48. Dark

The sun is low on the horizon and the light inside the tent is getting darker. She conjures a couple of bluebells flames to light them up.

Hermione is still shaken up by the events of today at the Ministry.

They almost caught them.

Ron got splinched because she had been distracted.

Then it would have been over. Everything would have been for nothing. She fights back frustrating tears, now is not the time to cry. They need to start planning. So she raises her head, swallows back the guilt of Ron's injuries, and begins to read.

That night before joining her bunk, she goes to Ron's and holds his hand. As his fingers close around hers, she blushes as she remembers that she almost kissed him earlier today. And in front of Harry no less!

She falls asleep with the lingering feel of his hand in hers.

But as the days go by, she can sense the tension raising inside the tent. She keeps thinking that something bad happened to her parents, that she failed, that Harry wants her with him only to pick up her brain, that Ron doesn't love her. The metal of the necklace is cold against her chest when she puts it on, she shivers every time.

One evening, she suddenly, finally, thinks of something. Something actually helpful. They are making progress, they can do this. Adrenaline rushes inside her veins as she explains that the sword of Gryffindor infused with the Basilisk blood should be, will be, strong enough to destroy horcruxes.

After that, everything goes too fast. The tent is a whirlwind of bitterness and rising anger.

Before she knows it, Ron's gone.

That night, she cries under her blanket, trying to remember how his hand felt in hers.