His anger curled around her, hissing in her ear what a hindering nag she was, that he didn't really need her. She was the reason his wand sat in two pieces in the pouch around his neck. Her fault the snake had attacked them, no matter how many times he said she was blameless. She had egged on his yearning, after all. With no library to rush off to, what use was she anymore?
It didn't matter that he pretended the source of his anger was solely directed at Dumbledore. Hermione liked to think she knew him better than that; could see past the façade.
He ranted about what a mess Dumbledore had left them in, and she let him. His temper would pass soon. It was just the horcrux slung around his neck speaking. She stared at the cup she nursed in her quivering hands.
"He loved you," She whispered, "I know he loved you."
"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me."
Hermione wished she could reach out and tell him the offer she had given him in that night in the forest of Dean still stood. That surly, Dumbledore would have understood if they abandoned this hopeless battle, if only for a while. But Harry wouldn't. It was his destiny, he would say. And she would tell him to stop putting so much store by one silly prophecy. Divination had never been what Hermione deemed as a viable subject.
"Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."
Hermione partially stood, wishing there was something she could say to make Harry feel some sort of reassurance. But she had caught the note of finality in his voice and left the conversation as it was, hanging in the frigid air, rearing its ugly head of reason in the their faces.
As she passed, her hand grazed the top of his head, for a moment entwining in the untidy mass of black. The night they danced rushed back to her again. The chance for them to become something more flickered in front of her, taunting her, for it was always out of her reach. She saw his eyes close gently. Perhaps, he had felt something pass between them too. The possibility that was impossible.
A/N: I don't own. Reviews?