A/N: While I have mostly left canon unchanged for this one, it doesn't stay that way throughout. And while I have named no names, you should be able to pick out most of the particulars here. Apologies if some of the allusions are a bit unclear, but I felt it necessary for the flow of the action. As always, even when borrowing straight from the books, I don't own the Potterverse.
shinobi naku - (v.) to shed silent tears so no one will know you are crying; lit. "ninja/stealth cry" [japanese]
She had learned much at Hogwarts. One thing that hadn't been part of the curriculum that she had learned anyway was how to stay perfectly silent with tears streaming down her face. Anyone could Silencio themselves in a pinch, but she had gone far beyond the limitations of that spell. It was very difficult to cast when one's eyes blurred behind tears, after all.
She hadn't always been able to stay this silent, of course. But one when almost gets killed because one cries too loudly and draws a troll to herself, one makes silence a priority. When one has a walking heartache for a best friend, one has plenty of chances to practice her crying technique. When said heartache's other best friend has a nasty penchant for saying the wrong thing at the right time, the chances increase exponentially.
She keeps her hair long, not because she prefers the style, but because it provides a convenient shield to hide behind when a fresh rain of tears springs forth. The one thing her hair shield doesn't block, unfortunately, is the taunts. She hears them, of course, and they always seem to hit when she's at her most vulnerable, separated from her friends. More practice.
As third year draws to a close, she gets less practice. Things seem to be turning ever so slightly favorable. She barely even sniffles when her best friend sees his chance at a loving family snuffed out by a coward racing to some twisted kind of freedom. Soon, she thinks, all this practice will be for naught. How wrong she was.
Mere months after thinking she wouldn't need to refine her technique, her sessions go into overdrive. Some of it, she reasons, is just the rush of exposure to the rest of the magical world. Some comes from the murderous glares shot her way by a few ill-mannered visitors who don't believe she should be defiling these hallowed halls. But most, as per usual, comes from general unfairness at her best friend's newest plight, and is intensified when it becomes a twofold plight. The tournament on its own was bad enough; no amount of "safety measures" can prepare a young boy for trials that once proved lethal to older and wiser men and women. But then jealousy reared its ugly head, and she was caught between her boys with no easy answer to be found. She chose him, heartache and all, because he needed her more. Eventual reconciliation, but his forgiveness did not begat her forgetfulness. Another wave for his earnest, hopeful look, happy to be as close to whole as he had ever been again.
Dragons. Merpeople. Charms, beasts, riddles, the Dark Lord reborn, his follower unmasked only after nearly finishing what his Master could not. Rather than run dry of tears, as she had expected, she instead found what had been holding her back before. Perfect, painful silence.
She spent her first full day home from the castle putting her newfound talent to work. She feigned exhaustion and was believed. Her forced quiet burned deep, brought many crying fits that threatened to overwhelm her throughly practiced technique, but all were squelched in time, so as not to arouse suspicion. One happy cry when the badge arrived. A much longer, much sadder one when she found who had the other. That one. Again. Always him. Always favored, even though he never saw it.
A much rougher year followed. How could it not? That horrid toad woman, her useless book and policies, designed entirely to keep him down. In mid-cry, a plan formed in her mind. They fought back. She saw the light burning in his eyes, and was overcome by awe. She dared hope. And then that sneak ruined it all. He chained away the light, protecting himself in the face of the utter unfairness that was the Ministry battle. She grieved for what he had lost, as she was sure he had never been able to do for himself. She grieved for that as well.
That damned book! The one time he took his studies seriously, he turned away from her to do it! She raged, she fumed, and only when she was finally vindicated did she realize that she had been wrong about him even as she had been right about the book. And now, he had been entranced by her. She couldn't imagine what the two of them talked about; they didn't have nearly as much in common as she and he. Finally getting her own bitter taste of the unfairness surrounding his life pushed her harder, through many a jag, some rougher than others.
The mission. The greatest wizard of the modern era had given him a mission, and almost none of the pieces necessary to complete it. Through his luck and her brains, they made some headway, moreso when their third finally had enough and went home. She cried in relief that night, but had forgotten what had become almost second nature to her, and he heard. He saw. And he asked how long she had been holding back. He listened. And bit by bit, he dragged all of it out of her. She cried again as he held her, not giving any thought to staying quiet.
That moment of catharsis was enough for the both of them. Something inside them both had snapped, and would not be fixed. When he completed the job that all of England had been counting on him for, he took her hand, and left them all behind. Those who wanted to come find them, not for the selfish desires of their slowly rebuilding government, but for their own reasons, found them happier, and very unwilling to return. There would be no more crying, quiet or otherwise.