A/N: Hey everyone! I know that many of you expected me to add on to my 'Hunger Games' fanfic, but I thought I'd give Harry Potter a try first. Hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to review!
Chapter 1
Hermione was crying again. He wasn't exactly surprised, but he still felt a fresh wave of guilt flood through him. It had been he, Harry, who was mostly responsible for Ron's absence. Sure, Ron had been a royal git, but Harry knew he shouldn't have reacted the way he had; it would have been better for him and Hermione if Ron was still there, even just for company, git or no git.
Harry sunk down on his bunk, exhausted, and watched as Hermione dragged her sleeve across her nose and picked up 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. Her eyes were puffy and red and Harry couldn't help but notice that they weren't focusing at all on the book before her. She seemed to stare at the runes uncomprehendingly.
Ever since Ron had walked out on them a week earlier, Hermione had lost the majority of her positivity, and even her intellect seemed to be suffering. She made only half-hearted attempts to come up with new ideas of places where Dumbledore may have left the sword of Gryffindor, and Harry felt that even if she had been trying, their conversations wouldn't go anywhere. They seemed to be running in circles like Sirius when he had chased his tail…when he had still been alive…
The pain that came with thinking about Sirius burdened his guilty conscience further. Despite what others may say, he knew deep down that if he had just studied Occlumency harder, if he had just realized that Voldemort was tricking him…But he was just too lousy at Occlumency, and Voldemort was just too powerful. A black cloud seemed to be hanging over the tent, obliterating what little optimism and determination he and Hermione had still had prior to Ron's absence.
"Harry?" Her voice was soft and strained. He looked up at her and smiled weakly to encourage her to go on.
"Things will get – get better." She seemed to be forcing the words out in an effort to convince herself rather than him. But still, Harry found her attempt to make him cheerier a noble thing to do, far nobler than driving Ron out of their lives.
"They will," replied Harry with all the confidence he had managed to muster up. "It has to."
Hermione nodded weakly and drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees and burying her face in the storybook. All that Harry could see of her head was the top of her bushy brown hair. It was so messy and wild, yet somehow Hermione managed to keep it clean. It looked perfect despite its crazy edge. Harry smiled dismally to himself; when the time comes that you use your best friend's hair as a metaphor for finding order and hope in the midst of chaos, you know things are bad.
Rain began to splatter the roof of the tent, growing harder and louder as the night wore on. Harry found it oddly comforting; the rhythm seemed to put things in focus for him.
He still had Hermione.
They still had a mission.
They were still together.
Rolling over on to his side, he observed Hermione as she marked her page and left the main area of the tent, only to return ten minutes later in flannel pajamas and with her hair up in a messy bun.
"Going to bed?" He asked, breaking the silence between them that he had come to grow accustomed to.
Hermione gave a small nod and lowered herself onto her cot. Ever since Ron had left, Hermione had taken to pulling the flimsy cot closer and closer into the middle of the tent, as if worried that something would penetrate their Disillusionment charms in the middle of the night and slice open the side. She pulled the covers up past her chin, facing Harry and searching his face with tired eyes.
The rain pounded on, driving little bits of determination back into Harry's freezing core drop by drop. He felt like the rain barrel Hagrid had set up outside his hut to catch extra water in: he found himself filling up with newfound hope and a renewed desire.
Hermione had shut her eyes; her lids twitched now and then as Harry observed. Wishing he had the deluminator so he wouldn't have to get up to turn out the light (Hermione probably knew a spell for that), he rolled out of bed and stumbled blearily across the room. Only after the light went out did he here the whimper.
"Lumos," Harry muttered, directing his wand at Hermione. "Hermione?"
"H-H-Harry?"
His wand light had illuminated Hermione, curled tightly into the fetal position with her arms wrapped around her legs. Her solitary blanket had fallen uselessly to the floor. She wasn't looking at him; she didn't have to.
In two large strides Harry was next to her cot, kneeling down on the floor.
"What's the matter?"
Hermione lifted a shaking hand to brush a loose tendril of hair from her face, and Harry acted instinctively; he caught her hand and held it tightly in his own. The thin white scars seemed to stand out and flash against his pale skin.
Clutching her hand as though it were a lifeline, Harry went on, "Tell me how you're really doing. No more of this 'I'm fine' nonsense. I know you're not, and I don't have a problem with that."
Still refusing to make eye contact with him, Hermione made a small sighing noise that was barely audible amidst the noise of the wind shaking the tent and the rain beating mercilessly against its roof.
"Can you p-please fetch me m-my bag, Harry?" She whispered.
Pleased to make himself of use, Harry Summoned the bag and handed it to her, careful not to lose grip of her hand. Using her only free hand, Hermione pulled her wand out from under her pillow and muttered, "Accio 'A History of Magic'".
There was a scuffling noise from inside the bag followed by a loud thud as the massive book landed next to Hermione on the mattress. She carefully withdrew her hand from his grip and began to leaf through the pages.
"What are you looking for?" Harry couldn't help but hope she had come up with some marvelous idea.
"No, no, I just like to look at it," she replied. "It reminds me of Hogwarts. This is what I did every night before going to sleep." She smiled wistfully. "Lavendar and Parvati didn't appreciate the extra light much."
Harry couldn't help himself; he grinned. For a moment, it had been like the old Hermione was back.
"Do you want me to turn the light back on?"
"No, no," Hermione said, waving him off. "You probably want to go to sleep. I won't bother you anymore." She made an odd sniveling noise that was clearly meant to hide a sniffle.
"You aren't bothering me. I'm grateful that you're still here, Hermione. I thought, well, I thought-"
"That I'd have left by now?" Hermione interjected, snorting quietly. "Fat chance. I have a conscience, Harry. I'm not just going to leave you to face Vol-, well, You Know Who, all on your own. Don't think I'm going to leave, please. You have enough to worry about already."
Harry felt slightly overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. He didn't stop himself when he felt the urge to reach out and wrap his arms around Hermione's tense shoulders.
She said nothing, but her hands went still. Eventually, they found their way around Harry's neck where they stayed.
In that moment, Harry felt a sense of warmth spread through him that made him feel as though he'd never be cold again.