Thirty-Five
Day: 1501; Hour: 17
She can feel the girl's mouth open against her palm the second she puts her hand over it, and her voice comes out more like a hiss than anything comforting. "Sh! I'm not going to hurt you. Don't move and be quiet."
She had been Apparated into the wrong side of the town center, but it still only put her about twenty shops over from the yelling she could hear. They had had no Portkeys to the location when they were called in for backup, and it had taken them an unacceptable fourteen minutes of Flooing the Ministry before they found someone who could bring them there. Hermione had been the first person Apparated in and, after informing her that he would Apparate the rest to the other side, the man had left her on her own.
After running past one store front, Hermione had spotted the young girl in a small alley between two stores while idly walking toward a clothing shop. Hermione had wondered if the girl was deaf as she grabbed her, just three paces from hitting the main road and exposing herself to the fight. Perhaps it was the indifference of being fourteen and feeling immortal. Hermione hadn't known ages of that, but she had moments of it. Of feeling like the world could never touch her.
The girl raises her shaking hand, pointing to something in front of them. Hermione swings her wand in that direction, pulling them two steps back while searching for what the girl sees, before her wand is yanked out of her grasp. Hermione freezes, her vision blurring in surprise just as an elbow slams into her stomach. She coughs over the expulsion of her breath, releasing her grip for just a second, but it's long enough for the girl to jerk away from her.
Her surprise is quickly replaced by her anger as she lunges toward the girl, the younger female clutching the wand and grinning. "I tol- Shit."
The girl's grin is matched by the Death Eater that steps out from the shadows at the side of the alley, realization and fear bursting in Hermione's chest. How did she not see that? How had she let herself be so distracted by the girl, like she is new to this, like she doesn't know better. Hermione throws herself forward at the girl, but only manages to grab her sleeve, the material ripping under her grip as the girl shoves herself back. Hermione curses viciously, screwed without her wand.
"Don't touch me, Mudblood! I'm already going to have to burn my clothes and scrub my face off!"
"I suggest you do as she says." The Death Eater waves his wand at her, as if she hadn't already seen it. His voice squeaks over the middle word, and she takes in the smoothness of his face and the small height he has over the girl who now stands next to him. He can't be older than seventeen, if that.
Fantastic. Everyone is on the other side, she has no wand, and she is stuck in an alley with two young teenagers with the upper hand. Her only real hope is to distract them, hope they couldn't cast anything too damaging, and then attack them the Muggle way until she got her wand back. Or run, if nothing else.
Fear is churning in her gut and her heartbeat is static, the adrenaline pulsing along her limbs. She expects to feel dizzy with panic, but she isn't. Instead, her senses are sharpened, everything clear and vivid. She is taking in every movement they make, and for a moment the girl looks uneasy, until she remembers they are the ones with wands.
"I can't believe that worked," the girl laughs out, handing the wand to the boy, and Hermione wants to punch her in the face.
She can't believe it worked either. How could she be so stupid? She had faced hundreds of Death Eaters with decades of magical education and plotting, and only one had gotten the best of her. Had Stunned her from behind, injured and hectic, and new to war. Now, here she is, with years of hard experience, cornered by children. Granted, she is only a few years older than the Death Eater in front of her, but war made them animals – they lived years in just one.
"You knew they would be coming in from the back!" The girl straightens her spine in pride before snarling at Hermione. "Mudbloods are stupid. Or are you a blood traitor? I haven't decided which one is worse."
Hermione is running through what to say, taking in the information that they don't know who she is, when the boy speaks up. "Can't talk, filth? I can make you scream. In fact... Crucio!"
She has just a second to hope it doesn't work, moving to try and dodge it, before it does. Her back arches with the pain that rips through her, as wild as fire and more brutal than the worst she remembers. She flings her body back, as if it could make it go away, and her scream tears out of her clenched lips. It is a dark pain, a cloud of black, that shoots through her whole body and feels like it pulls, tears, cracks, and cuts everything it touches. It feels like forever that she is trapped within a world of black and agony before it finally ebbs, pulsing through her body in waves.
She becomes aware of her breath and heartbeat in her ears, the grunts of pain, the spasms of aftershock in her body. Then she hears the laughter. "If anyone else comes, we won't be able to sneak up on them."
"It doesn't matter," a new voice says, sounding pleased.
"It does. There's only three of us, so if there's a lot of them..."
"We can still-"
"He said to be silent, so we have the advantage from the back."
"Make her silent."
"Where the fuck is the fun in that?"
"So...what are you going to do with her?"
"Let me count the ways."
"Entrails-Ex-"
"Save her for later."
Hermione slowly brings her fingers into fists, curling her toes, and trying to regain movement through the fading pain. She thinks that maybe she should play dead until they come over, and then try to overpower one. However, she doesn't doubt that they are staring at her now moving and breathing, and that they would see right through her. So she rolls over instead, her body trembling as she forces it, pushing herself to her feet.
She sways unsteady before locking her jaw and her aching muscles. The three people in front of her, two Death Eaters now, laugh through their condescending noises. "A little fighter, huh?"
"Give me my wand and I'll show you a fight," Hermione spits, grabbing onto her anger and holding it tightly to her.
"Do you think we're as stupid as a Mudblood?" The girl's smirk turns into a sneer.
"I think you know you're weaker than one. Why else would you be afraid to give me back my wand when it's still three against one?" She would tear them apart. She just needs to find a way to get the advantage.
"Are you fu-"
"Disrespectful-" The female begins to hiss, but is cut off by the furious snarl next to her.
"Crucio!"
The pain is back and this is all she knows. The world is silent except for a shrill ringing in her ears, her senses shutting down to deal with the pain. Her only thought is about how destroyed she feels, as if there were never another thought to possibly be had. It is just beginning to fade when it comes back full force, her body violently arching before the vastness of black engulfs her. She might be dying, and if she does, she might not care. If only to stop the pain, she would take it. For however long the torture lasts, it steals everything from her, clouding her mind until death seems the best choice.
Then, a few seconds after it begins to throb away, she is back, struggling to push through. She opens her eyes, blinking away the fog of agony and her tears, her breath catching over injured noises in her throat. Her convulsing slows to trembling, her senses coming back, as a masked face comes into view. It's the first Death Eater, his lips pulled back over his teeth as he grabs her shirt, yanking her up. She raised a hand to punch him, but the weight is heavy and not fully under her control, her wrist barely hitting his temple. The adrenaline overpowers the hungry ache within her as he casts a Severing curse over her head, and her fist collides more solidly with his face.
"Hermione," someone screams so hard it sounds like it tore their throat raw, and she is sure it was Harry right before the world disappears.
It is dark, wherever he Apparated them to, and Hermione knows what comes next. A prison cell, torture, eventually death. Moody's voice is yelling through her head, reminding her to never let them take her from where they found her. If they did, he had said, do everything in your power to get away before they lock you up. Once they do, there's almost no chance.
No chance, no chance, no chance. He had her wand, and if she couldn't get that, she could get his. Even if it was so incompatible she couldn't use it for anything, she would break it and then she would break him. She would fight until her hands were bloody, and dead, and gone, and she could no longer fight anymore.
He yanks her forward when she jerked back, and she slams her fist forward, feeling his teeth scrape her middle knuckle. Pain collides with her knuckles and jolts up to her elbow, and he lets out a choked, heavy yell, his breath hot on her skin. The heel of his palm slams into her cheekbone, reeling her head back as she stomps her foot down into his. She immediately raises her leg to knee him somewhere, and her hand clasps around his throat only a moment after he grabs hers.
He grunts out the beginning of a spell, but she shoves his arm away, tearing nails through the skin of his neck. It's back a moment later, and she grabs for the wand this time, the spasm of his magic coiling into nausea in her stomach. She can't breathe through the pressure of his fingers, adding to the dizzy spin of adrenaline, and she can only hope that her vice grip on his neck is enough to stop him from speaking any spells. The Curses she took before have made her too sluggish, and her muscles feel heavy and stiff. Her entire body shakes as she tries to push his wand point toward him, and he shoves her into the wall despite all her efforts to not let her feet move.
Survival, survival, and she can feel his wand slip a fraction from his grip before he tears his hand away. His fist collides with her temple, jerking her head to the side, and her jaw cracks off the wall. Her lack of oxygen is tempting her towards unconsciousness, but the panic of this being her last effort gives her the energy to bring her knee up in rapid succession, and she grabs his wrist before he can cast. He pulls away from her, his throat moving and clicking under her palm when he releases her neck. Her gasp is deep and harsh, and she continues to gasp between the coughing as he pulls her hand off of him. She curves her fingers, her nails ripping up skin, and kicks a leg out at him.
"Stupify!"
She ducks automatically, the red light bursting into the wall near her shoulder, and it takes her a moment to realize it wasn't from the Death Eater in front of her. She throws her fist forward, punching the boy straight in the gut. She feels a hard yank of her hair followed by a tearing sensation before she hits the ground on her side.
Hermione punches her leg out, her foot connecting with his kneecap, and the Killing Curse hits the ceiling in a cloud of green. He had cast the Curse in the direction the Stunner came from, which could only mean that she wasn't alone anymore. Plaster rains down in chunks and dust as he buckles, falling on top of her, and another jet of green hits the wall where his chest had been. Hermione doesn't have time to think about how she just saved his life before another Killing Curse hits the wall a fingers length from her nose, and she screams. She punches the boy in the side of the head as his hand closes around her throat again, and reaches to grab his outstretched arm as he sends another Killing Curse toward who she was hoping was a member of the Light.
He's limp a second later, his head smacking off her jaw as it drops, and light floods the shadows they're in. She can't see for a moment, but blinks through the foggy image of Lupin and Draco on a staircase. Draco chokes over the Ked in the second word of the Curse, an odd silence filling up her head. Hermione shoves the Death Eater off of her, looking at the two of them staring back in shock, and scrambles away from that combination of soft and rigid death. Her body is trembling, jerking randomly, and the whole of her aches. But she can't think of it now, or give into it, so she clings to her adrenaline instead. It provides a numbing effect that she knows will be gone soon enough, and she has things she has to do.
"Gra- Why the fuck didn't you say your name?" Draco barks, choosing the most important question to him out of all those he could have asked. "I could have... I could have killed you, you dum-"
"Were you captured?" Lupin interrupts the furious blond, eyes scanning the house around them.
"Yes," Hermione croaks. "Is this place empty?"
"For now. We received information that the Death Eaters in the square would be coming back here. Do-"
"Granger, do you have-"
"That's where I was. Took down the wards for backup to get through. If they Apparate out, it looks like they'll be coming here until they catch on." Hermione rasps the words out, her throat tired and dry.
"Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?" Draco rushes out before he can be cut off again, his voice furious and his eyes flashing.
"I was a little preoccupied, Draco!"
"Well, you should have been thinking! You obviously weren't. You obviously weren't at all! Did you want me to kill you? Did you-"
"Enough. We need to set up posts in case any more come back. How man- Are you alright?"
It takes her a couple seconds before she looks up at Lupin. "I'm fine. I need to get back."
"She's been Cruciated." Draco still sounds angry, and she has no doubt he would have still been yelling at her if it weren't for the situation.
Because he could have killed her. He really could have. He or Lupin had come inches from it, in fact. "Hermione, you should App-"
"I'm fine, I said!" She's angry too, because she had been stupid too many times tonight and she is angry with herself. She is angry at the girl who tricked her, and if she were that kind of person, she might have still been angry with the dead boy she flips over.
She doesn't notice how badly she's trembling until she's ripping his robes open, feeling for the inside pocket she had watched him stuff her wand into. She doesn't look at his face, or his eyes, because it makes her think too many things.
"I'm not sure if you're able to..."
She snaps her head up, looking past Draco and to Dean. There are three more people behind him on the staircase, all of them staring like she's some kind of show. She pulls her wand out of the pocket, feeling it thrum in her hand, and lets out a breath. She stands, wobbling, and Lupin and Dean reach their arm out, despite that she's too far away to catch.
She closes her eyes, concentrating and preparing herself to enter anything. She forces her hands steady and Apparates on Draco's snarl of her surname.
Day: 1501; Hour: 19
"How did it go with the...therapy thing? With Ron?" Hermione whispers, eating another piece of chocolate.
Harry's watching her from the recliner, his hands folded with his knuckles too white and his gaze too intense to be relaxed. She had joined the fighting for fifteen minutes before it was over, almost half of what she casted coming out useless from the shaking. She had found Harry during head count, and he had run to her, hugging her so tightly she couldn't breathe as her toes scraped the ground. She had collapsed into him, and it had taken him five minutes to get them back to a safe house, drop her on a couch, force feed her chocolate, and stare hard enough to make her uncomfortable. You scared the shit out of me, he had whispered into her cheek. You freaked me out so bloody bad.
Harry often looks at her like this – like he's planning the best way to lock her up somewhere nice until the world got better. Sometimes it makes her angry, and other times it feels good. She has to be so strong that sometimes, in Harry's eyes or Draco's arms, she likes to feel protected. Just to know that for a little while, someone else has got her covered. The truth is that she had been very afraid as well. If there hadn't been a team infiltrating that house, who knows what would have happened to her. Or even what would be happening to her at this very moment. The possibility is so terrifying she can't sleep, no matter how exhausted she finds herself.
"It didn't, ye-"
"What therapy thing?" They both look up toward Ron's voice in the doorway. "Therapy?"
"Yeah." Harry clears his throat, sitting up straighter and reaching a hand up to scratch his temple. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to join me in-"
"I'm not going to therapy." Ron says this with a cold laugh, like Harry might be insane and it disgusted him.
"It's a Transitionist. They're magically bound to not tell anyone anything you say-"
"Unless you're going to hurt yourself or some- or an innocent person, of course," Hermione interrupts, trying to take some of the glare off Harry, even if it was his idea.
"You just talk about anything you want."
"There's no bloody way," Ron practically growls, his face white compared to the red that usually comes with his anger.
Hermione hadn't expected him to be angry over it. Especially when he found out that Harry was seeing one. If anything, she thought Ron would have shrugged and tried it out, or just told him he wasn't into it. Maybe he isn't ready yet to face anything that happened. She can understand that.
"Mate, just come to a meeting with me. You don't even have to talk. Just see if you like it."
"What the hell do you talk about, Harry? Your feelings?"
A blush burns Harry's neck and cheeks, and he looks down, almost ashamed, as he struggles for a response. Hermione gives Ron a glare, forgetting to be gentle. "Everyone has different ways to heal, Ronald. Everyone has feelings about what has happened, and has to deal with those feelings. If you-"
"I don't need to deal with them! I have nothing to say! Especially to some per-"
"Then don't go! It was just an offer, Ron. You know you can always talk to us-"
"I don't want to talk to you either," Ron snaps, cutting her off. The room falls into silence, and there's a lot of hurt between them that may or may not be justifiable.
Hermione takes a deep breath, and it shutters, feeling the tiny cracks that splinter between the three of them. She feels as if she has to constantly fight now. For the war, herself, her friendships, for the people she cares about. She is scared of many things, but right now, she is most scared of gaining them back just to lose them again. She suddenly understands exactly what Harry had meant when he asked her to go to therapy with him. They might all be together, in the same room, but the war still threatened to take them away from one another. They were all pulling in on themselves, and there are so many empty spaces and broken things. Harry was trying to save himself, but he was also trying to save them.
"Yeah, well," Harry pauses, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring out the window, "if you change your mind, let me know."
Day: 1502; Hour: 3
She's not sure how long she slept on the couch, but she wakes up with an extra blanket on her and it's still dark outside the window. She lifts her head, looking up at the recliner, and gives a jump when she sees Draco sitting there instead of Harry. No wonder she had woken up – her survival instinct must have been set off by his angry glare.
"One second, Granger. Maybe two. That is how close I came to killing you. You would have been dead. I would have been staring at your corpse when Lupin lit up the corner, and I would have murdered you. Do you have any idea how much you fucked with my head?"
"It's not like I did it on purpose. I was a little distracted by the-"
"I don't care. How hard is it to say your name? It's common sense! We couldn't se-" He cuts himself off when she bursts into tears, smacking her hand over her eyes, because maybe if he couldn't see it, he wouldn't know. Maybe putting her hand over it would somehow grant her the ability to disappear. She wanted that so badly sometimes. To burst into the air.
She had been captured tonight. She had been cornered, tortured, captured, felt the widening cracks in her friendships, and now this. She can't help but cry. She never used to cry so damn much, and now she can barely control herself. She wipes the tears away quickly, sucking in air and trying to focus her mind on potion ingredients to calm herself. She hates breaking down, and she's done it too many times in front of him.
She could have said her name. She should have, but it was the last thing on her mind. She can only imagine how she would have felt if the roles were reversed. If she had been the one to almost kill him, or even to just imagine coming one second away from it. She imagines herself on the staircase, and then the light, and seeing him dead with her wand trained on him. There would be no coming back from that. What it would do to her is impossible to say, but she knows he has a right to be angry. "I should-"
"Get out." His voice is like steel, cold and hard.
She drops her hand away from her wide eyes in surprise, but he's not looking at her. There's an Auror standing in the archway to the living room, Draco's heavy glare leveled on him. He's perfectly still for three seconds, opening his mouth, but then closes it and turns to walk out. Draco watches him until he's gone from the hall, glancing at the floor, and then looks at her.
"It's been a long night."
"Yeah," she croaks, and then clears her throat. She lays back down on the couch, but they're both still looking at each other. He should know the unlikelihood of her falling asleep while he was staring at her. "Where are you sleeping?"
He might smile for just a second, or it might have been in her head. His eyes flick toward the archway and she closes her own for sleep. "The rooms are all full. Does it bother you to sleep in the same room as me?"
Later she will think of things she would never actually say anyway. Only when you're so far away. Only when you're not naked. Or, even a sarcastic Yes, it totally freaks me out. "No, it's nice," comes out instead.
Day: 1502; Hour: 4
She's circled by a dozen masks and black hoods, their mouths twisted and taunting. She spins, their faces and voices circling like a carousel. Like the one her parents would bring her to in the park, when all she knew was something else. When she, in her new summer dress, would hold on to the spiral out of the horse's back, her head thrown back and her curls dancing on wind. Her parents would lead her away, a hand clasped in each of theirs as she kicked her feet up into the sky. She would laugh until it hurt and she was dizzy with her joy.
Her wand is broken into four pieces, biting hard into her palm from the pressure of her fingers. This is the end. Her life, the war, had led her up to this very moment, and it is the last one of all. Something slashes across her stomach, her back, through her arm. Then there is all-consuming pain, splintering her into tiny fragments, and she screams so hard she tastes blood on her tongue. Her back hits the ground, the laughter echoes around her, and there is blood like a waterfall above her head to wash in the darkness that will follow.
Hermione gasps, choking, as she is lifted up against something hard, warm, and shaking against her. She opens her eyes to darkness, to the sound of crying, swallowing metallic. This must be death. She tries to shove it away but it holds her tighter, her head reeling back to see... Grey hair in the dark, an ear, a shoulder, a curve of a jaw that she knows. Her mind whirls, and she blinks out into the darkness, just making out the recliner bouncing in her vision.
"D-D-Dra..." She trails off at the jolts of her voice.
The light in the living room comes on, bursting white and blue spirals into her vision, and forming a tightness at the back of her eyeballs. She squeezes her eyes shut, and she thinks she must have been dreaming before. It still doesn't explain why she is shaking violently, a deep ache roaring to life inside of her. She must have bit her tongue, still tasting blood. There's someone talking behind her, but she can't hear, noise muffled and slow in her ears. Draco moves to pull away and she tries to lift her hands to stop him, but her arms are trapped between their bodies. She pulls her fingers in instead, bending them hard to make room in the empty space, and they drag into his skin and clench his shirt. He pulls her back, tighter.
"Potter, are there any..." Draco's voice, right next to her ear, but still muffled. She can't hear Harry at all, and she wonders if she's dreaming again.
Something is very wrong and she can't help but be scared. She feels like she is convulsing, but she had nightmares before, and none of them had ever done that to her. Then she remembers the Cruciatus Curse, three times that night. She had never had this sort of reaction before, but she knew it could happen. Something with the nerves, muscle memory, and the brain. Certain things could set it off, and sometimes nothing at all. Episodes could last anywhere from one second to hours, and if it was bad, the person was usually fed a sleeping potion, a calming draught, or were bound so they couldn't hurt themselves.
"Hey. Hey, calm down. Breathe, Granger. You need to relax. Deep, even breath."
It's not until he says this, his voice mimicking the calm he wants from her, that she finds out the burn in her throat is not just from crying but also from hyperventilating. She tries to concentrate, closing her eyes. Her body is jerking between his and his arms, and by the power behind the jolts, she knows she would be thrashing violently if he weren't there. One of his palms is pushing against her head, his cheek hard on hers. One arm is squeezing across her shoulder blade and keeping her upper body pressed against him, the other around her waist. Her arms are locked between their chests, her fingers in the neck of his shirt. It takes her a couple seconds to be sure the weight she feels is him sitting on her legs, and she's still on the couch.
"Hermione, breathe," he snaps.
Between his angry tone and the black dots, she realizes she had started to hold her breath. She gasps in, on the verge of hyperventilating again, before calming herself. She focuses on the rise of his chest against her, slow and steady, and aims to match it.
Later, when the shaking has gone and she is a crumpled mess against him, she will feel the exhaustion like thick metal over her skin. Sometimes I don't want to be strong anymore, she'll whisper, and for once, Draco will be silent instead of telling her she has to be.
Day: 1504; Hour: 9
Some days, when the rain doesn't persist and the clouds are not consuming, the sun will hit her like an explosion. She'll step into a room, and it will be lit up with gold and white, and for a moment, everything is new again.
Day: 1505; Hour: 8
"Is there anything you want to talk about today?"
Hermione looks away from the pleasant smile in front of her and toward Harry. He had sat down so close to her that she feels trapped between his side and the arm of the couch. She doesn't know why she has to actively calm herself down at the feeling of suffocation, but she does. Harry doesn't notice, blowing strands of hair out of his face, and looking distinctly nervous himself.
"Will anyone else be joining us?" The woman in front of them is watching Hermione rub her arm, where it is still tingling from the oath of silence they had cast on one another when she entered the room. Hermione drops her hand, blanking her expression.
"He decided against it," Harry mutters.
"Ah. Does that anger you?"
"It's just frustrating."
"Because he has the option to attend, and you do not?"
Hermione blinks slowly at the woman and then her head jerks toward Harry, as if to make up for taking too long. What did she mean, you do not? Harry is staring at the floor, but he glances at her from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenching once.
"I just thought it might be helpful. He's been through a lot-"
"Harry," Hermione whispers, like it couldn't be heard by the woman through the silence in the room.
"What?"
He knows what. "Can I speak to you outside for a moment?"
"I assure you, anything you say will remain private in this room. The spel-"
"It's not exactly private when you're listening in, is it?" Hermione cuts her off.
She watches the woman track her expression, from the knitted eyebrows to the pursed lips, and Hermione is even angrier. She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to sit in a room with some stranger telling her a bunch of crap and listening to her issues. She doesn't want some random person analyzing everything she does, says, and in what way. Hermione can read and research, and give the a woman a ten foot essay on her own psychological examination, and it would be right. She doesn't need or want this.
She had come to this stupid meeting for Harry, because she thought he might need for her to. Because he had such faith in how well it worked, and now she finds that he's being forced to attend. What was this? Did he want her there because she was some emotional wound, like how everyone seemed to walk out of a psychiatrist's office blaming their mother? If Harry-
"Tell me what you're thinking, Hermione?"
Hermione breathes out loudly, ignoring the woman, and turns back to Harry. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"Don't play stupid, Harry Potter. You didn't tell me you were ordered to see this...this transitionist."
"I didn't tell you it was my choice, either."
"Why is this important to you, Hermione? That he-"
"This isn't about me," Hermione snaps. "It's about why he pretended that this was his choice. Harry, you talked it up to me like you had- You most definitely implied that this was your choice! We said we weren't going to lie or hold anything back any-"
"Hold anything back? So when you don't want to talk to anyone about anything that's happened, or the nightmares I hear you screaming from, or our friends, or what you've done in the battles, or-"
"Harry, that-"
"-still angry with me about things, about leaving you. How you're angry with Ron too, or even what's happened to Ron, or-"
Hermione jumps up, stepping away from his hard side and the dig of the couch, and he stands as well. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm dealing-"
"-went on the next day like you hadn't been convulsing and crying on Malfoy for-"
"-is the only way that I can handle all of this. I'm trying. I've been trying since this war first-"
"-want to talk about it. Hardly ever! And maybe I don't always know what to say, or would know-"
"-something that I have to handle on my own. Sometimes I want to talk, and usually I don't! I need to heal, and that means I have to work through it on-"
"-yes, I didn't. But it doesn't change the fact that I want you here. She asked me to bring the people close to me, that-"
"I didn't come here for me, Harry, I came for you! Because, like you just said, you wanted me here. I saw what happened when you asked Ron-"
"So why does it matter? Yeah, I wouldn't have done this to start with if I weren't ordered to, and I-"
"Exactly! Then you became all angry with me when I didn't want to come-"
"-wouldn't, but it doesn't change the fact that it's been helpful, and that I think you need this. I want something to fix us. Me, you, Ron-"
"-ritical of you, Harry! And we can fix ourselves without some stranger trying to tell us what's wrong! We can do that ourselves, and-"
"-through so many things, and I know you did as well. You act like I don't get it sometimes when-"
"-all of this... Because you don't! Because you left me! Because you and Ron ran off somewhere without me, and I was alone." Harry's mouth is still open, but empty of words now, and she clenches the hem of her shirt in her fists. "You don't know what that was like. You were my only friends, and my family was out of reach, and it was the beginning of a war. I was so scared, Harry, because I was supposed to be with you and Ron. You were gone for years, and all these things happened, and you weren't there. So, no. You don't get it!"
Silence. Like there had been a black hole that opened in the ceiling, or like something had just exploded and left her deaf. Harry's hands drop, smacking against his legs, and it echoes out. His eyes are frozen on hers, that searching, bright green, and they shine in the soft lights of the room. She blinks, and blinks, and realizes that they're shining too brightly – that he might be crying soon. The hiss of air through the cracks in her clenched teeth prove her guilt.
Harry didn't need any more guilt. He absolutely does not need it. And she shouldn't be the one to add on to that. She is supposed to be his friend. She is supposed to be his best friend, and best friends should understand and forgive without needing the explanation or apology.
"Maybe not," he whispers, vowels cracked, and the ball in his throat bobs as he swallows hard. "I want to try, though. Yeah, they're making me do this. But I think it helps a little, really. I talked about you and Ron so much, she asked me to bring you. I said no, but after everything... I thought it might help us all. I was honest."
"Okay." Because she's on the edge of a cliff, and if she breathes too hard... If she breathes too hard.
"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I told them Ron, instead of you. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder to get you. But they weren't having it, and when they didn't say yes or no to the Graveyard, I... I needed to know you were safe. I went in thinking, Hermione and Ginny are safe. It hurt you, but I still wouldn't change that. I needed you safe. Ron already knew everything...I couldn't stop him."
"It shouldn't have been your choice, Ha-"
"But it was. You've fought so much, and then all of Hogwarts you... I had a choice to make sure, without a doubt, that you were safe that night. I took it, and I don't regret it a second. You've fought in so many missions, Hermione, I've seen your bloody folder. You've seen a dozen battles that were the same as that, only I was to kill Voldemort that night. It wasn't-"
"It was, Harry. This war... I'm fighting in it for a lot of different reasons. I got used to you being gone. I figured it out, no matter if it hurt or not. But that battle, that one...it was supposed to be the three of us. It was always supposed to be us. Before the world even knew, it had been the three of us. You took that from me. Standing at your side, and watching him die. Standing at your side, and fighting the whole wa-"
"I didn't need you at my side." Her breath shutters, and he looks desperate. "Hermione, I needed you safe. That was the greatest thing you could do for me. As far as leaving you...I'm sorry. And I'm sorry that I don't know what else to say, or how to make that better."
"It's fine-"
"It's not fine. Stop saying it's fine!" His anger flashes again, but at least the shine in his eyes is gone. "There's so much...I... With me, you, and Ron, it's... I want to fix this. I need to fix this, Hermione. I don't know how, but please let me try." Always trying to be the hero, Harry. Always trying to save everything.
"Time," she says only, because she can't seem to force more out. Because she doesn't trust the waver in her tone, or the burning clog in her throat.
"Let's just try this," he says, waving a hand toward the woman, no doubt sitting in rapt attention, that Hermione is doing her best to ignore. "If it doesn't work, then I've got time. Loads of it. I've got a lifetime of time."
She would like to tell him that the war isn't over yet, but it feels too harsh in her throat and chest. The possibility of him being wrong is too heavy for her to even consider. So she nods, slowly, and his smile is faltering.