"I'm not talking about it," Harry growled out through his teeth. Hermione huffed as he turned on his heel and marched off down the corridor. "Not to you!" He threw over his shoulder when she followed him. Her footsteps stopped and for a moment he felt triumphant, but then all he felt was guilt. Harry turned to watch her, finding her hazel eyes, filled with hurt and disbelief, met his eyes and all he wanted to do was apologise. But he continued striding down the corridor, through the Fat Lady's portrait - she was quite miffed at him for spitting in her face - and up to his dorm.
Hermione's hurt brown eyes filled his vision as he collapsed, face down, on his bed. He blinked back tears, holding sobs down. Her question had been harmless, begging him to talk about his childhood - and he had snapped and insulted her to her face, leaving her stranded in the sea of buzzing students as he stormed away. It wasn't her fault he had barely spoken about what had gone on; no, he had only spat that he'd have had a happier childhood with his parents rather than with them.
He recalled the time he had climbed onto the Hogwarts Express, feeling so elated because he finally got away from what had ruined his younger years. Harry would have a fresh start with people just like him, knowing he would not be bullied or pushed around until the next summer. And when Hermione had smiled at him as she sat across from him, so warm and true, Harry had known she would be a loyal, kind girl to have around. But Ron's comments had filled his brain after he had left, and Harry, so easily trusting in his first friend, had believed him.
Guilt was all he knew then. Harry blinked back the tears threatening to overwhelm him, ready to close his eyes and surrender to fitful sleep...
"Harry?" called Hermione's worried voice from outside the door, sounding just as guilty as he felt. His eyes snapped open and he sat up. "Are you alright? Can I come in?"
The Boy-Who-Lived turned and slumped back on his bed, running his hands over his face. Harry's voice came out hesitant, nervous. "Yeah," he replied, sounding fed-up, exhausted, reluctant, even to his own ears. He cleared his throat as the door opened, Hermione's worried face poking around the door. Harry gave her a weary smile. "Come on in, 'Mione."
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at hearing her familiar nickname. After their encounter with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, the pair had grown closer as he sat at her bedside. She had hesitantly asked how he had felt after Sirius' death, and he had replied truthfully. "I've been better, 'Mione," he had said, and she had shot him a sympathetic smile and grabbed his hand. The gesture had felt sincere, loving, warm... something he had needed right after their traumatic experience.
"I'm sorry," they spoke in unison as she perched herself hesitantly on his bed. They laughed it off, feeling more comfortable with each other. "I shouldn't have brought it up," said Hermione quietly, sniffling slightly, "I knew it was a sensitive subject for you and I know it wasn't the happiest childhood you had and... well, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked asked you about it if you weren't ready. Especially after Dumbledore..." Hermione winced, looking down at her feet.
Harry shook his head in disbelief, raising his hand to her chin and raising her head, locking her cinnamon eyes with his emerald ones. "I'm the only one who should be sorry, 'Mione. I snapped at you because you asked one innocent little question," he spotted her mouth opening in protest and waved his hands, placing a finger over her lips, "and all I ask is that you'll forgive me. I'm sixteen - almost of age, Hermione! - I should be able to talk about it now. I'm not going back there, much... the Dursley's leave me alone because I haven't told them Sirius is dead yet."
The bushy-haired girl sighed and lay down beside him, slumping in his arms. "You know I love you, right?" she placed a kiss on his forehead, grinning up at him. He grinned down at her in return, ruffling her untameable curls.
"You're my angel, 'Mione," he whispered to his best friend, letting her curl in his arms. Harry remembered the days she had been by his side - those days when she fought by him and the times when she made him feel better than anybody else could. The truth was, the Boy-Who-Lived had been harbouring his own feelings for Hermione. "An-gel," he stressed when she raised her eyebrows, making her giggle.
Hermione lay her head on his chest, listening to him breathe. "Love you too," he sighed, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck.
"Harry," said Hermione slowly, not able to hide the curiosity in her tone, "you never did answer my question."
She felt him sigh and slump in defeat. Looking up, Hermione took in the exhausted, pained look in his emerald eyes and the way his messy hair looked more untidy than usual. "My bedroom, for eleven years, was the cupboard under the stairs. My cousin, Dudley, used me as his punching bag. Chasing me and bullying me around the house and in school was his favourite sport. My Uncle Vernon hated me and bought Dudley everything and me nothing. They hated magic, and my Aunt Petunia was the worst. She expected me to do the cooking, the dishes, the cleaning, the lawn-mowing, the polishing... the house was only tidy because I cleaned it. Occasionally Uncle Vernon would beat me or Aunt Petunia would whack me 'round the head with a frying pan. But that was the worst it got."
Hermione's eyes were wide, angry, and confused. "You didn't tell anyone?"
"There was a very nice teacher I had in primary school," he shrugged, "and she spotted the bruises. She meant to do something, but because I was a wizard and healed much faster, by the time we had a chance to do something about it the bruises had faded and I was just a skinny, scared kid with a weird scar on his forehead. They had no way to prove I was being mistreated and the Dursley's complained about her to the school and she was transferred. I wanted to transfer, too, because I had no friends and she was the closest thing I ever got to a mother. But I was stuck with them."
The bookworm stood up, drawing her wand and stormed out of the door. "Hermione!" he shouted after her as she stomped down the stairs. "Hermione! Where are you going? Hermione!" By the time he was in the common room she was already by the Weasley twins, who had stopped her. She growled out a snapped response to their question and whirled around to face Harry, who reached down and pulled her into a hug. "Hermione, what's wrong?"
"I can't bloody believe it!" she shouted, taking a step back and eyeing him up and down. "When you got on the Hogwarts Express you looked like you hadn't had a good meal in weeks and I didn't do anything! I put it all down as a coincidence because you were small! I could have lifted you off your feet when you were eleven, Harry James Potter! You never felt it a good time to bring up that you were bloody abused for the past fifteen years? No! You kept it to yourself, where no one could help you or sort things out! Do you know how much that shows, Harry? Do you not trust me? When Ron told me about the bars on your windows and the locks on your door I didn't believe him!" She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. The common room was silent, every eye fixed on the pair. The air around Hermione crackled with angered energy. "I should have done something, Harry! You don't deserve to be pushed around like that!
"Those foul people!" she shrieked, turning around towards the portrait hole and glaring at it. "If they ever stopped to think that you were human, too...! And Harry Potter, if you bring up that we're not entirely human I will personally silence you because you need some sense knocked into you if you let things like that happen! Your bedroom for eleven years of your bloody life was a freaking cupboard! Your Aunt Petunia whacked you around the head with a frying pan! You were their personal slave and they made you clean, they made you cook, they made you tidy up after them because you were magical and your parents were, too! They're afraid of you, Harry, so they pushed you around! Dudley got all those expensive gifts and presents and what did you get for being a far better person? You got freaking abuse!" He winced when every head turned to him, disbelief written in your eyes. "If you say 'calm down' ever again to me, Harry James Potter, I will kill them myself!"
Harry moved forward, taking the shaking, sobbing witch in his arms and cradling her tightly. Fred and George stood up and moved forward, the only ones in the common room that moved. "Is it true Harry?" The Boy-Who-Lived, knowing that Hermione would kill him if he spoke, nodded and pulled Hermione closer. George noted the slight warning in his eyes and nodded, pulling Fred back to his seat.
"What?!" snapped Ron from his seat not far away, making every head in the common room snap down and constant whispering start.
"I'm sorry, Harry," sobbed Hermione, looking up at him with beautiful, red-rimmed brown eyes. Harry's head bent down and his lips met hers, moving in perfect sync. She responded almost immediately, kissing him back and forcing a chuckle from his lips that sent vibrations down her throat. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to reach him better as her hands wound through his hair, mussing it up. Harry's arms found themselves bracing her hips, pressing her to his chest and he found himself stopping him from lifting her into his arms, his hands rubbing circles in her back. Her lips tasted of salty tears but he didn't care, instead choosing to kiss her more firmly, his lips drowning the tears in themselves.
"No problem," he breathed, setting her back on her feet and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. She beamed up at him and he knew he had made the right choice.