Hermione's Realisation

The rest of the morning passed quietly as Harry, Ron and Hermione spent some hours in silence tending to Buckbeak. Harry could see a marked deterioration in Buckbeak's coat and many of the ferrets, brought up as food, had been left untouched. The hippogriff had a tired, sad look about him and seemed inclined to do nothing but mope in a corner; his only movement an expectant turn of his head each time the door opened. Harry sat next to Buckbeak, his hand absent-mindedly smoothing the once-glossy feathers on his neck. All three knew he was missing Sirius, but as the morning slid into afternoon none of them voiced their opinions.

Harry was grateful for the silence his friends afforded him. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. So much had changed in so little time and his guilt at Sirius' death plagued him every moment he was awake. The summer holidays still stretched out in front of him and there were times he wondered if he could get through the next few weeks without anyone mentioning Sirius or what had happened in The Department of Mysteries.

So lost in his thoughts, Harry's attention was drawn towards Hermione and Ron who were nudging each other and making frantic faces. His heartbeat quickened.

"Harry…" Hermione's voice faltered, "Harry, if you want to…talk…about anything, you know we'll listen, don't you?"

Harry nodded glumly. He'd known it was too good to last. "Yeah, well…" His voice trailed off and he concentrated hard on Buckbeak's neck.

"Listen mate, I don't know how you feel but I know how I felt last year, you know, when dad was attacked." Ron swallowed hard. "I know it's different. I know it doesn't come close to…"

An awkward quiet descended on the room, the only sound Buckbeak's strangely comforting sigh as he rested his head on Harry's knee. Harry blinked, feeling his eyes and face grow hot. He couldn't find the words to explain how he felt, to explain the guilt and the loss. His parents had died to protect him, Cedric had died because of him, and Sirius had died because he, Harry, had been too stupid to remember the mirror. Everything hit Harry then; the accumulated guilt for Sirius and Cedric, the pain that he'd denied for two of the longest weeks of his life exploded out of him in a scream.

As Buckbeak rose swiftly and angrily from the floor Hermione rushed towards Harry, only hesitating slightly before kneeling next to him and pulling him towards her. She wrapped her arms around him as Harry fought against her, fought against himself, and fought against the memories each vying for attention in his mind. As he pushed Hermione roughly away, Harry hated himself for it. She looked hurt, disappointed and close to tears of her own. Ron stood uncertainly a few feet away, unsure of whether he should stay or leave.

Harry's screams and Buckbeak's shrieks of anger subsided. Harry's scar throbbed painfully and he pushed himself as close to the wall as he could get, his arms wrapped around his knees. Staring blankly into the grim darkness of the room he rocked gently backwards and forwards, tears streaming down his face as he replayed moment after moment, death after death in his mind. First there were his parents, the flash of green light and Voldemort's high-pitched laugh. Then Professor Quirrell, the hideous sight of the man's flesh blistering at the touch of Harry's skin and Voldemort's screeches adding to the din of Quirrell's screams. Next he saw Tom Riddle as he had been at Hogwarts, the good-looking boy who was so very much like Harry. Harry's mind went over Tom's death in slow motion; the ink flowing over Harry's hands like blood, Tom's screams and writhing agony before he vanished, the gentle drip drip drip of ink in the otherwise silent chamber. Still more death plagued Harry's mind as he saw Cedric fall at Voldemort's command, at Wormtail's wand. He thought bitterly of the death of Barty Crouch Junior and that if Fudge had had one ounce of sense, none of the last few months needed to have happened. Finally, and most painfully, Harry let his mind wander to a memory he had only visited in his sleep. His Godfather's face full of fear and surprise, the shriek of triumph from Bellatrix Lestrange, the moment Sirius had fallen through the veil.

Aware of Hermione moving closer to him again, Harry drew his arms tighter around his knees. He was determined to sit this out, to let the images playing over and over in his mind remain there until he either went mad or passed out with the pain and the guilt. Harry was unaware that Ron had left the room or that Hermione's arm was once again around his shoulders as she tried to comfort him. All Harry could see or hear were the faces and screams of those he'd allowed to die.

After what seemed like hours, Harry became slowly aware of Hermione's warm arm still tight around his shoulders. He relaxed slightly, tears still flowing down his face and leant heavily against her. Hermione let out a sob and pulled Harry even closer to her, her other hand smoothing his hair from his face. Finally Harry's breathing slowed although the tears would not stop. He felt cold and shivered involuntarily before wrapping his arms around Hermione, grateful for her silence. Without a word, Hermione pulled gently away from Harry, leaving the room for only a few moments before returning with a blanket. Harry had heard anxious, hushed voices at the door when she went out but no one followed her back into the room. Again he found himself grateful for Hermione's thoughtfulness but accepted the blanket without a word of thanks.

Hermione settled herself on a cushion of straw and rested her back against the wall. Harry had made no attempt to even unfold the blanket she'd brought so she pulled her friend back towards her, covering him with the thick, soft wool. Sitting as she was, Hermione ran through sentences in her mind. Nothing sounded appropriate however, how should she know how to deal with this? Tears stained her face as she looked over to Harry, his eyes still glazed. The blanket had slid off one shoulder and Hermione knew that the shivers that were shaking Harry's body were more due to shock than temperature. She reached over and pulled the blanket back onto Harry's shoulder. As she did, Harry turned his head to look at her. Hermione gasped. She'd never realised what it was before, but the burden of a thousand deaths seemed to leaden Harry's gaze. An indescribable sadness shone from her friend's tired eyes before they closed and Harry leant gratefully against Hermione's shoulder.

Before long, Harry was shivering again. He shifted slightly and lay down on Buckbeak's straw, pulling the blanket tightly around him. Hermione moved closer and lifted Harry's head to rest on her leg. She didn't know what to do, whether to speak or let Harry remain silent, so she simply relaxed back against the wall again. Looking down at Harry, Hermione stroked his hair gently. Her mother had always done this for her when she was upset and she found it comforting. Harry's sigh reaffirmed her belief that she was not the only one who was calmed by this.

"'Mione?" Harry mumbled. "D'you think I'm crazy?"

Hermione jumped slightly at Harry's voice. "No," she replied slowly, "I just think that you've had to cope with too much."

Harry turned over onto his back, eyes closed, and readjusted the blanket as he shivered again. "Sometimes I think I'm crazy."

Hermione gently pushed Harry's hair from his face again. "I don't think you're crazy at all. It's just that…well…maybe you should, you know, tell someone how you feel. It can't be good Harry, keeping everything bottled up." She spoke softly, trying to imitate her mother's voice. Harry opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"I don't know how to." He could feel the first bubbles of anger building and fought hard to suppress them. "I feel so guilty." Harry stopped in surprise. Where had that come from? Hermione looked back at Harry.

"Guilty?"

"About Cedric. About…about Sirius." Harry's eyes welled with tears again as he held Hermione's gaze. "You were right, I always want to play the hero. Look where that's got me. The one person I could have called family has gone." Tears streamed uncomfortably onto Harry's ears and he was surprised to see shiny trails over Hermione's cheeks. "I could have lived here, with Sirius, like he said just after we'd discovered Wormtail. I could have had a family." Great, dry sobs pushed through Harry's chest as he closed his eyes, the old images of Sirius flooding his mind. Hermione pulled Harry up by his elbows and drew him to her, holding him in a hug as he screamed and swore into her shoulder.

Silence fell quickly as Harry drew in a sharp breath. 'Neither can live while the other survives'. That was what Trelawney had predicted. Kill or be killed. Murderer, or murdered.

"He's going to pay." Harry said quietly.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione sounded distracted.

"Nothing," Harry replied. "But thank you." Hermione smiled slightly as she pulled the blanket once again around Harry's shoulders. This is what friendship meant. Not petty arguments over homework or someone to play wizard's chess with, but someone to love, someone to cherish, someone to admire. And she did admire Harry. Hermione didn't understand how it would feel to lose your entire family, but in the last hour in that room she knew she understood Harry a little more. She understood where his survival instinct came from, where his desire to succeed lived and why he felt he had to protect everyone he knew. Hermione knew now that Harry had seen too much, done too much, been part of too much to survive on his own. She knew now why Dumbledore had called her to his office only two shorts weeks ago, why he had warned her of the hard times ahead. She knew now why she was the first witch in her family, knew why Harry had been so important to her from the first day she really knew him.

She finally understood what Dumbledore had meant when he said, 'Do not enter lightly into the coming years with Harry. If you are a friend, stay with him and offer him comfort even when you know he will turn it down. Do everything you can to enhance his understanding of the years ahead and never, under any circumstances, stand in his way.'

Hermione gazed down at Harry, his eyes now closed, and resumed the gentle strokes over his hair as she turned towards her own corridors of thoughts and was lost to her memories of The Boy Who Lived.

Having woken from an uncomfortable, nightmare drenched sleep, Harry opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt swollen and puffy, his throat hoarse. His gaze found Hermione who was resting her head back against the cool wall, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of wizard chess, Devil's Snare and potion riddles. Harry let a small smile blossom briefly on his lips before sitting up and startling Hermione.

"Harry, you're awake." Hermione looked concerned.

"You know, for such a know it all you're slow sometimes." Harry quipped. He looked down at the floor to avoid the disapproving glare. "Thanks Hermione." Raising his eyes to look at her, Harry smiled. "There aren't many people who would've put up with that. Come to think of it, there aren't many people who put up with me." Harry rubbed his eyes. "I bet I look awful, what's Mrs. Weasley going to say?"

Hermione shrugged, "She'll just have to say nothing." She replied, uncharacteristically harsh. "I told her that this afternoon shouldn't be mentioned and if you wanted to talk about it you would. In your own time."

Harry nodded, grateful again for Hermione and her calm, level head. Hermione on the other hand did not feel levelheaded at all. Her heart was still pounding, unsure of whether Harry would start screaming again. It was a sound she would pay good money to never hear again. The pain and fury was all too clear in the indeterminable noises he had made, and more than once he had scared her.

Harry stood and stretched, his muscles complaining. He felt like he'd slept for a week. Offering Hermione his hand he pulled her to her feet. They stood awkwardly opposite each other for a moment before Harry spoke.

"I suppose I'd better put in an appearance downstairs." Hermione immediately looked worried.

"Maybe you should just get some more sleep, in bed I mean. It can't have been comfortable on that floor. I can always bring some dinner up for you." Harry nodded.

"Okay, at least this way I only have to face Ron. Where is he, by the way?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry Harry, it's just he put his head 'round the door when…well when I was hugging you. He took one look at us and stormed out. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what gets into him."

Harry knew immediately what was up with Ron. He still didn't understand how he saw what neither Ron or Hermione could. Their constant bickering, the saga with Hermione, Viktor Krum and Ron's indignant protests about not wanting to go to the ball with Hermione. The way they fell out over stupid little things, the way Hermione always relented and helped Ron with his homework. The way Ron tried to enthuse Hermione with Quidditch rules, regulations and teams. The only problem now would be Ron's reaction to seeing Hermione holding Harry to her as if her life depended on it.

"I don't know Hermione, I'll find him." Harry turned to leave and felt Hermione's hand close around his arm.

"You're not alone Harry, I consider you family, so does Ron." Harry's heart swelled. The sincerity in Hermione's voice was ever-present but it seemed defiant somehow with this statement. He felt his eyes grow hot again as he turned back to Hermione and closed his hand over hers.

"I know."

Hermione stood alone in Buckbeak's room and watched Harry as he walked through the door without even a glance backwards. Looking towards Buckbeak she lowered herself into a low bow and waited for the creature to return it. The hippogriff obliged and bent his knees before snuffling in the pile of dead ferrets.

"We're not so different you know Buckbeak. You're an outcast for something you didn't do, and half the wizarding world would consider me one for something I can't help." Hermione sighed and sat heavily down onto a heap of straw. Buckbeak bent his knees again and lay next to her, his sorrowful eyes looking hopefully towards the door.

"He's not coming back Buckbeak. He's gone. Gone for good." Kidding herself that she meant Sirius, Hermione knew in her heart that Harry was the one who had slipped away from her, from Ron, even from Dumbledore.

"Oh, it's you." Ron's voice was strangely cold as Harry pushed open the door to their room.

"Hi." Said Harry in reply. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just…it's just that…"

"You don't have to explain anything to me." Snapped Ron. "Thought you'd still be cuddled up with Hermione. Looks like Cho was right." Ron glared at his hands as Harry snorted.

"What!"

Ron looked across at Harry. "You know what. Couldn't be content with everything you've got, you had to take her as well."

Harry almost exploded with anger. "Everything I've got? I've lost half of what I had! I've lost the closest thing to a dad I've ever known! More to the point, how can you sit there and tell me I'm taking Hermione away?"

Ron laughed humourlessly. "Oh, yeah, right. You mean the man you barely knew?" Ron knew he was being unfair, but the sight of Harry resting comfortably in Hermione's arms was burnt into his eyes. "Oh yes, a fine family unit you would have made."

Harry stood at the doorway, gob smacked. He had expected some degree of detached, disguised anger but he had not expected an attack on Sirius. Harry opened his mouth to tell Ron exactly what he thought of him but no sound came out. He couldn't understand why Ron would treat him like this, say things like this. Harry's feelings swung wildly between sorrow and anger, both bursting forth at the same time.

"You've got everything I've ever wanted, Ron! A family. Somewhere to call home. People who love you for who you are. People who are proud of you for being a wizard. You're a prefect, you're popular, and you've got so much family around you that you're blind to what you've got. As for Hermione…" Harry paused, "I'm grateful for what she did but mate, really, me and Hermione? Please!" Harry's eyes pleaded with Ron who stared angrily back.

"I saw you, the two of you, sitting there…" he began weakly.

"Yes, and I saw you at the Yule Ball. Do you really think I'd even entertain the idea of…of…well…you know…" Harry's embarrassed voice trailed off.

Ron's face flushed red and his gaze dropped to his knees. He mumbled something about feeling tired and he hadn't meant any of it. Harry continued to look imploringly at Ron. Keeping his face turned away Ron stood slowly and took a few steps towards Harry.

"I…erm…well, I…" Ron looked up at his best friend before taking a huge step towards him and hugging him tightly. Harry uncertainly put his arms around Ron and patted him awkwardly on the back.

As Ron pulled away he quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I just, well, I know things have been crap mate. For you I mean. But they've been no picnic here either. Mum's still upset about Percy. The prat still won't visit her and still avoids dad at work. He's just annoyed that Dumbledore and you were right. He knows he looks a right idiot and it's hurting mum and dad that he still won't speak to them. And…well I miss Sirius too. I've never known anyone who's died, not really."

Harry nodded. He knew what it was like to struggle to find the words he wanted to explain how he felt. He only needed to look back at the disaster that was his only date with Cho to realise he had a lot of learning to do where putting feelings into words were concerned. He and Ron looked uncomfortably at one another before Ron broke the ice with the suggestion of a game of wizard chess. As he prodded the pieces to move into line, Ron stole glances at Harry. Something had changed between them, or had changed in Harry, he didn't know which.

Harry and Ron's conversation started awkwardly, but soon their quarrel was forgotten as they both concentrated on directing their pieces. Ron won, as ever, and Harry was sure there was more than the usual amount of triumph in his best friend's face.