A sincere thanks to my dearest, PaisleySnail, a wonderful and talented beta.

Hermione did eat in the Great Hall as ordered, but being sneaky, she appeared well before any of the other students would ordinarily show up. Nop had been nice enough to bring her breakfast in the vast empty Hall, grinning when he understood what she was doing.

"Severus woulds be proud of you," he told her.

"And the Headmaster will be pulling his hair out in frustration," she added wryly. She wasn't about to give in to his request yet. Not because she wanted to go against him, but solely due to her averse reaction to noisy masses of students. If she had to eat in the Great Hall, she would do so on her own terms.

She left just as two young students arrived that she had never seen. She knew they must be first years whose Sorting she'd missed.

"Hello," one of the girls said, with a wide but hesitant smile.

"Have you eaten all alone?" the tiny girl with long black hair asked.

"Er, yes," Hermione answered, and was about to pass the two girls when one of them spoke again.

"Is it because of that mean boy? He really said some horrible things," she whispered, and looked around as if anyone could overhear the conversation.

"What boy?" Hermione asked with a frown, already with an inkling as to who the girls were speaking about.

"Ronald Beasley," the other girl chimed in, only to immediately bite her lip at her forwardness.

"Do you mean Weasley?" Hermione asked, and pinched her lips in foreboding, not sure if she wanted to hear what Ron had done this time.

"I'm not sure, we sat at the other and of the table, but he was really loud."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked and gestured the girls to sit down before they could trip over their shuffling feet.

And so the girls began to retell in intricate detail, complete with theatrical facial expressions and wild hand gestures, what had occurred the day before. Hermione's eyes darted from one girl to the other; they both had the annoying habit of finishing each other's sentences like Fred and George Weasley.

She stayed patient, keen to hear everything they had to say. When they were done, glowing with pride at their camaderie and a keen need to see how the older girl would react, Hermione smiled at them, even though it was a difficult thing to do with her clenched teeth.

"Boys are stupid," the black-haired girl said, with a pout that made her look her age. Just for a moment, Hermione longed for this state of innocence.

Yet, the poignant summary was too good to be ignored, and Hermione grinned at them.

"Most of them, yes." But then a mental picture of a tender, commiserating Snape appeared, and she leaned closer to the young girls who widened their eyes at whatever wisdom the older girl was about to divulge. "But once in a while, there is a really special one that cares for you. He will make everyone else pale in comparison. That one is worthy of your regard and your trust."

The young girls nodded, wide-eyed, as if they had witnessed their first prophesy, and watched in awe as Hermione left the Hall just as they began to hear the first students arrive.

"She's great, isn't she?" the black-haired girl said to her companion.

"Yes," the other one said, with an exited smile. "And now we're her friends!"

Hermione heard their happy squeals even through the heavy door, and laughed softly. However, the thought of her erstwhile best friend quickly turned her sour, and she vowed to herself to ignore the redheaded prat from now on. Someone who thought she had happily been raped to get attention was just sick and not worth her time any longer.

Just a few yards from the Great Hall, Dumbledore stepped into her path and stopped her with just a glance, asking her why she hadn't eaten. With a cheeky smile she patted her tummy, telling him that she was already done.

He cottoned on quickly and sighed softly, but couldn't help but smile at her tactic.

"Do I have to fear that Severus is rubbing off on you?" he asked quietly, so that no one could overhear anything. Students walked past them, watching them covertly.

Hermione goggled a bit at his free use of the potion master's name, as it was still a rarity to use it herself.

"I don't think so. He's not rubbing anything… I mean, he's doesn't rub…" She winced at the verbal gibberish she was producing, but something about the word rubbing in connection to her Bonded made her pulse speed up.

Albus chuckled softly and bit his cheek before he could come up with a retort he should not use when speaking with a student. He was rather amused, though, by the blushing, cringing young woman before him.

"Be that as it may, my dear, I must ask you once more to be here for mealtimes."

He gazed at her over the rims of his glasses, making it clear that he would not accept excuses any longer.

With a harrumph and a barely polite nod, Hermione left the hall, trying to fight her way past the now entering hungry students.

She spent the next few hours in the library, forcing herself to read a few books that might help with her upcoming exams. Her enthusiasm for studying had diminished noticeably since her horrible experience in France, and her concentration wasn't up to par.

It saddened her greatly that her parents would never be able to see how well she did in any exams, nor would they know what she would achieve in her future. Not that she had done so much work over the years solely to please her parents, but it had felt wonderful to hear their honest praise and see their pride. It had made her happy in turn.

Now the only reaction she would get would be the disdainful laughter, annoyance or jealousy the other students had always displayed when they saw Hermione's success with scholarly projects…

With a small sigh, she opened a book at a random page, but couldn't for the life of her remember anything she read. After ten long minutes, her eyes wandered from the yellowed pages to stare out onto the lake.

What little focus she had vanished with alarming speed, and she was assaulted by scenes of her life with her parents. She had noticed that those visions of a whole and near perfect life had tripled since the funeral, making her awfully aware that she was an orphan now, and that this was something that she couldn't change.

Her eyes were brimming with tears in no time, and the arrival of Harry went completely unnoticed until he made his presence known by gently clearing his throat.

Her head whipped around in fear, uncaring about her reddened cheeks and eyes. She calmed when she saw Harry's apologetic face, and used her sleeve to make herself more presentable. If she was less than successful in doing so, Harry was too polite and nervous to point it out.

"What's wrong?" she asked him, mildly worried by his uncomfortable expression.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he said, his smile a little lopsided and unsure. He seemed to remember the present in his hands, and held it out to her. "For you," he said unnecessarily.

Hermione blinked and took the box automatically. "But today is not my birthday," she suddenly blurted out. "It's… erm, tomorrow, or on…" She gave up quickly, noticing that she had no clue what the date was. She couldn't even say what the date of her parents' funeral had been, only that it had been on a Friday.

Harry looked just as bewildered as her. There had been a few times when he had almost missed her birthday in the years they had known each other, but this year he was absolutely sure that today was the day. Well, relatively sure.

"Uhm, yes it is, I think. Today is the nineteenth. That's the right date, isn't it?" The puzzled shock on her face made him doubt himself more with each passing second.

"But it can't be… I mean, I would know if it were my birthday," she said, looking down at the unskilfully wrapped present in her hands.

"Well, you just have other things on your mind these days," Harry said, with a laugh that sounded a little forced even to his own ears. "It's only natural that you'd miss your own birthday."

"Hmm," was all she could say, wondering when she had become so detached from reality that she almost missed her own birthday.

"Open it," Harry told her, trying to diffuse the oddness of the situation.

She did so, and was glad to be able to produce a grateful smile when she spotted a selection of sweets. Underneath the box lay something else. She felt no surprise at receiving a book – she had received one on every possible occasion for as long as she could remember – but the title made her expression hard and sped up her breathing.

'The trauma of sexual assault.'

She didn't dare touch the cover, nor did she want to delve right in, as she used to do with other tomes.

Harry was getting more and more uncomfortable, very much regretting not having listened to Ginny when she had proposed some nice novel.

"You can change it, of course," was the first thing to come out of his mouth – a far cry from the 'How do you like it?' he would have used in normal situations. She didn't even react to his words, and he ran a moist hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I thought it would be a good idea, since you probably haven't had anyone to talk to. I had to order it from a Muggle shop, since there isn't anything like it in the Wizarding world. "

Hermione looked up, her face pale and her eyes pleading for him to just stop talking, but he didn't decipher her expression, too busy trying to find the right words.

"The whole school knows what happened, but not even your best friends know the details, and Ron and I… Well, I think that talking about it will help you. You just have to open up, and then we can all move on. The old Hermione will be back in no time." He smiled hopefully at her, showing that he truly believed what he had just said.

Her answering smile was more a grimace, really, and she wondered what she could say without hurting his feelings. It was annoying her greatly that she still had to be the considerate one, while others hurt her feelings and ignored her wishes again and again. Harry had tried to be considerate in his own brash way, though, and she would try to be nice, even if only to keep the peace. She was fed up with having daily confrontations.

"That's very…" she shook her head, not quite sure what to say. "Listen, Harry. If I wanted to talk about it, I would have, believe me. It's not a lack of trust, but I just know that talking about the events will only bring back the pain and nothing else. Talking about it will only satisfy your curiosity, not help me get over it."

"How do you know? Have you even tried?" Harry asked, his voice already changing to offended. He noticed and tried to smooth out his frown before she got up and left.

"I just know, Harry," she said, with a sigh.

Harry rubbed his jaw ferociously, feeling that his endeavour to get through to her was going to be a failure. "Just let us be there for you," he tried. "We… I want to do what's best for you."

"What's best for me is to be left alone, and not forced to open up or be jolly."

"But you can't grieve and mope forever, Hermione," he pointed out sternly, unable to help himself. "I won't let you hide forever, building more and more walls around yourself. If you think I will stand by and watch as you destroy yourself, you've got another thing coming." His righteous anger didn't last long, and he already cringed mentally at his brashness. Why was he never able think before he spoke?

She laughed mirthlessly. "Are you intending to berate me for my way of dealing with this?" she asked, in an almost belittling fashion, knowing and not caring that it would set him off again.

"You are not dealing! That's what's bothering me."

"I AM!" she shouted hoarsely, and then continued in a quieter voice, but only because she knew her vocal chords would protest to too much screaming. "This is how I deal: I'm calm to the point of numbness, with occasional bouts of river-like tears. I prefer to spend time with myself, and those who .!"

She flung her arms heavenwards, at an loss for how to deal with him. "What would you say is respectable behaviour? Hmm? Look sad during classes, cry myself to sleep for a week and then be done with it?"

She stalked towards him, thrusting an accusatory finger at his chest, stopping short of actually poking him.

"You don't get to tell me how to grieve, Harry Potter, just because you don't like it, just because my healing doesn't include you or Ron. I'm not doing this out of maliciousness, but what you are doing to me certainly feels like it."

Harry drew breath to retort, without knowing what to say other than voice a flat denial of everything she had said. She didn't let him.

"I told you what I need; if you refuse to give me what I need then it's because of some misguided attempt to make yourself feel useful, and to prove your worth."

Both stared at each other with red faces, their agitated breaths clashing between them.

Hermione fought the urge to just run away, but thankfully the needy wish to come to some sort of conclusion with Harry won out. She was fed up with arguing every few days, and tip-toeing around each other in the meantime.

So she sat down again, biting her lower lip fiercely. Harry exhaled roughly a few times, until he had his temper under control before joining her at the table. They sat in silence for a while, both unsure how to proceed.

Hermione twitched with slight unease when Harry leaned closer, and felt silly when he only removed the book from her hands. He had noticed her reaction and clenched his fists around the book, hating to see her so scared of him.

"It was a silly idea. I'll get you something else, okay?" His voice wavered, and he swallowed hard to regain some calm. "I just wish I knew how to help you," he tried. "If I could I would turn back time, and undo everything, I would. Even though I have no idea what exactly happened…" A short bark of laughter escaped him, but it turned into an almost sob, and he quickly cleared his throat.

"I forgot," he said, after a nervous throat-clearing, and pulled an envelope from his pocket. "This is from Ginny."

She took it and opened it with more gentleness than was necessary, but it seemed to fit the fragile peace between them. She retrieved a letter with Ginny's neat writing, and had to smile at the few lines it held:

Happy birthday, Hermione,

Since you haven't taken me up on the offer of a nice and relaxing session in the ROR yet, I hereby warn you that I will now make this a mandatory meeting. Someone as old as you, my dear, will need some pampering to avoid early wrinkles.

Be prepared for a lovely time,

Love,

Ginny

Hermione smiled softly, and put the short note back into the envelope.

"Should have known that Ginny has the better ideas when it comes to presents," Harry said with a rueful smile, getting a faint grin from the girl opposite him.

"I want to… Do you think you can stand a hug?" he continued, suddenly near tears again. "We always exchanged hugs on such important dates."

The sight of an almost crying Harry made her well up again, and she steeled herself, annoyed with herself for feeling discomfort at the mere idea of hugging him her. It was so much easier to fling herself at Severus, yet the embrace of her long-time friend made her start sweating. She nodded, though, and felt herself stiffen when he got up to wrap his arms around her in a gentle sideways hug.

His chin dug into her shoulder, and she felt his breath stirring her hair. This wasn't the same short but heartfelt hug she had received the previous years. No, Harry was very much grown up, and despite his relative shortness, he was a man now – a sexually active and aware man.

He smelled of a soft aftershave that masked the innocent scent she was used from him, and her spine tingled unpleasantly, remembering the nauseating stench of her abductors.

She'd never seen Harry in this light and it was somewhat disconcerting. Her arm came up to grip his wrist, deciding whether to end the embrace or not. Apparently, her grip was harder than she meant to, and he removed himself with a wince before she could.

"Where is the old Hermione?" he asked softly as he sat down, a sad smile gracing his disappointed face.

"Gone, I think," she told him in the same tone.

Harry cocked his head in apparent thought, before shaking his head. "Fractured, maybe, not gone."

She wasn't so sure, but kept quiet. She wasn't sure of anything, these days.

Looking at her friend, who regarded her with equal intensity and a mixture of regret and earnest worry, something bubbled hot inside of her, pressing against her ribcage before she finally needed to decrease the pressure by talking.

"They were three men, who broke into our summer house in France. One night, they broke into our house, killed my parents in front of me, before… taking me away." She continued quickly before her suddenly parched throat forced her to stop. "They hurt me and they…. You know what they did." Her breath escaped in a quivering rush. "I was a prisoner in their cellar, with hardly any food or water, and they kept… visiting me to molest me. I… I always thought that Death Eaters might get my family. I'd never figured it could be Muggles that would destroy my life."

Harry sat stunned at her revelation, not sure if he really was better off knowing what had happened. He was grateful that she let him in again, but felt like a prick of the worst sort when he saw how much it had cost her. She was pale as a ghost and shivering while her vacant eyes looked at nothing in particular, wide with remembered pain and fear. No, he wouldn't ask for anymore information.

Gently, he put his hand on her forearm, smiling to himself when Hermione only sighed at the contact without shrugging him off.

He had always thought he was the record holder for awful birthdays, but Hermione really had outdone him.

"I'm so sorry," he rasped, shaking his head at the utter uselessness of these words. How often had he said those words to placate a seething Hermione when he had deliberately left his homework or studying till the last minute? More times then he could count!

He had said those words to her so often with a sardonically amused eye-roll at her, laughing at her sisterly behaviour…

He had said sorry to Ginny on many occasions; he had apologised to Ron, other Gryffindors, to Dumbledore and last but not least the Dursleys, who had drilled the apology into him by force.

But never had he been more genuinely sorry than now, and he cried helpless, silent tears at his inability to alleviate the pain and trauma for his friend.

"So sorry!" he managed once more before his throat seized up, and once more it was her turn to reassuringly squeeze his hand to ease his guilt and weariness. It was her that stroked his hair softly as he put his face in his hands and sobbed softly, putting his needs in front of hers.

Harry was deeply grateful for her never-faltering need and ability to care for her friends first, but his guilt made his gut clench painfully. It was supposed to be him taking care of her now, but he was too busy drowning in snot and mucus…