CHAPTER 29: BREAK

"I can't believe we have to catch the Hogwarts Express," said Hermione, throwing herself down upon the seat in the train carriage with an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, we're adults. Why can't they just let us Apparate for Godric's sake?"

Harry chuckled, swinging his trunk up to the shelf above his head before throwing himself down on the seat opposite her. "Tradition, or some bollocks I'd imagine."

At that Hermione rolled her eyes. Wizard's and their bloody traditions.

"Where's Ginny?" she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Averting his eyes and glancing out the window, Harry rubbed at his stubbled jawline. "She, er- wanted to catch up with some friends from her year. At least for the first bit of the journey."

"Oh," Hermione said, caught off guard by his answer. The pair had been practically inseparable since the end of the war, so it was a surprise to see the two apart without extenuating circumstances. "Well that's good that she's making time for her friends."

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she hummed, looking up from the book she had been reading.

"Did- uh, did Madame Pomfrey give you… you know, your things, before we left?"

Hermione closed her book with a sigh and placed it on the seat beside her. "Yes. I have my potion allocation for the holiday break."

"Would you still like me to-" he broke off with a sharp exhale, his emerald eyes refocusing on her. "I think you should do as we discussed. Give me the potion now, and I'll ration it out to you like Malfoy has been."

She swallowed hard. There was no point lying to herself, she needed Harry to take the draught from her. She couldn't trust herself, not yet. That would have been obvious to her, even if she had not been forced to suppress that voice in the back of her mind that wished her friend had forgotten their deal.

Retrieving the vial from her bag she passed it across the carriage to Harry. As he took it, her grasp lingered a moment too long and Harry arched a knowing brow. She inhaled sharply and withdrew her hand, laying it quickly on her lap.

"How long has Malfoy been doing this for you?"

Her brows furrowed and she gnawed at her lip as she thought. "About a month now. It feels longer, honestly. The fatigue, it, uh- I struggle with my sense of time."

"Did you ask him to do it for you?" he asked, before his green eyes pulled from hers to gaze out the window. "You could have- I would have helped, if you'd asked me."

"I didn't ask for help," she admitted. "He noticed the symptoms of my withdrawal. I hadn't even realised the tremors in my hands had started, but he did. He approached me. Told me I needed to stop. Honestly, I'm not sure I would have stopped if he hadn't offered to help me that night."

"Oh," Harry said softly, her response seemingly catching him off guard. "He's not a bad bloke- Malfoy, that is. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you earlier. It was hard to accept he wasn't the prat he'd always been to me, to us, anymore. But I can see it now, he's changed."

A genuine smile pulled at her features. "I'm glad you can see it, Harry. Malfoy, he… Well, I care about-"

The door to their compartment slid open noisily, cutting Hermione off. Ginny directed a small smile towards her boyfriend, before levitating her trunk up onto the shelf and taking a seat by his side.

Ginny gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek, before she turned her body on the seat, bracing her back against the compartment wall. She lifted one leg up and loosely hugged her knee to her chest. "So, what have you two been talking about?"

Ruffling his hair in an anxious tell, Harry mumbled, "Er- Well, Malfoy."

Cursing internally, Hermione brought her hand up and pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyes fell closed. She knew she couldn't expect her friend to lie to his girlfriend, but now – in the wake of his honesty – she would have to deal with Ginny's impending rant.

"Of course you were." The redhead rolled her eyes dramatically, before changing the topic. "Anyway, Mum said she would be meeting us at Kings Cross."

Hermione's mouth fell open a fraction in surprise. The other witch's almost bored tone had caught her off guard, she couldn't believe that Ginny was so willing to let the mention of Malfoy pass unchallenged.

The three fell into relatively easy discussion, the tension that had been present between Ginny and herself since the end of the war having inexplicably eased. Their conversations did not deviate from what Hermione would consider safe topics – the Burrow, the feast Molly was likely to prepare. Once the conversation moved to the Annual Weasley Christmas pick-up Quidditch match, Hermione retrieved the book she had placed aside and resumed her reading.

Hermione stepped off the train onto the familiar platform of Kings Cross station, her breath catching in her lungs as the masses of people overwhelmed her senses. She forced her eyes closed, trying to ground herself and keep the impending panic at bay. With her vision obscured, her remaining senses were heightened. She forced herself to inhale deeply through her nose and was met with the familiar scent of smoke from the Hogwarts express. She focused in on the smell, the prickling sensation of magic slowly retreating from her skin.

"There you three are!"

The voice – one she would have recognised anywhere – broke through the cacophony of sound around her. Her eyes snapped open, landing upon the matronly woman before her.

Molly Weasley stepped forward, pulling her only daughter into a tight hug. The moment Ginny was released from her mother's embrace, Harry was swiftly pulled into her arms. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she gazed up at her friend's shocked expression as he looked down at her from over Molly's shoulder. However, her smile quickly fell as Molly turned and abruptly pulled her too, into a tight hug. Hermione brought her hands up and awkwardly patted the witch on the back, the embrace stretching on longer than she would have first expected. Once the older witch finally released her grip on her, Hermione tried to take a step back, to place a modicum of distance between them. But before she could retreat, Molly brought her hands up and cupped Hermione's cheeks.

"I'm so glad you decided to come stay with us, my dear."

Molly led the three of them through the crowd, past younger students greeting their families with genuine joy in their eyes. Hermione couldn't help but feel at odds. She felt too old – had been through too much – to relate to these school children any longer. As she trailed behind Harry, she found herself mourning her youth. The pure joy magic brought, the love of her parents, these were things the war had taken from her.

"Your turn, dear."

Molly's voice snapped Hermione out of her sombre reflection, her eyes focused and she realised with a shocked little gasp that she stood before the Floo connection in Diagon Alley. The older witch was looking at her, a small, kind smile on her lips, her eyes full of understanding.

Hermione took a pinch of the powder from the proffered dish and stepped into the fireplace. Throwing the powder to her feet she exclaimed, "The Burrow!"

The scents of the Weasley's kitchen hit her the moment Hermione stepped out of the hearth. A distinct homely smell, baked goods and spice, freshly cut grass, and an undertone of what she suspected to be broom polish.

"Welcome home," said Arthur, a genuine smile gracing his features.

Hermione couldn't help but smile in return, it was good to see Arthur in the house, rather than hidden away in his shed. There was a flash of green flame behind her, and Hermione moved aside to let Molly pass from the hearth and into her home. Arthur rose from his seat at the kitchen table and made his way to his wife's side. With a quick peck to her cheek he wrapped one arm around her back and turned to face the room.

"None of the other children are here right now," Molly began. "It's been a bit strange honestly, empty nest and all that. Harry, dear, I've set you up in Ronald's room as always. Hermione, you'll be sharing with Ginny."

Hermione cringed at the thought of being alone with Ginny for any extended period of time, they hadn't been on great terms recently. Although, if the summer past was any indication, she would probably find that the other witch and Harry would be otherwise occupied most of the time.

"I would set you both up in your own rooms, give you both your own space, but everyone-" Molly choked on the word.

Hermione felt a twinge in her chest, knowing it was the thought of Fred that had pulled the older witch up. Arthur gave his wife a sad smile filled with understanding, followed by a reassuring squeeze around the waist, encouraging her to continue.

"Will be coming home this year," she finished, her cheerful tone having dropped from her voice.

As the three of them headed upstairs to put away their things, Hermione couldn't help but turn her head back. Her eyes fell upon the older Weasleys, Molly wrapped in Arthur's arms as she sobbed. The older woman made not a single sound, but Hermione could see the way her body trembled with grief as her husband rubbed soothing circles against her back, his own face hidden in the red curls piled atop her head. Hermione pulled her eyes away, forcing herself to swallow the lump that had seemingly formed in her throat, as she climbed the stairs.

She paused for a moment at the doorway to Ginny's room. The space looked no different to the last time Hermione had seen it, yet so much had changed. She couldn't suppress the memories that rose to the surface, recollections of her time spent in this very room over the years past. The friendly conversations they had shared, the happy memories. But that was before the war, before the other witch's unabating jealousy had taken hold.

With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and crossed the threshold. As they unpacked their things, the confrontation she had braced herself for did not come. In fact, Ginny did not utter a single word – the pair working in mutual silence – until Ginny announced she was leaving to find Harry. The other witch's behaviour confused her a little, so at odds with the combative nature the girl had wielded over the last few months. Perhaps it was simply the return to her family home, the reminder of her own trauma, that had subdued her. Whatever the cause, she'd take indifference from the girl over conflict. She was tired of petty arguments. Honestly, she was just tired.

The next few days passed in a somewhat peaceful manner. Hermione fell into an easy routine. During the early hours of the morning she would rise from her bed – the Burrow's other occupants still soundly asleep – and adventure out into the crisp morning air. The cold winter air stung her lungs as she walked, her body chilled despite her warming charms. Through the aches that permeated her bones, she would force herself to trek to the top of the hill, where she would wait. The golden rays of sunrise would breach the horizon and wash over her with their radiating warmth. She would return from her sunrise wanderings, often just as Molly had begun to prepare the day's breakfast. The older witch would always offer a kind smile and a steaming cup of tea, but never did she press where Hermione had been. In the short few days she had been at the Burrow, Hermione had formed a relationship with Molly the likes of which she had never experienced before. The woman was kind and loving, always doing her best to show Hermione that she was welcome in her home, despite the situation with Ron.

One early morning, as Hermione sipped at her tea, Molly broke the comfortable silence they so often shared. The older woman had invited her to help with the pie she had been baking. Over the days that followed, Hermione had learnt all manner of useful household spells from the Weasley Matriarch, and much to her own surprise, had improved swiftly in her own ability in the kitchen. Molly was excellent company, never pressing hard topics Hermione wished not to discuss. The baking itself was in equal measure, both relaxing and a viable distraction to her own thoughts.

She didn't see Harry and Ginny often, the pair frequently preoccupied with each other's company. Though, in the times Hermione did see the couple, she had noticed they weren't as obvious in their affections as they had been before. Their passion had seemed to temper somewhat, not having been extinguished, but calmed. Hermione couldn't help her curiosity over the matter and found herself often observing them when they shared her proximity. It was possible that they were simply striving to behave themselves in Ginny's family home – in the presence of her parents – but Hermione could not shake the feeling that something between the two had shifted.

It was at night that she truly struggled, at night that she allowed herself to feel lonely. Alone in the dark, she would even admit to herself that she missed Malfoy. Each night passed in the same manner. As the rest of the Burrow's occupants retreated for the night, Harry would provide her with her pitiful allocation of Dreamless Sleep and she would fall swiftly into a few short hours of restful slumber. Each night she would wake screaming, thankful – at the very least – she'd silenced her bed.

Hermione had awoken that morning, the same as any other, sweat drenched skin and throat screamed raw. A quick glance across the room revealed that Ginny had spent the night in her own bed. Reinforcing her silencing charm to be certain she would not wake the other witch, Hermione rose from the bed and in the still dark, early hours of morning, readied herself for the day. She had followed the routine that had developed during her stay, a brisk walk up the hill that overlooked the small village of Otter St Catchpole. She stood there for some time, under the protection of a warning charm, watching as windows in the distance began to illuminate from within as the village folk set about their day.

Once dawn had broken, Hermione had turned her back on the village and it's occupants, making her way slowly back to the Burrow. Following her own routine, she brewed herself a pot of tea and took a seat at the well worn, wooden kitchen table. Though one cup after another – the remnants of the pot cooling, despite the stasis charm she had placed an hour prior – Molly had yet to arrive. Deciding that perhaps the older witch was otherwise occupied, she cleaned her things away and retreated to Ginny's room.

When she returned to the room, Ginny had been gone. Hermione took advantage of the solitude, summoning her small beaded bag and extracting one of the Library of Alexandria scrolls she had been in the process of translating. She lost herself to the work, her sole focus on the text before her. She didn't allow herself to dwell on her fatigue, on the way her muscles ached. Nor did she think of Malfoy, the wizard left alone in the castle for the holiday break.

A knock at the door broke the silence of the room and Hermione startled, knocking her inkpot to the side.

"Shit," Hermione swore under her breath, hastily cleaning the black ink that had spilled across both the duvet and her parchment.

The knock came again, this time more persistent. She packed away the scrolls of parchment as she called out, "Come in!"

The door cracked open and Harry's unruly mop of hair poked through the gap. "Hey, Hermione. Can I come in?"

"Ginny's not here at the moment. I thought she must have been off with you," Hermione told her friend.

Harry stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind him. "I, uh- well, I'm actually here to see you."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Ginny won't give you a hard time if she comes in and finds us alone, will she?"

Harry frowned as he made his way towards her bed. "She's not still giving you a hard time about that is she?"

"Well, no," she admitted, thinking over the other witch's recent behaviour. "In fact, she doesn't really speak to me much at all these days."

Hermione noted the way the furrow between his brows deepened, but Harry said nothing further on the subject. He dropped himself onto the mattress, shuffling himself back up against the headboard by her side. He pressed his thigh against hers. A silent, yet reassuring gesture the pair had become accustomed to sharing during their time alone in the tent.

"How are you doing, Hermione?"

She huffed a sharp breath through her nose. "As well as can be expected, I guess. I'm exhausted. The nightmares, they are… relentless. I've not searched the Burrow for anything to take though, if that's what you're asking."

Harry gave her a small, apologetic smile. "I wouldn't be a decent friend, if I didn't ask."

"I know," she said, bumping her shoulder against his. "I appreciate it, Harry. Honestly, I do."

Hermione felt the way his body tensed beside her before Harry spoke again. "So, er- Tomorrow… Ron, he'll be here. How do you, uh- feel about that?"

"I- I've been telling myself I'll be fine, that seeing him won't bother me. But, honestly, I'm nervous."

Hermione felt the mattress under her move as Harry began to bounce his leg anxiously.

"What-happened-with-you-guys?" he blurted out quickly. "I mean, uh- I never wanted to pry into your business. It was between the two of you. But, Hermione, I don't really understand what happened. I know things were, er- tense… Between the two of you after- Well, after he left us. But I thought you guys were good."

Hermione exhaled a deep sigh. "I thought we were too."

"You're both my best mate's, Hermione," Harry pressed on. "I… Er- I need to know what happened. I need to understand, so I'm not blindly caught in the middle."

She was silent for a long moment, her head cradled in her palms, before she confessed quietly, "I loved him, Harry."

She felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, the comforting gesture providing the strength she needed to continue. To explain what had fractured between the trio of friends.

Lifting her head, she gazed up at the ceiling. "I'd been in love with him for so long, been in love with the very idea of being with him. During the battle, when we finally kissed, I had thought that meant we were together at last. I was wrong. At first I had thought that Ron's distance, his lack of pursuing anything intimate or physical, had simply been a result of his grief. I told myself I just needed to give him space. Time to grieve.

"But then one morning I had seen some girl from the local village sneaking out from his room in the early hours before dawn. I felt like a right idiot. It was so stupid of me, to assume we were together. It was only one kiss. I was overcome by so many emotions. I was ashamed. I held so much anger; towards him… Towards myself.

"Most of all, though, I was heartbroken. I never spoke to him about what happened. I just left. I packed my things and I left that very day for Australia."

"Do… Do you still love him?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"No," she replied quickly. "I haven't for a long time now. I still care for him, even after everything. I don't think he's a bad person. What he's been doing these last months, the partying, the women, I think it's his own misguided form of coping.

"I miss what we had, not just Ron and I, but the three of us. The friendship we had before the war."

Harry sighed, pulling her tightly against his side in an embrace. "Me too, Hermione. Me too."