Chapter 21: Talk to me

AN: Well, this has been a long time coming. I'm sorry for the wait; in the nearly three years since I've updated this, I have only just recently reread Harry Potter, and have only just recently begun putting effort again into writing; I certainly hadn't done much so before. For that, I apologize; I hope some of you are still with me. I can't promise I'll regularly update, I tend to write when the inspiration hits me, but I do promise to never again let three years pass in ambiguity. Also, fair warning, my writing style has changed quite a bit, and this chapter may prove jarring in reading style compared to the previous ones. If I develop a good flow and maintain decent inspiration with this, I might just decide to rewrite the previous chapters, and perhaps even add some in. Who knows? But now, on to what many of you, perhaps, have been waiting so long for; the story.

The days that followed those fearful events that occurred in the graveyard passed in a sort of quiet, tentiful haze. Harry likened the feeling to what it must feel like in the middle of a cocoon; it was safe and quiet now, but eventually, the cocoon had to burst open, and Harry would find himself tumbling back into danger.

But for now, everything was calm. Harry spent most of his time avoiding the curious stares and whispers of his classmates, preferring to spend his ample free time quietly in the company of Ron and Hermione, playing chess or just sitting in companionable silence. Harry found he did not much care to contribute to the light, cautious conversations of Hermione and Ron, nor was he quite ready to talk about the intimate details of all that had occurred during the final task. For the most part, his friends respected his wishes.

But he could tell that Hermione was keen to talk; he could see it in the way she looked at him, the concern in her golden-brown eyes evident with every lingering gaze upon him that he pretended not to see. Often he saw Hermione put away whatever she was doing, straighten up while looking at Harry matter-of-factly, and open her mouth to speak, but each time Ron would loudly interrupt, while shooting Hermione a look he thought Harry couldn't see, a look that plainly said, "Drop it."

Harry was grateful for this, but he knew it wouldn't be long before Hermione found some way around the impenetrable wall of Ron. And, eventually, it was so. The two boys had been playing chess in the common room late at night. Ron, with a loud yawn, had bid Harry goodnight, once Harry had made it clear the he didn't feel ready to go up to bed yet. Hermione had gone up to the girl's dormitories hours ago, murmuring about a headache. It was late, and the common room was all but deserted. Harry sat curled in his usual armchair, staring into the flames of the fire. He was dozing, but he couldn't bring himself to go up to bed just yet. So he stared at the flames, his vision becoming more and more bleary.

Until a certain bushy-haired girl parked herself in front of his view of the fire, hands on her hips; suddenly, then, he was no longer tired, and he sat up straight, gazing into her stern face.

"Hermione," He said, in a resigned voice. He knew why she had come.

"Harry," She replied curtly, before seating herself without further ado on an ottoman in front of his chair, effectively trapping him. Harry sighed.

"I waited in the girl's dormitories until I was sure the common room was empty. I knew you'd be the last one in here. And I was right." Hermione continued, her eyes never leaving his face.

Harry nodded tiredly. "You usually are."

"We need to talk," Hermione said, not acknowledging his statement, so intent was she on her task. "Now Ron thinks we should just be leaving you alone, but Harry, it isn't healthy to keep things like this bottled up. You can trust us, you know. So talk to us. Please. Harry…" She paused here, most likely so she could find a way to phrase what else was on her mind. Harry couldn't look at her, and instead kept his eyes on his kneecaps.

"What happened in the graveyard, Harry?" Hermione asked, in a soft voice.

"I can't tell you that, Hermione. Not just yet," Harry answered in a tight voice. He tried to keep his thoughts from turning to what had actually happened, but he could almost already hear the Avada Kedavra, could almost see the flash of green in his mind's eye…

"Harry, as your friend, I can't just let you go away for the summer with all this still bottled up inside of you! I refuse. So please, Harry, please, tell me!"

Harry could only shake his head; he didn't trust his voice to tell her no without breaking. Already, to his shame, he could feel hot prickles in his eyes, and a tight feeling like a band around his chest.

Hermione got off of her ottoman and fell to her knees in front of Harry, and clutched his hands within her own. Harry felt a sort of warm strength fill him at her touch, as if Fawkes was near him, and it fought off the hot prickles and tight band; but it was a fierce battle. And Harry was not certain the warm strength could win.

"Harry, please!" Hermione cried passionately. "I care about you...so much. You are without a doubt, one of the most important people in my life. And I cannot bear to see you in so much pain. Talk to me, please…"

At that, the hot prickles and strong band won, and Harry sobbed aloud. He immediately felt embarrassment at what he had done, and he hung his head in shame, but in a heartbeat, Hermione was on him, her arms around his bent head, holding it to her chest, her legs a tangle in his lap onto which she had jumped.

"Oh Harry!" She said, and her voice came out as a sob as well. And for a long time, they sat there like that, crying and holding each other, thinking of nothing else but the pain that Voldemort had caused.

Finally, their tears subsided, but they didn't move from their position, curled together like cats in the armchair. Harry was unaware of it, but one hand was stroking Hermione's hair, while the other rested on the small of her waist, just as Hermione was unaware of both her hands and her head resting on Harry's chest. It just felt right to the pair, and with the absence of prying, judging eyes, they could not help but lapse into what felt right when together.

Finally, Hermione gathered up her courage again, and sat up, looking Harry in the face. "Harry…" she began, but he cut her off.

"Hermione, please. I can't talk about it just now. But I promise you, I will tell you what happened, someday. When it feels right. But I just can't right now."

Hermione sighed disappointedly, but consented with a nod. Harry smiled a crooked smile at her.

"Okay. Well we'd better go to bed...it's really late…" Harry said, and with some reluctance, the two got up, and Hermione made to go up to her dormitory. But Harry's voice gave her pause.

"Hermione?"

She turned, to find him standing near the boy's staircase, hands in his pockets, looking sheepish.

"Yes?" She asked, curious.

"Thanks...for everything," He said. Hermione smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"No problem," She replied, and with lighter hearts, the two went off to bed.