Author's Note: Another chapter! Isn't that exciting! :: hears crickets
chriping :: Well, it*s a bit shorter than the other chapter, but the
majority of it is from Hermione*s POV, which is fun for me to write. I've
got bad news, though: My parents are forcing me against my will to go
camping, so I'll be gone all weekend and probably won*t get a chance to
update this until sometime next week. And thank you, qwert, for reviewing
my story! Don't you feel special? Have a chocolate chip cookie.
Chapter Two
Face to Face
Hermione cast an anxious look at the clock. If she was going to go, she needed to leave now. Her hands shook as she opened her little clutch purse and took out her lipstick and tried to apply it. At last she gave up and threw the lipstick back into her purse in exasperation. Then she flung herself onto her bed and cried, letting out all the tears she had kept pent up inside ever since she received word that Ron was dead.
After about ten minutes of good, hard crying, Hermione lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror on her closet doors. *I look like crap,* she thought to herself. She rose and went over to the sink in the bathroom. Her mascara was running. Hermione cupped her hands together and brought the cold water up to her face. She did this several times, wiping off all her makeup, and then surveyed herself in the mirror again. She still thought she looked like crap, but at least this way no one would know that she had tried to make herself look presentable.
Hermione grabbed her purse and walked out the door, locking it behind her. She went to the parking lot, got in her car and turned the key in the ignition. As she drove, she wondered what she should say to Harry when she saw him. Hermione knew he*d be there; Ron had been his best friend. She wondered if he would still smell so good, and if he still wore his hair the same way. It had always been so tousled, and when they were dating Hermione was constantly pushing his bangs away so she could see his eyes. She loved Harry*s eyes.
*Stop it,* Hermione reprimanded herself. *You are not supposed to think about Harry*s eyes when Ron is dead.* The thought of Ron made her eyes water and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from flowing. She knew Ron wouldn*t want her to be a sobbing mess, but she couldn*t help it. She pulled over her car and just let herself cry again, and when she was done she started up the car once more and continued to drive as though nothing had happened.
***
Harry dried his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city, trying to think about anything but Ron. He heard a car pull up, but he didn't move. He kicked a pebble on the ground and listened to the sound of someone sniffling and opening the front door. The door closed and Harry could hear a mumble of soft voices. The bird that had landed on the tree started to sing, and Harry contemplated throwing the pebble at it to make it shut up.
He heard the back door open and the sound of high heels on the cement. Harry knew it was her, it had to be her, but still he kept his back turned to the door.
The tapping of the heels stopped. For moment there was silence, and then Hermione said in her sweet voice, *Hi.*
Hi. They hadn't seen each other for over a year and she says hi. Harry kept his back turned.
*I hoped you would come,* she said.
*Yeah,* Harry replied. More silence. Harry knew he had to face her, he had been gearing up for it ever since he arrived. But Hermione beat him to it. She walked in front of him and knelt down in her skirt on the pavement so they were at eye level.
Hermione looked older. That was Harry*s first impression of her. He still thought she was beautiful, but the sadness in her eyes made her look as though she had aged about five years.
Before Harry could say anything Hermione was crying. She didn*t have any tissues, or if she did she didn*t bother to take them out. Harry didn*t know what to do. He couldn*t just sit there and watch her bawl her eyes out. Besides, if she cried any longer she was going to make him start crying again, too, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.
Harry couldn*t stop himself. He reached out and hugged Hermione, feeling her thin shoulders quaking and her salty tears falling on his own face and clothes. She didn't pull back: instead she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed even harder. Harry cried, too, holding her tightly and feeling both happy and sad. He didn*t even know why he was crying. It just seemed like the right thing to do in his confused state of mind.
And so they held each other and they cried and the bird stopped singing.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley offered to let Hermione spend the night at the Burrow, but Hermione said no, she*d get lodging at a hotel nearby. She knew Harry was staying with the Weasley*s and she didn*t trust herself anymore, not after what had happened at the wake.
Hermione rented a room at a Holiday Inn. It was a modest little room, but it had a television and working plumbing. The rest Hermione didn*t really care about.
She kicked off her shoes as soon as she walked in the door. Hermione had bought a carton of ice cream on the way to the hotel. She turned on the TV and flopped onto the bed and started attacking the ice cream with her spoon.
The television brought in all the local channels and most of the cable ones and yet there was still nothing good on. Hermione finally settled on a documentary about African wild life, which she normally would have found fascinating, but today seemed rather dull. Her thoughts drifted to Harry and how good it had felt to be in his arms. He had such strong, muscular arms and she always felt so safe when he held her. He*d hugged her like that when he saved her life in their sixth year, and that was the moment that Hermione realized that she loved him.
And, for the first time that day, Hermione smiled.
Chapter Two
Face to Face
Hermione cast an anxious look at the clock. If she was going to go, she needed to leave now. Her hands shook as she opened her little clutch purse and took out her lipstick and tried to apply it. At last she gave up and threw the lipstick back into her purse in exasperation. Then she flung herself onto her bed and cried, letting out all the tears she had kept pent up inside ever since she received word that Ron was dead.
After about ten minutes of good, hard crying, Hermione lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror on her closet doors. *I look like crap,* she thought to herself. She rose and went over to the sink in the bathroom. Her mascara was running. Hermione cupped her hands together and brought the cold water up to her face. She did this several times, wiping off all her makeup, and then surveyed herself in the mirror again. She still thought she looked like crap, but at least this way no one would know that she had tried to make herself look presentable.
Hermione grabbed her purse and walked out the door, locking it behind her. She went to the parking lot, got in her car and turned the key in the ignition. As she drove, she wondered what she should say to Harry when she saw him. Hermione knew he*d be there; Ron had been his best friend. She wondered if he would still smell so good, and if he still wore his hair the same way. It had always been so tousled, and when they were dating Hermione was constantly pushing his bangs away so she could see his eyes. She loved Harry*s eyes.
*Stop it,* Hermione reprimanded herself. *You are not supposed to think about Harry*s eyes when Ron is dead.* The thought of Ron made her eyes water and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from flowing. She knew Ron wouldn*t want her to be a sobbing mess, but she couldn*t help it. She pulled over her car and just let herself cry again, and when she was done she started up the car once more and continued to drive as though nothing had happened.
***
Harry dried his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city, trying to think about anything but Ron. He heard a car pull up, but he didn't move. He kicked a pebble on the ground and listened to the sound of someone sniffling and opening the front door. The door closed and Harry could hear a mumble of soft voices. The bird that had landed on the tree started to sing, and Harry contemplated throwing the pebble at it to make it shut up.
He heard the back door open and the sound of high heels on the cement. Harry knew it was her, it had to be her, but still he kept his back turned to the door.
The tapping of the heels stopped. For moment there was silence, and then Hermione said in her sweet voice, *Hi.*
Hi. They hadn't seen each other for over a year and she says hi. Harry kept his back turned.
*I hoped you would come,* she said.
*Yeah,* Harry replied. More silence. Harry knew he had to face her, he had been gearing up for it ever since he arrived. But Hermione beat him to it. She walked in front of him and knelt down in her skirt on the pavement so they were at eye level.
Hermione looked older. That was Harry*s first impression of her. He still thought she was beautiful, but the sadness in her eyes made her look as though she had aged about five years.
Before Harry could say anything Hermione was crying. She didn*t have any tissues, or if she did she didn*t bother to take them out. Harry didn*t know what to do. He couldn*t just sit there and watch her bawl her eyes out. Besides, if she cried any longer she was going to make him start crying again, too, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.
Harry couldn*t stop himself. He reached out and hugged Hermione, feeling her thin shoulders quaking and her salty tears falling on his own face and clothes. She didn't pull back: instead she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed even harder. Harry cried, too, holding her tightly and feeling both happy and sad. He didn*t even know why he was crying. It just seemed like the right thing to do in his confused state of mind.
And so they held each other and they cried and the bird stopped singing.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley offered to let Hermione spend the night at the Burrow, but Hermione said no, she*d get lodging at a hotel nearby. She knew Harry was staying with the Weasley*s and she didn*t trust herself anymore, not after what had happened at the wake.
Hermione rented a room at a Holiday Inn. It was a modest little room, but it had a television and working plumbing. The rest Hermione didn*t really care about.
She kicked off her shoes as soon as she walked in the door. Hermione had bought a carton of ice cream on the way to the hotel. She turned on the TV and flopped onto the bed and started attacking the ice cream with her spoon.
The television brought in all the local channels and most of the cable ones and yet there was still nothing good on. Hermione finally settled on a documentary about African wild life, which she normally would have found fascinating, but today seemed rather dull. Her thoughts drifted to Harry and how good it had felt to be in his arms. He had such strong, muscular arms and she always felt so safe when he held her. He*d hugged her like that when he saved her life in their sixth year, and that was the moment that Hermione realized that she loved him.
And, for the first time that day, Hermione smiled.
