Title: Winds of Change

Author: Kary Starr

Ship: Harry/Hermione

Rating: PG-13/R

Summary: After the Great War, things have changed.  Hermione learns to deal with

what life is really about, and how to deal it—realizing that not everything can be handled on her own.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Humour

Story Canon: 1-5

AN: Chapter three is up, ain't this quick?  But I'm going on vacation for two weeks, so I will try to use my ghetto laptop to write more while I'm gone.  I'm gonna be in the middle of nowhere, and therefore I cannot even pretend that I'll post this.  This is a bit more sadder, bit more darker, but explains a lot about Hermione.

By the way, I updated chapter two.  Guess what I realized like, fifteen minutes ago.  That Cho would have graduated in Harry & Co. are in seventh year.  So, I had to go back and make sure that you understand that Cho works for the Ministry (where will be told later), and that she visits Harry on occasion.  Remember: this is a weekend we're talking here.  This is Saturday, right now.  So she'd be there…

And now, read, and review.  I love you all!

* * *

Chapter Three: Black

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning with a tear-stained pillow.  She'd had that terrible dream again—no one died, but there she was, in the middle of the worst thing she could possible think of...not Voldemort's wrath, not of her parents death (a favourite lately), but something as simple as Harry's wedding, watching him take everlasting vows with Cho Chang.  Just remembering the dream made her want to cry again.  It seemed so real, everything in place, and everything seemed like it really was happening...sometimes Hermione wondered if that was a premonition for the future, then laughed at herself.  That would be Divination.  And Divination was stupid.

She swung off the four-poster maroon bed and made her way to the bathroom, where she washed up, put her hair in a loose ponytail, and dressed in her uniform (white shirt, gray sweater-vest, wool navy skirt, knee-socks, black shoes and robes).  Then she put all of her books for the day into a bag and walked downstairs.

The Common Room was buzzing with voices, some frantic with homework, other gaily laughing, and others, like herself, too tired to care.  Ron and Harry were already dressed and standing near the entrance.  Ron caught her eye first, and looked away, still angry.  Just at that moment, Parvati came to him across the room, took the redhead's hand, and pulled him off to breakfast.  Harry was left there, apparently waiting for her, and Hermione felt, once again, awkward.

"Good morning, Hermione," Harry said tentatively.

"Morning," Hermione replied, walking by him.

Harry followed suit.  "About last night, I was just trying to talk to him—you know, about Parvati—" he explained quickly, anxious to Hermione's reaction.

"I know," she said, stopping and looking at him.  "I'm not mad at you."

Harry raised his eyebrow.  "And you are walking by me huffy because...?"

She gave him an odd look.  "Not everything is about you, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry's face flashed a glare.  "I've got some revising on my thesis to do this morning, in the library, and was keen on finishing it before breakfast.  But I'll be sure to keep you updated."

Harry frowned.  "What is with you?  You've been acting...well...like a bitch since school started."

Gee, I was just trying to keep MY FEELINGS IN CONTROL SO I DON'T EMBARRASS YOU OR ME, but maybe I'm crazy like that! Hermione thought angrily.  That brief thought of anger must have passed over her face, as Harry was taken aback.

"I'm sorry I'm not up to par," Hermione hissed.  "Why don't you tell me how I'm supposed to act?"

"I'm just trying to understand what is the matter with you lately.  And not just lately—" he said heatedly, "—the last...oh...year and a half, you've been downright sarcastic most of the time, and extremely secretive!  I don't like it Hermione—it makes me worry about you too much!"

"Well I'm sorry to be such a bother," she snarled.  "I'll make sure to avoid that in the future."

"Why can't you just tell me what's going on?!" Harry snapped.  "Ever since fifth year's summer—"

Hermione felt tears sink down her cheeks again.

"Leave.  Me.  Alone.  About.  Everything," she said.  Hermione was really crying now.

"Why?  I care about you, you're a very good friend!  I feel like I can come to you for anything, but you can't even return the offer!"

A very good friend, huh?  Is that really it? The nasty voice in Hermione's head repeated.  "You really want me to tell you?" she said sarcastically, through gulps of tears.

"Yes," Harry said, taking her shoulders.  "Please, Hermione, whatever this is you're feeling is eating up the inside of you.  It's making you into a not so nice person, or too overly nice..."

Her shoulders shook with the flowing tears.  "Harry...I know what this is, is making me a horrible person, but....you know..."  She gasped for air in between the racking tears.  "It's like you said, it's all about..." she trailed off, realizing, that in all for Harry has put up with, he hasn't become angry or snappish.  But then again, he wasn't experiencing what she was feeling.  "You've had worse, you wouldn't care..."

"But I do..." Harry said, looking at her.  He glanced about the room, and saw that some people were staring at them, though the majority had left for breakfast.  The people that were staring at them caught Harry's glare and walked out the portrait hall, leaving.  They were finally alone.

"Hermione, come over to the couch, and sit down," he said, leading her over to the plush maroon seat.  "Tell me, what happened?  What's made you change so much?  Of all of us, I thought it would be you who would be able to adjust.  What is eating you from the inside out?  You can't hold it in forever."

"Harry," Hermione cried, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "you have to promise on everything sacred that you'd never repeat a word to anyone."

"I would never!" Harry replied quickly.

"Not even to Cho," she said with emphasis.

"She might be some help, you know..." he offered hopefully, taking her hand.

Hermione narrowed her brown eyes, and ripped her hand back.  "No, she won't.  Harry; I don't want to say anything because I know you will tell Cho."

"I won't since you asked," Harry said assuredly.  "What is said here stays here, then."

Hermione hesitated.  She really, truthfully, didn't want Harry to know.  The look of uncertainty crossed her face.  Harry tilted his head sideways.

"Hermione?"  What can I tell him...that would not scare him...and think I am a mental case?  What would I say that would convince him that I do not, indeed, on occasion see the Dark Lord rising in my dreams, or that I feel like I could have stopped Dumbledore from dying, by blurting out "Godric's Hollow," or that there was a few times where I thought I could sneak over and save Lupin...stop him before entering the building...stop all those screams...and my parents...I saw them crumple to the ground, DEAD, and knowing that no longer can I come home....

She gulped.  "Harry...it's not that I can't trust you...but I..." she paused.  What way could she word this so that her other best friend would not hate her too?  "...I have to think about this, what I can say to you.  I mean, it's selfish of me, really..."

"You can tell me anything, Hermione—why do you have to think about it?" Harry said, almost angrily.  "What, you really don't trust me?  How could you be selfish?"

"Yes, I do trust you," she replied breathlessly.  "Harry, it's how you'd react that I'm afraid to tell you..."    

"And how could I act?"

"You could start by...by sending me...away...or thinking that...I'm..." Hermione said sadly, trailing off once more.  "Please Harry, this...is deeper than even the Great War.  All those people, dying..."

"You've never said anything about that, Hermione," Harry countered slowly.  It's kind of hard to when you're sticking your tongue down Cho's throat, you moron...

"This is...something...very important, and as much as I should like to tell you, I don't think I can.  It's...very personal."

Harry's eyes widened at Hermione's comment.  "How personal are we talking?"

She gulped at him, the tears flowing down her cheeks again.  She opened her mouth, then closed it.  Hermione felt a lump in her throat that only seemed to get bigger, until finally, about when she was going to croak out "You," Parvati entered with a murderous look on her face, the five pounds of makeup caked on her eyes narrowed into a wrinkled mess.

"Oh, that idiot, that stupid...god damn fucking child!" she seethed, stomping up the stairs.  The familiar scene, usually after Parvati finds someone she "likes," finds out that he isn't what she really wants, and then dumps him, acting all "angry and hurt" in hopes to 1) play the penalty to her and 2) wait for the right man to swoop in and make her feel all better.

She wiped her face vigourously.  "Sorry, Harry," she whispered, his attention draw to Parvati.  Louder, she spoke, "Guess Ron got what he wanted."  Hermione stood suddenly.  Escape...  Harry glanced up at her.

"Uh, no, not so fast, Hermione—" he started.

"I'm hungry, I want a bite to eat and then I have to run to Charms.  Sorry Harry, we're gonna have to talk later!"  she said quickly, running out with her bag perched atop her shoulder.  Hermione continued to wipe her face clean on the run to the Great Hall.

She knew she was lucky, to have avoided answering his questions.  Now, the real question popped in the back of her mind:

How long can she avoid it?

* * *

She walked out of Charms feeling refreshed, and much better about herself.  Advanced Charms only had eleven people in it, and Hermione had figured out the Charm they were learning all on her own, and mastered it in less than twenty-five minutes.

Hermione was upset when Harry and Ron chose to focus their final courses on the normal schedule, and not take Advanced anything, deciding to take usual N.E.W.T. courses instead.  Now she was thankful, because that meant less time she'd have to avoid Harry and Ron.

Deciding that she could eat at the last possible minute, Hermione took a quick stop in the library for more revising on her thesis.  She went into the back with the bigger, more complex books, and was trying to find the book she had needed this morning.  It was called Advanced Transfiguration: A Better Way of Human Transformation and How it Corresponds to the Patronus Charm.  She was going to see how many similarities there were between the chosen Patronus Protector and the animal that was chosen for Human Transfiguration.

As Hermione was picking out a book, one of the smaller ones nearby fell out.  Hermione stooped and picked it up, noticing its familiar face.  She had read it three years ago—shocking she could remember the plot.  It was a story about a girl named Emily, whose friend had died by her hand, and how she learned to face reality and face the facts.

Something small clicked in Hermione's mind, as the cover churned dusty wheels in the back of her mind.  Stunned by this flow of emotion, Hermione looked at the book for a long time.  As she was staring at the blue cover, memories floated across her mind wordlessly, like a movie.  How she had treated Harry and Ron.  How Hermione had acted to her other friends.  How poor she had acted, how angry, how snappish....  Hermione, toppled by the morning's events, realized that she had never felt so bad in her life.

She really was a bitch.  She'd been so selfish, trying to ignore the two people that ever gave two thoughts about her.  She was being selfish to Ron, by constantly bickering with him, but being selfish to Harry by being miserable because of him and Cho.

It's unfair to the both of them, she thought.  What would happen if they decided that they don't want to care about you anymore?  You'd be left alone, trapped in your own thoughts, forever.

And her thoughts weren't exactly the most comforting around.  Hermione wanted more than anything to tell someone something, but she was afraid—

—of what?  Hermione saw the Great War, how it tore families and friends apart.  Had she been distancing herself to make the hurt seem less?  Should she just skive Harry off, and let him live his own life?  What about Ron?

And then she realized that it wasn't fair to Ron or Harry for her to be so mean.  They'd given her something priceless, something that she should cherish forever—their friendship and unwavering loyalty.  So why was did Hermione not want to talk to them?

Was she afraid of getting close?  After watching so many people tear away from her in death, was she afraid that Harry and Ron would do the same?  Especially after the Voldemort-rising dreams came to her, so vivid, so truthful.  Was she afraid of the pain?

Hermione prided herself on being a Gryffindor, prided herself on being virtuous.  Though lately, she could qualify to be Slytherin's leader.  She never liked to be afraid of many things.  But here she was, never talking to a soul.  Afraid to let someone get close, like Lupin was, like Dumbledore, like her parents...like her friends...

She dropped the book suddenly.  How could she act this way?  How could she act so badly?  Hermione felt tears drip down her face.  She was a rotten, selfish bitch.  She should be unwanted.  She should be scorned and abandoned.  And yet she wasn't.

Immediately, something told her that she should go find Harry and Ron and apologize.  Hermione wanted very much for her friends to be happy.  And here she was, making them unhappy.  It wasn't fair to them.

She walked back over to her bag and picked it up, clearly on a mission.

* * *

She walked into the Great Hall, past the grand wooden doors and wandered over to her table, the Gryffindor table, decorated with white linens and silver plates, reflecting in the sunlight of the ceiling, bewitched to look like the sky above.

Harry and Ron were already there, sitting and talking.  When she stood in front of them, setting her bag down, Harry gave her a slightly hurt look, and Ron was looking sheepish.

"Good afternoon," she said quietly.  Suddenly, she became very sad.  She needed to get out of this funk she was in.  It was depressing her.  Hermione never felt in her life like she needed to talk to someone—these thoughts, that were indeed eating at her—

"Hey, Hermione," Harry replied dully.  Ron fiddled with his fork.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at the two of them.  "Harry, Ron," she started, "I'm so sorry.  I've been thinking—"  Understatement, she thought,  "—and I want to say that I'm so happy you two have stuck with me for so long.  You two truly are great friends."

"Well," Harry said, leaning in, "that's what we've been trying to communicate to you for a while.  I thought that maybe it rung in this year..."

"It has, Harry," Hermione said sadly, gazing at him.  I'm going to be a bigger person.  This has to stop.  I can't think of Harry like this anymore.  I want him to be happy.  And if he happiest with Cho, then lest it be me to stop that.  I want the both of them to be happy...I cannot wallow in self-pity.  Harry hasn't.  He's so strong, and I'm so weak, but I must try to be stronger for the two of them.  I am the voice of reason.  So I must now act reasonably.

"I just want to let you know, that I've been feeling a lot of pent up feelings lately," Hermione said through a deep breath, "and it's mostly because I've kept them to myself for a while.  I don't sleep well anymore—so I was very irritable."

"Why don't you sleep well, Hermione?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Because...I dream...about...people dying..." she said, tears flowing down her cheeks.  "I see my parents, and Lupin, and Dumbledore, and Tonks, and Seamus...I see them all dying...constantly..."

"Oh, Hermione," Harry breathed, turning around and reached over, taking her hand that was clenched at her side.

"I see that stupid green light come for me, and knowing that when it misses, someone else close to me has died," Hermione croaked, rambling on.  "And I see Him...V-Voldemort...with his eyes..."

"But he's gone," Ron interjected gently.  "You have nothing to fear from him."

"I see him, though, Ron.  I see him, when he was controlling you...and I'm torn apart.  I've never felt so much in such a short time...I never was so worried about anyone than I was worried about you two...and..."

Now she was really crying, and Harry stood, putting a comforting arm around her.  "Come on, Hermione, we need to be in a more private room."  Ron followed suit and helped Hermione back to the Common Room.

Skiving off the afternoon classes, they listened as Hermione, finally deciding, talked and talked about what had happened in the last couple of months.  She fumbled with the words, knowing as soon as she started, she wouldn't want to stop until everything was out and said.  Everything except a few things—like Harry, for instance.

When she finished, talking straight for two hours, Harry and Ron sighed very loudly.  Hermione watched them anxiously.  "I've never felt so foolish or selfish.  I feel so rotten."

Ron reached over and gave her a huge hug.  "Hermione, we totally understand how you feel.  If I had known..."

Harry was staring at Hermione intently.  She really was the strongest one of them all—she never had an outlet; Harry suspected that she never told them not because they wouldn't listen but because they wouldn't want to listen, the way she needed them to.

Hermione leaned down and lay on the couch.  She felt so much better, but she was so tired.  She was trying to bear a burden that she should never had to, but she did, and now instead of feeling relieved, she felt like she had spent the last two hours complaining.  Harry never complained.

She felt so ridiculous all of a sudden.  Certainly, Harry did deal a lot of it by himself—why couldn't she?  Why...?

"Hermione?" Harry asked, watching her eyes close.  I'm going to have to act against everything...

Her breathing became steady, as she sat there calming down and without realizing it, Hermione fell half asleep.  Harry pushed back her curly brown hair from her face and gazed down at her for a moment, Hermione trying not to pay attention to the light brush of his skin.

"Come on," Ron said dully.  "She's fallen asleep."  Hermione felt him stand, though she did not see it, and cover her with a blanket.  "I've got to talk to Parvati, and you—you've got to go see Cho.  You missed her this afternoon—she's gonna be pissed."

"Shit, you're right," Harry replied.  Hermione felt the familiar pang at her chest, when her heart dropped when Harry or Ron talked about Cho.  Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.

"Talk to you later, mate," Ron said, as Hermione heard Harry run off.  Guess that settles it, she thought.  Even after pouring your heart out, they run away.

I shouldn't be so ungrateful.  I should be pleased they at least listened.  At least they'll stop asking me what is wrong.  Now I can concentrate on making sure Harry is happy.  And if he's happiest with Cho—well—then I should be happy too.