'd been alone during that year, with no support, as no one who knew the pain. How blind could he have been?
Hermione, meanwhile was having trouble deciphering his expression. Harry had always been a tough one – after years of supplying the Dursleys with a poker face, she could only guess that old habits died hard. He was getting better, and she knew of times where he'd yelled or screamed or cried with laughter, but she also knew that they could all be counted on one hand. What was he thinking?
Harry rolled over to face her on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. There was so much worry etched on to her face, and he couldn't bear to see it there. How could someone go through life feeling like they were just about to go and compete against Slytherin in quidditch?
"Hermione. I had no idea. I'm sorry that I haven't asked you before – I mean, we've been down here countless times since September, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to help you, please, please let me know."
Harry's act of raw kindness brought tears to Hermione's eyes, and before she knew it, she had to turn away to blot them with the sleeve of her cardigan. Four years on, and it still got to her that people cared. But why, out of all people, was it Harry who felt bad for her? He had experienced pain and loss like no other.
But then, pain recognises pain.
Harry flopped back down, and silently laid a protective arm over her. It was a tentative move, but he felt Hermione's unspoken permission as she shifted slightly into him. They both let out an enormous sigh at the same time, which brought on light laughter. As Hermione lay there on the blanket bestowed upon her by Hagrid in the second year (and to that day, still had a faint smell of smoky bacon) with Harry's fingers drawing random motions on her arm, and the relaxed lapping on the lake onto the sandy bank, she felt her heart's panicked rushing slow down. Her body loosened. A fleeting thought crossed her mind.
Maybe everything would be okay after all.