For the Disney Character Competition: Timothy Q. Mouse - Write about Harry and Hermione's friendship

And the Divergent Competition: "They died for me."

I don't own Harry Potter.

Hermione had tried not to notice it. She had ignored the fact that Harry had started coming to their meager breakfast with red eyes and dark circles under them. She had ignored the way he started making himself smaller portions when he was the one cooking (they had decided to take turns). She had ignored the sounds that came out of the tent when she was the one on guard duty. Well, she had tried to.

It didn't matter that she told herself that it was uncomfortable beds that were making Harry lose sleep. It didn't matter that she tried convince herself that Harry was just trying to save food when he started taking smaller portions, and it didn't matter that she said he was just hearing things whenever she heard noises that sounded suspiciously like crying coming from inside the tent late at night. She noticed it all, anyways.

The final straw that broke the camel's back was when she came in from guard duty to find Harry curled up on his bed with a few tears following a path down his face, staring blankly up at the bunk above his. There could be no more telling herself that there wasn't something wrong. This was solid proof, staring her right in the face. She stepped gently, softer than she normally would have. "Harry?" Hermione asked. Her voice was gentler as well, taking on a tone that a mother would use with a distressed child. "Are you okay?"

The reply was immediate and automatic. "Yes." Hermione waited a few moments. She had half a mind to fix him with a look, but she knew it wasn't necessary. A few more moments, then..."No."

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"

Harry sat up. "What's wrong, Hermione? You know what's wrong." There was a heat in his words, but Hermione suspected it wasn't aimed at her. Even if it was, she was okay with it. "We're traipsing up and down the country looking for we don't even know what with only a few cryptic clues and memories to go off of. I'm supposed to defeat You-Know-Who, but I can even keep one of my best mates from walking out on me. I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic, Harry. It's not your fault that Ron decided to be the world's largest prat and walk out on us, and it's not your fault that we don't know what we're doing. You're doing the best you can under these circumstances." Hermione soothed as she wrapped an arm around him and began rubbing circles on his arm.

There was silence except for both of their breathing. Then, slowly Harry's breathing became steadier and Hermione released her grip. "Thanks Hermione." They shifted, until Harry was laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and Hermione was sitting with her back up against the wall at the foot of the bed.

"You know, Harry sometimes it's good to talk." Hermione told him. She knew she probably should go have him take watch, but they were both awake. They would be on guard if any of the ward were tripped. Hermione grabbed the book she had been reading before her watch off the table next to the bed where she had placed it earlier.

For a while, quiet descended upon the room, broken only by the turning of pages and the sounds of breathing. Hermione thought that life would be bearable – no, more than bearable – if things were to stay like this forever. Just curled up with a book in the company of friends.

Harry was the one who opened up the conversation. "Do think they'd be proud?"

Hermione looked up from her book. "Who?" she asked.

"My parents. Do you think they'd be proud?" Harry asked, "They died for me. They thought that my life was worth more than theirs. Do you think they would approve what we're doing here, how I'm spending the life they died for?"

Hermione put her book back on the table, once again thanking what ever deity was in charge of foresight for giving her the idea to move that little table there. "Harry," She started, "I know I'm not your parents, and I don't ever think that I could be a suitable substitute for on of them. However, I know that I am extremely proud of you, even of it doesn't hold the same meaning."

"Hermione," Harry said after a pause, "Thank you. And I think your parents would be proud too." Then he buried his head in his pillow and eventually his breathing evened out once more, to that of a sleeping person's.

Hermione felt her eyes getting teary. "I think they would be too Harry." She looked down at the sleeping form on the bed. She retrieved the blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over him. She would take watch again. After all, Harry did need to rest. As she walked to the mouth of the tent, she whispered to herself, "I think they would be too."