Scars
Harry glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye as he heard her groan. The Golden Trio were sat in Shell Cottage, a dull silence muffling the air between them. They had experienced things that no seventeen year old should ever have to experience. They all had scars, even if they weren't visi-
"Hermione?" Harry said quietly. She jumped and flinched as if she expected a blow.
"Hermione?" he repeated, more urgently this time. Harry leant over, praying to Merlin that he was wrong, that he hadn't just seen- "blood? Hermione, why is there blood on your clothes?"
She tried to cover it with a shaking hand, shield it from his view, but Harry easily knocked them away and pulled up her red-stained sleeve. Ron gasped, Hermione winced, but Harry just stared into her chocolate eyes, his face draining of colour.
"Bloody hell, Hermione. Did Bellatrix do that to you? It looks bloody awful- Harry mate, are you alright?"
"Ronald," Hermione spoke firmly, her teeth gritted against the pain. "I think Harry and I would very much appreciate it if you left us alone for a bit."
"Oh, right," Ron said awkwardly, his face turning green as the blood dripped on the floor. "Got it. I'll just go, shall I? Just-"
"Goodbye." Hermione reminded him, and he escaped through the door.
"Why?" Harry looked broken.
"This is precisely why, Harry. You've got so much on your mind and I just know you're going to blame yourself when there was nothing you could have done-"
"But it was my fault-"
"No it wasn't. It was her fault, for being such a psychopath in the first place."
Harry traced the jagged words with his eyes. "Don't hide things like this from me. Please."
Hermione wore a pitying smile as she reached down with blood-covered fingers to stroke his cheek. "But Harry, sometimes I have to."