31. Flashes of Light
'He won't listen to me,' Harry sighed. 'No matter what I say, it's as if all his trust in me is gone.' Sitting straight-backed in a chair that should have encouraged loose-limbed slumber, he watched the flames caress the blackened wood in the ancient, scorched hearth. Hermione squeezed his shoulder again, reflecting with no small amount of dismay that her depressed friend was staring straight at a metaphor for his dysfunctional relationship - one that he would forever refuse to acknowledge.
But she was no longer certain that Harry was the wood turning to cinders. And it no longer seemed to matter. Draco, for all his many faults, was family - not seldom churlish but still cherished like some eccentric uncle or curious cousin.
'Give him time. It's - not a good idea to try to - impose your truth on him.'
'My truth? There's no 'my truth'! It's the truth!'
'Yes, yes,' she could see Harry was getting angry, and then there would be no reasoning with him. 'I don't doubt it. I don't doubt you! But try to see it from his perspective. I mean, you didn't sleep with him, even if you thought you did. And he can't know that you didn't - know.'
'Well, he should trust me! I'd never betray him like that! Never!'
'I know. But look at his past. He had to betray a family that had betrayed him since birth! It's all lies and deceit and betrayal. He's suspicious by nature. You know that.'
Harry was sulking. He was an expert at it.
'He's even a bit - paranoid. Which has kept the both of you alive! Just - just give him time.'
Harry sighed, again. 'I'll try. But he keeps pushing me.'
Hermione smiled. 'And you don't push him? Harry, your relationship began with a duel. Doesn't that tell you something?'
She had meant it as a joke. Mostly. But Harry was Harry and Harry got angry. He stormed up. 'Yeah, maybe it does! Maybe it tells me I should just stop pushing! Because I can't - I can't stand him looking at me as if I - as if-! So maybe, maybe I should just stop pushing, and leave!' There were tears on his cheeks as he left her house.
He never came back. And the priest droned in the background as Harry's casket was lowered into the ground, and a whisper brushed against Hermione's mind. It could no longer blame her. She had tried to soothe, to counsel, to mediate.
She had an honest heart.
And as the chill drew back, Hermione felt strangely lucky she still had any heart at all.