Chapter Four

"We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on." -J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

"Ginny?" Hermione said tentatively, surveying herself in the mirror. She'd put on a simple striped shirt and jean shorts. Both were now vastly too large and hung off of her like a garbage bag. She sighed and looked over at her friend. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Ginny wipe tears away from her eyes before she turned to her.

"What's up?" Ginny asked, planting a smile on her face.

"Do you have anything…small….that I could borrow?" It made her feel more self-conscious even asking, but Ginny seemed to understand without hesitation. She turned immediately to her closet and began shuffling through it.

"Here," She said, throwing her a purple Holyhead Harpies tee. Hermione cringed.

"I need something with long sleeves."

"Hermione, it's unusually warm out there, warmer than it's been all year!"

"Yes, and I'd like something with long sleeves, if you don't mind," Hermione snapped, throwing the t-shirt back to her. Ginny narrowed her eyes, but thankfully didn't press it, pulling out a plain green, long-sleeved shirt instead. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. The bandage still covered her arm, but the last thing she wanted was questions and concern from the others about why it was there. It was better to just have nobody see it.

She hadn't told anyone the details of what Bellatrix had done to her. Sure, she'd talked to Harry and Ron some at Shell Cottage, but as far as they were concerned her deepest scar was the thin red line across her neck. Fleur had obviously gotten the general gist of it from treating her, but Hermione had confirmed none of her suspicions, and she doubted that Fleur would go around telling everyone else without her permission, anyway. Meanwhile, the rest of the Weasley's were all still blissfully unaware of her torture altogether, and as far as she was concerned, it should be kept that way. She waited until Ginny had gone downstairs before changing.

Breakfast was very much like dinner had been the night before. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley and George never came down. Bill and Fleur scrambled the eggs. Ginny burnt everyone's toast, but no one complained. The meal was eaten in relative silence. At the end of it, Percy took plates up to his parents and brother. He reemerged ten minutes later looking grim. "Dad says we're planning the funeral today."

It was scheduled for Saturday. Two days after next.

Mr. Weasley told them about it in the sitting room, with Mrs. Weasley sniffling beside him and clutching his hand as a vice. It was going to be right near the Burrow. Fred would be buried over on the hillside. George had emerged from his room to listen in on the meeting. His eyes were bloodshot, and he sat away from the others, looking stony but not saying a word. Hermione couldn't take it. It was as if she were sitting in a room with strangers. There was no laughter or loud noises or smiles, only grief in their eyes and the sound of Mrs. Weasley's frequent sniffles. Ron would not meet her eyes the entire time his father was speaking. When Mr. Weasley mentioned that he had contacted the Order and that Lupin and Tonks' funeral was Friday, Harry had had to dismiss himself for "fresh air." Wanting to give the Weasley's some room, Hermione slipped outside too at the first opportunity.

"Harry!" she shouted as soon as she'd shut the door behind her, quickly focusing on the sight of his retreating figure. He didn't so much as glance back at her, but continued walking further away from the house. "Harry, hold up!" She began to jog to catch up, growing frustrated when he too picked up his pace. "I know you can hear me," She called out after him. Eventually, he stilled.

"Thanks for waiting up!" She said sarcastically, clutching her side as she reached him.

Harry shrugged, but smiled. "You're welcome." They slowed to a walking pace, and Hermione waited a while to speak. She knew Harry. And she knew what he was thinking this time.

"None of this is your fault, Harry," she finally said, turning to meet his eyes. He immediately looked away.

"None of them would have been there if it weren't for me, none of them would have died. If I had just done something differently, gone about it a different way—"

"Stop, Harry. It was a war. We did what we had to do, and everyone—Fred and Lupin and Tonks—they all knew what they were signing up for. They knew the risks."

Harry pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and looked at the ground. "But why doesn't it feel that way?" There was a long pause. Hermione wished she had something to say, but it was as if her mind had gone blank. She could think of nothing. In fact, it was Harry who broke the silence, changing the subject all too abruptly. "Why are you wearing long sleeves?" He came to a halt in the yard and faced her, narrowing his eyes.

Hermione shrugged, trying not to look too panicked. Of all the times Harry chose to be observant…. "It was all I had washed," she lied.

Harry didn't buy it for a second. "That's Ginny's shirt."

This time she was truly taken aback. Since when did Harry have Ginny's entire wardrobe memorized? "How'd you know that?"

"She was wearing it when—well never you mind. The point is why you've got it on."

"All of my clothes are too big." Well that was the truth, at least.

"Ginny's got loads of t-shirts."

"And I didn't want to wear any of them. Look Harry can't you please just let it go?"

But it was too much to hope for, Harry wouldn't budge. It was ironic, really, considering how many times she'd tried to get information from him, only to be met with equal amounts of stubbornness. Frantically, she tried to think of ways to divert his attention. She tried again. "It's really nothing. Besides, I came out here to check on you, not the other way around."

"I may not be as smart as you are, but I'm not stupid, Hermione. You're hiding something."

She might as well just give it up. It was pointless to try to keep it from him, and it didn't seem like fleeing was much of an option. He was resolute. "Fine," she snapped. "If I tell you, you can't tell Ron. Promise me."

Harry grinned, clearly sensing his victory. "Wouldn't dream of it. Fess up."

She clenched her eyes shut and began rolling back her left sleeve to reveal the bandage. She opened them again to glance around nervously. "I'm not sure this is the best place to—"

"What'd you do, Hermione?" Harry said, instantly somber, staring intensely at the bandage. "It's not serious, is it?"

She could feel a few tears leaking down her cheeks against her control. Oh god, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she keep it together for longer than five bloody minutes? "I…It's from the Manor…." Slowly, she began unraveling the bandage, feeling increasingly vulnerable under Harry's concerned gaze. When he saw it, he gasped, and she had to clench her eyes shut again to prevent more tears from falling.

"God, Hermione…." he breathed, wide-eyed. At the tone of his voice, she gave in to her own emotions, letting the tears come freely.

"I knew this was a bad idea, I didn't mean to worry you, really. Just, please don't tell him, okay?"

"This is serious stuff, Hermione…."

"You promised," she reminded him. "He's got enough going on without having to worry about a silly scar—" Quickly she began to retie the wrap around her arm so that the mark stayed well hidden. There was a loud crack behind them just as she was pinning the bandage shut. "Shit!" she said, frantically pulling down her sleeve. Then she turned to face the direction of the noise.

Lee Jordan was fumbling towards them up the path.

A/N: I love love love reading reviews. If you have the chance, let me know what you think! There's no greater motivation.