By the time Hermione made it down to the dining room, Harry and Ron were already sitting at the table sipping pumpkin juice. Harry was reading the Daily Prophet while Ron looked like he wished he were still in bed. She walked into the room, poured herself a glass of juice, and took the seat next to Harry. Taking a sip from her glass, she leaned over Harry's shoulder to read the headlines.
"Nothing good," he said, tilting the paper her way so she could see it better. After glancing for any useful information but finding none, she shook her head and looked across the table at Ron. Harry folded the paper and set it on the table.
"Thank the gods you're here; I'm starving. Can we have breakfast now?" Ron asked, his question directed at Harry.
"Yes," he replied, suppressing a chuckle and shaking his head slightly.
"He was making us wait for you! I told him you wouldn't care, but he wasn't having it," Ron told Hermione at her questioning glare. "Took you long enough, too," he added, clearly grumpy from not having eaten yet.
"Well, it's lovely to see you, too, Ronald." She rolled her eyes at him.
"What will everyone be having?" Hermione jumped at Kreacher's voice, when had he entered the room?
"Some eggs and toast and bacon and sausage and pancakes and—"
"Ronald! Don't be ridiculous. We'll limit that list to eggs, toast, and bacon, please, Kreacher," Hermione said, promptly cutting off Ron's never ending list. He glared darkly at her and sank lower into his chair, clearly pouting.
"Bloody elf… likes doing it… hungry…" she heard him muttering but ignored as she turned to speak with Harry.
"I finished off my potions this morning," she said, sounding both relieved and saddened by the fact.
"That's great," he said with fake joviality and a smile that was more like a grimace on his face. She nodded, knowing that they both knew what her having finished the potions meant. "How are you feeling?" he leaned in close to ask so Ron, who was still mumbling darkly about his non-fulfilled breakfast list, wouldn't hear. He said this with complete sincerity and worry.
"I feel great, just like new." What she didn't tell him was that she now had a scar that ran a good three or four inches down her right side; she still hadn't told either one of them about the scar on her forearm. Though wounds inflicted without the use of magic can be healed without scarring, Bellatrix had laced her dagger with a magical poison that ensured the scar would forever be visible, would forever mark Hermione as some kind of other. She wasn't embarrassed about it, really. She just didn't want to see the looks of outrage and disgust on their faces when she showed them. She didn't want either one of them risking their lives for vengeance; it was done, and she was at peace with it.
They didn't talk too much for the remainder of breakfast. Ron caught them up on what had been happening at the Burrow and complained about having to return so quickly. They returned his sentiments and meant it, for the most part. They didn't not want to see Ron, necessarily. But the wound created by his leaving was still a little raw, and Harry and Hermione had learned to deal with things on their own, had learned to rely on one another. The dynamics of the Golden Trio had changed the instant Ron had left, and it was impossible for it to be the way it once way. They all knew this, but it was still a hard pill to swallow. So, they sat at breakfast talking like old times and pretending things were like they'd always been because they weren't quite ready to face the challenges this new dynamic presented. Not when there were still more important things to consider.
Ron and Harry played a game of wizard's chess in the library while Hermione made herself comfortable in the armchair with the book she'd been reading the day before. Ron whopped with joy when his bishop took out Harry's king. Harry just smiled sadly; he was used to losing this game to Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and smiled gently at Harry. He always did lose to Ron with grace; Hermione wondered if it had something to do with Ron's feelings of inadequacy compared to Harry. Probably, she decided. Regardless, she was just happy to see her boys happy again.
Ron left after forcing Harry to lose one more match of chess, his face a little downtrodden as he disapparated. Harry and Hermione turned to one another once he'd left, both knowing what would come next and dreading it. They sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in the library. They just sat and looked at one another for what seemed like an eternity before Hermione quietly broke the silence.
"I have to go find them."
"I know," he replied, just as quietly. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
Hermione smiled sadly at him; he was always there for her. "Harry, of course I want you to come with me. But I know this is something I'm going to have to do on my own. I'm going to have to deal with them once I find them, explain what happened and why I did what I did. I don't know what they're going to do, but I know it's going to be a long process," she sighed. Harry just nodded; he'd known what her answer was going to be when he asked. He just didn't like the thought of Hermione being out there by herself, having to deal with finding and restoring her parents memories alone.
"I'm, uh, I'm going to leave on Sunday," she said, sounding like she wished what she was saying wasn't true.
"That's the day after tomorrow." Two days, was that really all he was going to get with her before she left for who knows how long?
"I know. I just… I need to set things right, and I need to do it before I lose my nerve and make you come with me," she said sheepishly, smiling sadly at him.
"Well, we should make sure you've got everything you need before you leave."
"Oh, don't worry, I've got a list," she replied, smiling broadly. He rolled his eyes at her; of course she had a list already. She darted up to her room to retrieve the list and brought for them to inspect. Harry saw that she was planning on taking the tent they'd used all those months they were looking for horcruxes.
"No," he said, pointing to the neatly written tent on the paper.
"What do you mean 'no'?"
"I'll be damned if I let you stay in that little tent again, hiding out on the edges of villages all by yourself. No," he repeated, his voice steely and his gaze harsh.
"What do you expect me to do, Harry, stay in five-star hotels every night?" She was incredulous; was he really speaking to her that way? Did he really think he could tell her what to do? Sure, the tent wasn't the best thing in the world, but it would get her through. It was a place to sleep and shelter and she could cook in it, too. What else did she really need?
"Yes, that's exactly what I expect. Well, maybe not five-star hotels, but you'll be taking some of my money and a large supply of polyjuice. That way you can stay in disguise in the city. I don't want you hiding out like some criminal; we aren't criminals anymore. We never should have been in the first place," he said with fervor.
"Harry, I… I can't take your money. You've done so much for me already; it wouldn't be right."
"No, what wouldn't be right is me letting you hide out in that god awful tent for who knows how long when I've more than enough money to share without even noticing. Hermione, you know I've got more money than I even want. You're my– best friend. Let me share it with you," he pleaded.
She was torn. It wasn't right for her to take his money, but how could she say no when he was looking at her like he was?
"Fine, but no more than is necessary for the cheapest hotel I can find," she conceded. It was at that moment that she realized she'd never be able to deny him anything and she doubted she ever had. He smiled his true smile at her, the one she had so desperately missed, and nodded happily. "Do you think we could go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick some of this stuff up? Oh, or is it not back yet?" she asked, realizing that only a week ago the war had nearly torn wizarding Britain apart. It seemed impossible that everything had finally ended only a week ago; it felt like a lifetime and wondered if it felt shorter for Harry, who hadn't been in a coma for the entire week, or just as long.
"Um, I know some of the stores reopened, but I think it would be best if we went somewhere else. Mrs. Weasley told me about a place in the north that we could go to. It's called Stunderton, I think. We could floo there.
They returned home that night with their arms full of things for Hermione's trip: another bag like she'd used while they were hunting horcruxes, a quill, parchment, and ink for her to write, an owl with which to send letters, a leather arm holster for her wand, and various other items. By 10:30 that night she was all packed and ready to go, even though she wasn't leaving for another day still.
She came down to her packing to find Harry dozing on a couch in the library, his glasses askew. A book lay open across his chest, she noticed curiously. She crept closer to him, trying not to make a sound. Harry had never been a hard sleeper; the slightest noises aroused him, and he always awoke in a state of readiness. So, as quietly and gently as she could, she lifted the book from his chest. His fingers twitched when he was relieved of the book's weight, but he did not stir. Hermione sighed with relief and sat down on the chair at his feet with the tome. It was probably the largest book she'd ever seen Harry with. Witches, Wizards, and the Effects of Magic on the Memory, the book was titled. Hermione smiled lovingly at her best friend, still peacefully asleep on the couch. He'd been researching about restoring memories, to help her with her parents.
A sniffle sounded in the room, and Harry began to stir, blinking into consciousness. Damn, when had she started crying? And of all the things to wake him, her sniffle? He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. His attention shot to her when she couldn't stop another sniffle. How she cursed her bloody nose for betraying her.
"Hermione? What's wrong?" He was instantly alert, kneeling in front of her. He rested his hands on her knees and looked at her so intently, worry written all over his already worry-lined face. At this, Hermione began to cry in earnest, tears slipping down her face at a constant rate and falling onto his hands.
"Oh, Hermione, don't cry," he said, leading her to the couch. They sat, his arms wrapped around her as she cried into his chest, for a minute before she spoke.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm being terribly sentimental. It's just… you're the best friend I've ever had and up until this point, we've done everything together. And now I've to go off on my own, and I'm terrified. And then you're down here falling asleep trying find anything that will help me, just like you've always done. You're just so sweet and caring, I don't know what I'll do without you." She'd said it all so fast and through her crying that Harry wasn't sure he caught every word, but he got the gist of it. His lips curved up into a smile over her shoulder. Seeing her like this, seeing the always-composed-and-in-charge-of-the-situation Hermione confused and vulnerable, was one of the most pitiful and endearingly sweet things he'd ever witnessed because he hated seeing her so upset, knowing that she was unhappy; but he also knew that she didn't open up like this for anyone else, and his chest swelled with pride and warmth at that knowledge.
He squeezed her tighter to himself before placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. He took in her splotchy face, her swollen eyes, her trembling lower lip and his heart broke; but she was still beautiful to him. Mustering up his largest smile, he said, "Hermione, you are the best friend I've ever had, and I will always do anything and everything in my power to make sure you are prepared and safe. For all of the times you've put up with me helped me even when I didn't deserve it, it's the very least I can do for you. You will do brilliant without me, I promise you. This house will be empty and lonely without you, but I know this is something you have to do. So I'll wait here, somewhat patiently, until you return and be very glad when that day comes. Because, if your parents choose to stay in Australia or you find that you'd like some space of your own, you always have a room here," he concluded, attempting to not les his nervousness show.
It wasn't like he was asking her to move in with him, but it was very close. And after what happened during the final battle, he realized that he needed her close to him. How would he know if she was safe, happy otherwise? No. It would never do. She'd need to be somewhere near or he's go spare with worry. Before he had long to think about the implications of this thought, Hermione had kissed him on the cheek, pulled him into one of her bone-crushing hugs, and whispered "thank you" in his ear. He shivered at the feel of her warm breath on the side of his face and neck and hugged her back.
Hermione finally disengaged herself from Harry's embrace and stood. "We should really get to bed," she said, punctuating her sentence with a yawn. Harry nodded and mutely followed her up the stairs to the third floor landing. Hermione kissed his cheek again, both her lips and his cheek tingling from the contact, before they entered their respective rooms.
Harry fell asleep quickly, tossing about throughout the night with confused dreams. But they weren't nightmares or even bad dreams… just jumbled messes of images and words that barely made any since to him, so he wasn't woken completely.
Hermione cried herself to sleep that night, thinking that she'd never cried so much before in her life (with the exceptions, perhaps, of her first few weeks at Hogwarts). She vowed that this would be the end of her crying, though. After tonight, she would be the strong witch everyone knew her to be for herself and for her parents and for Harry. This was the end of showing weakness and being a blubbering girl who couldn't keep her emotions in check.