Hermione was just upset that she hadn't had an opportunity to talk to Harry yet. Tomorrow, she swore to herself.
Hermione opened her eyes, to the sunlight, thankful she had woken up normally today. She had no idea what she would have done if his screams had woken her again. She was fairly certain that the cause would not survive, though.
Figuring that Harry was still asleep, and wanting to surprise him, she walked quietly up the stairs, and opened the door.
She never would have imagined what she saw! "Harry James Potter," she said, doing her best to keep from crying, "why were you holding that piece of bloody glass?"
Harry looked exactly like a little kid with their hand in the cookie jar. And just like a little kid with their hand in their cookie jar, he wanted to deny everything. But this was Hermione. He had to tell her the truth. With a sigh, he rolled up his sleeves.
Hermione gasped. Each arm had at least a dozen new cuts. She took a step inside, and closed the door. It was time to talk.
"Okay, Harry," Hermione said as she joined him sitting on the bed, "start at the beginning."
So he did. He told her about the broom cupboard. He told her about learning to cook and clean at the age of four. He told her that, when he cut or burnt himself, he was locked in his cupboard without that meal or any other. It was the same if the food didn't taste good enough, or the rooms weren't clean enough. At the age of six, they started to make him weed the garden, shovel the driveway, or rake the lawn depending on the season. Just before they entered school, Dudley realized that if he did something mean to Harry, he was rewarded. And if he complained about Harry for something like looking at him funny, Harry was locked in the cupboard for the day or immediately after school, while Dudley was 'compensated' for 'putting up with the little freak'. It wasn't long before Dudley came up with Harry Hunting. It wasn't difficult to learn; all you had to do was catch Harry and beat the shit out of him. If his grades were better than Dudley's, he was paddled and locked in the cupboard. Christmas Day, he cooked breakfast, was given a pair of socks, shoved in his cupboard, and told, 'Happy Christmas, Freak'.
Then there was the accidental magic. Aunt Petunia would cut his hair short, except for the bangs, to hide 'that hideous scar'. He was paddled, sent to school without any lunch, and locked in his cupboard when he got home. When Aunt Petunia tried to get Harry into some really hideous clothing that once belonged to Dudley, it shrank until it wouldn't fit him anymore. Again, there was the paddle, no food, and the cupboard. One time, when he was running from Dudley's gang, he went to jump behind some trash barrels, and ended up on the roof. He was older now, so his uncle introduced him to the belt. Then the incident at the petting zoo with the boa constrictor. The look on Dudley's fat face was worth the hiding he took from his uncle's belt. Not even the fact that he wasn't allowed to eat for week had dimmed his joy of that incident.
"After that," Harry said, "were all of my summer vacations. You already know about those."
Long before midway, Hermione had crawled onto Harry's lap so she could hug him while he told his story. Not because he needed the comfort, but because she did. Several times, he asked if she wanted him to stop, because she was crying so badly. But she insisted he go on.
She thought that she might finally understand him. The Dursleys had spent every second they could drilling into Harry that he was nothing, a nobody. Every time something had gone wrong, he had taken the blame. He was raised being told that he was just a burden, the cause of all of their misfortunes.
And he had believed them.
For the first time in her life, Hermione found herself trying to resist using the Unforgivables. Never had it been this hard. Right now, she hated the Dursleys more than Voldemort. In fact, she would have trouble refusing an invitation to be a Death Eater if they offered that she could torture the Dursleys. It was a dark side to herself she wasn't ready to face. So she turned back to Harry's problem.
"Harry," she said, "I want you to listen to me closely. And I want you to believe what I have to say. Okay? I want you to see how much I mean what I'm saying. It would help if you would look me in the eye." She waited until he looked her in the eye. "Harry, not everything is your fault. We followed you to the Ministry. You did not force us to come. You did not force Sirius to come. You did not force Dolohov to cast that spell at me." His eyes were watering at this time, and he tried to look away. Hermione forced his eyes back to hers. She willed him to believe what she was saying.
And suddenly she wasn't in her own head anymore. She was in Harry's. Harry? She thought. She felt surprise. Then, Hermione? That was definitely Harry's voice. Interesting. She was in Harry's mind, but nothing she had read about legillimency seemed like this. Do you trust me, Harry? She asked with her mind. She got the reply, Absolutely, without any sign of hesitation or reservation. Would you mind if I went through your memories? She asked. She immediately felt him tense up, and the thought of Snape entered her mind. Finally, she heard the reply she had hoped for; No, I wouldn't mind.
She concentrated on bringing up the first memory he had, and then just lived them from there. She knew she could have ended it whenever she wanted, but she wanted to see their time together through his eyes. And the part she feared the most; the night at the Ministry.
She lived everything up to and including his discussion about his past. Although he seemed like a rock on the outside during the story, that was nowhere near the case on the inside. She felt bad, now, for commenting that boys have the emotional range of a teaspoon. Harry clearly didn't. Even knowing what he felt now, she couldn't believe it. How could one person feel pain, trust, love, regret, guilt, jealousy, healing, and-most commonly-insignificance at once?
Well, you can't know everything, Harry thought, teasing her.
Hermione knew he wasn't really feeling playful, he just had to try and lighten the mood. How much did you shield me from, Harry?
Unfortunately, nothing, he thought to her dejectedly, I wanted to, but I knew you would have been unhappy with me. And she could feel exactly how he would have taken that. The pain of just the thought of it was enough to take her breath away.
She was suddenly back in her own body, looking up into Harry's anxious eyes. "Are you alright, love?" He asked concernedly.
After being in his mind, Hermione knew exactly how much he meant that last word. She smiled up at him, content that he had shared everything with her. "I'm great," she said. She was relieved to see his face lose just a little bit of tension.
"Now how do we get it to switch?" She asked. Harry just laughed, and hugged her.