Chapter Two: Confrontation

Sometime later, she didn't know how long, Hermione felt a large hand touch her cheek. "Let me have the cloth, she's still warm." The same hand tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before touching a cool, damp cloth to her forehead. She opened her eyes to see Ron's worried face, paler than usual, looking back at her. Realizing she was laying on her back on the compartments seats, she tried to sit up, but Ron caught her on the shoulder and pushed her back down. "Lay down," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," she moaned.

"Here, have some water." Harry, who was kneeling beside her on the floor, helped her hold the bottle to her mouth while she drank. "We were scared, 'Mione. What was wrong?"

Rolling over, Hermione mumbled an incoherent, "Dunno." Standing up, she caught a look of her zombie-like self in the glass window. Her face was covered in sweat and water from the cloth and her makeup was now completely gone. Harry walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her around to look him in the face. His gaze was hard.

"Hermione, tell us what's the matter. We can tell you're upset about something, we're not stupid." When he got no response, he spun around to face Ron in frustration. "Bloody hell… I'm going to find the food trolley and get her something else to eat." With that, he strode out of the compartment and slammed the door behind him.

There was an awkward silence before Ron spoke in a shaky voice. "You know how he gets. His temper got the best of him…"

"Yeah, I guess," said Hermione quietly. She was glad that Ron wasn't making her tell him what was wrong.

Wordlessly, he crossed the compartment and sat down, patting the seat next to him. She obliged, and once she settled into the seat, he asked her, "So how was your summer?"

Harry didn't return to the compartment until the train rolled into Hogsmeade Station, stopping with a jolt. "It's raining," he said with a frown. Outside the window, the clouds that had looked so threatening before were now spilling buckets of water. By the time they made it into one of the thestral drawn carriages they were soaked to the bone, their hair dripping and clothes clinging to them like a second skin.

Harry took off his glasses in hopes of trying to find something dry to wipe them with, but it was no use. Placing them back over his eyes, he squinted at Hermione. "If that happens again I'm bringing you to Madam Pomfrey. You're a skeleton."

Hermione didn't object. She knew that her soaked clothes revealed her shape with no lies. 'Fine,' she thought. 'I just won't let it happen again.'

An hour later they were sitting at the Gryffindor table in the great hall. The clinking sound of forks and knives could be heard all around as Harry, Ron, and Hermione enjoyed the feast. "Harry," Hermione said impatiently, "I don't even like asparagus." She grabbed his wrist before he could give her a third helping.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, looking taken aback.

"Because then you would've force fed me three helpings of something else. Now you eat it," she said, steering his wrist and making him dump the vegetables onto his own plate. "You need the iron, Mr. Quidditch Man."

"She's got a point, mate," said Ron, grinning.

Harry glared at him, whose own plate was loaded with asparagus. "I don't like asparagus, either," Harry grunted. Just as he stabbed a stalk and lifted it reproachfully to his mouth, their plates were wiped magically clean and the dinner dishes were replaced with a vast variety of desserts. "Oh good," said Harry brightly, "fat. Just what you need, Hermione." He nudged a plate of coffee brownies towards her. "Go on, eat up," he urged.

Hermione laughed and reached for a brownie, letting her guard down just long enough for her sleeve to slip back, revealing her wrist to Ron's gaze. He only starred for a second before turning his shocked face towards hers, their eyes meeting. She withdrew her arm from the plate as though she had been electrocuted.

"Hermione-," Ron started, but a look in her eyes cut him off.

Later, as they headed toward the common room, Ron bent and whispered in her ear, "I need to talk to you later." Hermione gave him a frightened, pleading look but said nothing.

"Protean," said Harry clearly to the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open to reveal the familiar passage into the common room. They clambered through and crossed the room, taking their favorite chairs in front of the fire.

After a slightly forced conversation about the wonderful feast they had just enjoyed, Harry stretched and yawned, getting slowly to his feet. "I reckon it's about time for me to get to bed."

"Alright," said Ron. "Don't bother waiting up for me, Hermione and I have some stuff to care to."

"Right," said Harry uneasily. "Goodnight, then." With that, he walked suspiciously to the stairs.

Ron didn't speak again until he heard the dormitory door close from above. When he finally did speak, it was in a quiet voice, not demanding like Harry had been. "How long did you think you could keep that from us, Hermione?" He looked at her, sitting across from him. She looked so small and scared, with her knees drawn up to her chest in an effort to hide herself. Taking pity on her, he stood and crossed the space between them, sitting beside her in the large chair and placing his arms around her. She remained stiff for a few moments before she seemed to melt into him, placing her head sideways on his shoulder.

It was a few moments before she spoke in a voice that was choked with tears. "I didn't want you to think I was cracking."

"You can't be serious… You know us better than that. Honestly, Hermione, we wouldn't think anything bad. We would help you, not make fun of you."

"I know… It's just… I don't know. Oh, this is so embarrassing… Don't tell Harry, alright?" Hermione turned her face to look up at him, eyes full of tears.

"Alright, alright. I promise," he said, stroking that back of her head gently. He stopped suddenly, took hold of her hand and said, "But Hermione, why? Why do you do it?"

She looked down at her wrist, covered by her robe, and then her eyes moved to Ron's hand holding hers. "It's the only way I can get things out without screaming my bloody lungs out!"

He looked into her eyes again. "Can-can I see them again?" She starred back for a few seconds, and then nodded slowly. Ron let go of her hand and took hold of her robe sleeve, pushing it up to the crook of her arm. Dozens of cuts crisscrossed her skin with each new centimeter revealed. Ron gasped, for it looked worse than he remembered from dinner that night. "Gods," he whispered. He traced his finger along a particularly long cut that had since scabbed over. "This one looks like it was deep."

"It was," she cleared her throat. "I did that the night I found out I'd be Head Girl."

"You're not going to do it again soon, are you?" Ron sounded scared. He held onto her wrist, sliding his palm up and down to feel the cuts.

Hermione didn't answer. Instead she closer her eyes tightly, tears squeezing out from between her closed lids.

"Just come to me when you want to, okay?" He placed his arms back around her, allowing her to cry into his chest. "I don't care what time it is. I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

They stayed there until Hermione had cried all the tears she had in her. Ron didn't complain that she soaked through his shirt; instead he continued to hold her lovingly, resting his chin on top of her head. When she had finished crying, they parted their ways for the night. Hermione dropped off to sleep quickly in her bed, dreaming of a forest with green glowing trees that held a promise of calmness and serenity.