AN: All characters are JK's, not mine, only the plot belongs to me. The title is a random phrase thought up by a friend. By the way, metalchild loves reviews! Here we go…
Please Climb That Mountain
By: metalchild
Hermione's throat closed up as she spied the light blond head. The hurt came rushing back at her like a tsunami, threatening to drown her in waves of pain and sorrow. A tight wad of bitterness surrounded her heart, sealing itself into a black ball of hatred. Vines of anger twisted their way around her chest and squeezed, making it hard for her to breathe. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes as she fought to keep her feelings in check. She resisted the urge to conjure a porcelain vase to hurl at his pretty, blond head. Preferably a hard, china porcelain vase that would shatter and rain his silver head with white dust, ruining his perfect hair. Hermione wanted to rain the worst curses she knew on him, forcing him to feel some of the pain he had inflicted on her. She wanted him to experience the terrible ache in her throat, caused by endless crying the past few nights. She wanted him to feel the awful hurt he'd caused her. The bullet buried in her heart would never heal. When removed it would leave an ugly gaping hole.
Hermione stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, blinking back her tears. She summoned her resolve and stepped into the Hall, with a rigid back and stiffened body. Her tense posture was noticed by the Gryffindors, who called out concerned questions. She nodded tersely and sat down at her usual spot between Ron and Harry.
Ron, as usual, was stuffing his face with food. Seeing her ashen face and judging from her stiff walk down the Gryffindor table, Harry knew something was wrong.
He gently asked her, "Are you okay?"
That simple question was enough to push her to the edge. Eyes brimming with tears, she shook her head violently, causing her bushy hair to flop about in her face.
Voice wobbling, she beseeched, "Stop questioning, all right? I'm fine."
Harry, and Ron, who'd looked up from his food, nodded in unison with wide eyes. They seldom saw her crying, and hence, were quick to obey, lest the waterworks really start. Hermione imperceptibly wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed the ladle of the dish sitting in front of her and loaded a mountain of mashed potato onto her plate. Moving onto the next dish, she scooped a large portion of roast chicken onto her plate. And she continued piling food onto her plate, until it resembled a misshapen volcano, with mashed potato at the bottom, and yellow pudding at the peak. It even had sticky gravy running down the sides of the volcano, like lava.
The volcano was so huge, it could rival Ron's usual portion of food. In fact, it could beat Ron's usual intake of food hands down. And that's saying something. Ron and Harry's eyes widened further as they watched her shovel the large amount of food down her throat. Ron started to ask her about the extraordinarily large amount of food, but was quickly shushed by Harry. Ron could be rather untactful sometimes, and Hermione was rather fragile now. It would be best not to agitate her any further, to prevent any… unfortunate tearing. With vivid detail, both boys recalled the incident in fourth year, when Hermione had cried because they were friends again. Privately, both Harry and Ron agreed that women were like Niagara Falls, always gushing water. Honestly, they could act like human hosepipes!
Ron had a sudden vision of Hermione levitating above a burning house, her immense volume of tears dousing the fire, hissing gray smoke rising from the blackened house. Out of nowhere, he thought of her bushy hair. He envisioned her bushy hair being even bushier, rising from her head like a brown bear leering at the world. Her soot covered face scowled at him, twisting into a familiar glower. Another thought struck him; if she cried so much, she'd become dehydrated and shrivel up, like a prune. Her skin would become wrinkly and dried out, like the folds of a prune. At that thought, Ron couldn't help but let out a little giggle.
At that sound, Hermione's head snapped up from her food and she threw a murderous glare at Ron through red rimmed eyes. "Are you laughing at me, Ronald?" she asked crisply, a trace of the old Hermione. Even with a snotty nose and red eyes she managed to look remotely scary. There was a trace of Professor McGonagall in her narrowed eyes. A slightly manic glint in her eyes that said that if Ron couldn't give her a proper explanation, he'd end up in detention for the rest of the week. And it was only Monday!
Ron looked to Harry for help. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Ron was acutely aware that Hermione wielded a sharp knife in her right fist. He eyed the knife warily, slightly nervous. A light sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. Light danced on the blade of the knife, emphasizing the smooth shiny metal. Merlin, even the knife was going against him! What was the world coming to?
A jab in his back from Harry brought his senses back into perspective. This was Hermione, for the love of Merlin! Hermione wouldn't do anything remotely close to rule breaking. She had to guard her perfect, untainted reputation. Stabbing Ron with the knife or committing any acts of violence would fall in the category of rule breaking, wouldn't it?
Merlin's balls! Why on earth was he treating Hermione like a loony? Hermione was his best friend, his perfectly sane, estrogen overloaded, mood swing prone, bookish, bushy haired best friend. Even though she wasn't blessed with the most magnificent looks around, she was smart, and she was a loyal friend. And even though she was slightly mad about her books, she was certified sane.
These traitorous thoughts invaded Ron's head as guilt washed over him. He shouldn't be doubting Hermione's sanity! Hermione was as sane as him or Harry. She was just a bit upset now. That didn't make her a patient for the loony bin, he reasoned.
He now leaned forward, saying gently, "Hermione, me and Harry know that you're upset now. We won't ask why, but we're there for you, no matter what." He craned his neck past Hermione to look at Harry, who was egging him on with vicious nods. Encouraged by the nods, Ron continued, "We're your friends, you can tell us anything."
Upon hearing these words, Hermione's face crumpled. In a flash, her annoyed face gave way a tear stained, red nosed one. Tears found their way down her face rapidly. One after another they dripped off her chin and plopped onto her lap. Harry and Ron watched on with forbid fascination, counting the drops that slid off her chin and landed in her lap. This carried on for a few minutes, before Hermione jumped up abruptly, grabbed her bag, and climbed over the bench they sat on.
"See you in the Common Room later," she choked out, her voice full of tears.
Harry and Ron stared at one another in bewildered silence, unsure of how to react to the situation. Hermione's sudden exit left them bemused and confused.
Suddenly, Ron breaks the silence. "So how many tears drops did you manage to count?"
ooo
As Hermione fled the Great Hall, unbeknownst to her, a pair of sharp gray eyes follows her journey out.