And now the rest of Chapter 5
Harry wasn’t in his room. Nor was he in the front room.
She hesitated and then tried the front door-unlocked-and stepped outside, her heart clenching a little at this evidence of how badly Harry had reacted to Ron’s thoughtless words. Harry didn’t like being outside at night so for him to have fled the cottage had a significance she hated to think of.
He was outside.
He had transfigured something into a bench-which, she noted, he had placed just inside the wards they had put up-and he still had his wand in his hand, looking rather as if he were guarding the cottage.
He also looked as starkly, forbiddingly alone as she could ever remember seeing. So alone that she hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was one of those times when Harry needed to be left alone, before she figuratively stiffened her spine and went to join him.
“Nice job at transfiguration,” she commented with studied casualness as she sat down on the bench.
He didn’t respond, his silence for once as unwelcoming as a physical blow could have been.
She sternly suppressed the flicker of hurt she felt. It wasn’t about her. Harry wasn’t trying to hurt her.
She discarded any idea of trying to pretend either of them didn’t know what had driven him outside. “He didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” she ventured softly, carefully.
Harry still didn’t respond, was silent for another excruciatingly long minute. But then just as she began to think he wouldn’t respond, he did.
“I know,” he admitted briefly.
Her heart squeezed painfully at this proof that Harry had been able to see past his own reaction, had been able to think clearly in spite of his emotions.
“He might not have meant it but he was right.”
“No, he wasn’t. His nightmares aren’t your fault.”
“How could it not be my fault?!” he exploded, leaping to his feet in agitation. “It is my fault that you and Ron were in so much danger! It was because of me, because you were friends with me. Other people-Terry Boot, Justin, Cho, everyone else at Hogwarts-weren’t nearly as involved as you were. Even Ginny-she was safer because I pushed her away so she wasn’t a part of it all. You-you were in danger because of me so of course it’s my fault!”
“No, it’s not,” she objected, deliberately not raising her voice, trying, hoping, that her own calm would calm Harry as well.
“How can you say that! Can you honestly tell me that you would have been in just as much danger if we’d never become friends?” he demanded hotly.
She wanted to lie. But she met his eyes-she couldn’t lie to him, not about this, not about anything so important-“No, I can’t.”
“Then don’t tell me it’s not my fault!”
She stood up as well, her ability to pretend to be calm abruptly leaving her. “Stop it, Harry! Just stop it!”
He blinked, apparently surprised enough that she was yelling at him-a change to be sure since she usually went out of her way to be sympathetic, even when she disagreed with him-that he abruptly closed his mouth and just stared.
“Saying we were in more danger because we were your friends does not mean that it’s your fault we were in danger! You didn’t force us to stay with you and let me tell you something, Harry, nothing you said could have stopped us from helping you! So don’t you dare blame yourself for our being in danger! Yes, we stayed with you because we’re your friends but we chose to stay. I chose to stay with you and help you and I did it knowing that it would be dangerous but I also knew it was the right thing to do. Not everything is about you!”
“I don’t think that!” he shot back. “But being friends with me made you targets, made Voldemort want to come after you, and it haunts me!” His voice cracked slightly on the intensity of the last words. “The thought of what could have happened-what did happen to you and Ron-because of me. I can’t forget it and I can’t stop caring that it was because of me! I can’t―”
“I would have been a target anyway, even if we hadn’t been friends! I’m a Muggle-born and I was head of our class; do you really think Voldemort would have just let me alone? And it’s not like any of the Weasleys have ever exactly been on the list of Death Eaters’ favorite people. It wasn’t about you, Harry, so you shouldn’t blame yourself. We were your friends before any of this even started so what were we supposed to do? Just abandon you in the middle of a war?”
“Yes! Maybe you should have!” he flared with fleeting anger before it was replaced with weary despondence. “It would have been better-you would have been safer if you had.”
Any last traces of annoyance at Harry’s stubbornness and his persistent self-blame dissipated at the look on his face, the stark torment, on it. She closed the distance between them to grip his arms, her tone softening. “You have to believe me, Harry. Ron doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. Nothing that happened to any of us was your fault. If you could have, wouldn’t you have protected us, saved us?”
“You know I would have.”
“You see? It wasn’t your fault. You would have done anything-you would have taken any curse or hex to save us. You would have died,” she added very softly.
He stiffened and jerked a little but her hold on his arms prevented him from moving away.
“Listen to me, Harry. Nothing that happened to us was your fault, none of the danger, none of our nightmares.”
Harry let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them to meet her gaze. “That’s… easy to say but it’s harder for me to believe. I can’t-I can’t feel that it’s not my fault.”
“Then just believe me. I say it’s not your fault and you shouldn’t blame yourself. Trust me, Harry.”
“I do trust you. I’ll-I’ll try to believe it.”
“Okay.” She managed a faint smile. “Try… and when you have trouble, I’ll remind you.”
His lips twitched slightly. “That, I can believe.” He paused. “I guess we’ll have this argument again and again.” He managed a self-deprecating semblance of a smile. “I’m thick-headed, you know.”
“How about whenever I think you’re starting to blame yourself, I’ll say something to remind you not to blame yourself?”
“Like ‘don’t be a prat, Harry’?”
“That won’t work. I’m sure I’ll have other reasons to say that than just because you’re starting to blame yourself again.”
He gave a glimmer of a smile. “Okay, then what will you say?”
“How about I say, ‘remember Damon and Pythias’?” she suggested on sudden inspiration.
He frowned. “What’s Damon and Pythias?”
“Damon and Pythias are legendary best friends from a story about ancient Greece who were each willing to die to save the other’s life.” She lifted one shoulder. “It seems fitting for you.”
“I’m not that good a friend. If I were, I wouldn’t have been constantly dragging you and Ron into danger with me.”
“Harry, remember Damon and Pythias.”
He grimaced. “I know, sorry. I just…”
“You forgot,” she finished for him.
“And you reminded me, just like you said you would,” he returned.
“You know me. I’m always right so it would save time if you would just listen to what I say all the time,” she said lightly.
She was rewarded for this by a brief laugh that sounded rather as if it had been startled out of him before he sobered. After a moment, he tipped his head back, with a motion as if his neck was too tired to continue holding his head up, and sighed.
“Thank you,” he said abruptly, breaking the brief silence and meeting her eyes again.
“For what?”
“For… staying with me in spite of everything, for helping me. For telling me when you think I’m being a prat.”
She shrugged off his words, abruptly self-conscious from the sudden intensity of his gaze, in spite of the attempt at lightness in his words. “It’s what friends do.”
“No. It’s not. It’s what best friends do.” He hesitated. “You’ve-you’ve been the best friend anyone could ever have.”
Her first instinct was to make some quip, make light of it-and in all honesty, what else could she have done? Leaving Harry had never been an option.
But any sort of bantering response died in her throat at the look in his eyes. She wasn’t sure-she found it hard to think-but she didn’t think he’d ever looked at her like this before, not with this sort of focused intensity, this warmth of affection. He looked at her as if, just for this moment, she was the only other person in the world.
“You’re welcome,” she finally settled for murmuring, for lack of any better response.
He managed a slight twist of a smile. “You don’t have to look so shocked that I’m thanking you. After all you’ve done, thanking you is the least I can do.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be thanked.”
He grimaced. “I know I’ve been an ungrateful-”
“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” she interrupted him. “I meant that I didn’t help you because I wanted gratitude. It was never-you saved my life too, you know.”
“If you’re talking about the cave troll…”
“It’s not only that. What about the basilisk in Second Year or -”
“The basilisk was you saving me; if it hadn’t been for you figuring it out, I would have gone into the Chamber not knowing what I was going up against and I’d have been snake food in a minute.”
She waved off his interruption with her hand. “Anyway, whatever I might have done to help you, I had my own selfish motivations too.”
He gave her an openly skeptical look. “What possible selfish reason could you have had for risking your own life to help me?”
She glanced away, suddenly-irrationally-a little uncomfortable and unable to hold his gaze as she answered. “I’d never really had friends before you and Ron. Before Hogwarts, I was basically always alone. It’s why I got used to having books as my main company. Then I met you.” She finally looked back at Harry, managing a somewhat shaky smile. “You and Ron were the first friends I’d ever had so what was I supposed to do? Just let some barking mad Slytherin get to you, leaving me alone again?” She tried for a joking tone but was aware that she was only marginally successful.
“Hermione, I-” he closed his mouth and then opened it again, visibly rethinking whatever he’d been about to say before he finally responded, “You and Ron were my first friends too.”
She gave him a real smile which he returned. “See? So we’re even.”
“When you put it like that, yeah, I guess so.”
She linked her arm with his in a companionable gesture. “Come on, let’s go back inside. You weren’t planning on keeping watch out here all night, were you?”
He didn’t answer in words, just kept pace beside her as they returned inside and, again, settled on the couch in the front room.
A brief silence fell that he broke by asking, “Was Ron okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. As he put it, one nightmare a night is usually his limit.”
He let out a brief huff of laughter that somehow sounded only half-amused. “Lucky him.”
“Ron’s going to be okay, you know, Harry. We’re all going to be okay. The nightmares will go away and we can just get on with our lives. We’re safe now and we’ll be able to live and have fun.”
“I know.”
He sounded certain, almost amazingly certain, as if she had just informed him what year it was rather than assuring him of something she knew he worried about. She gave him a questioning look but before she could ask, he added, with a commendably straight face, “You just told me so and I know you’re always right.”
She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Good boy, you’re learning.”
His lips quirked. “I do have fleeting moments of intelligence.”
She would have grinned at him but instead found herself yawning.
“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he offered.
“Aren’t you tired too?” she asked as they walked upstairs.
He sobered, his face abruptly changing to make him look older. “Always,” he said briefly.
She mentally kicked herself for the inane question. Of course he was tired. She could see it in the shadows under his eyes and aside from all that, she of all people knew how little sleep he generally got.
“I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like not to be tired,” he admitted, his voice low, almost as if he were more speaking to himself than to her.
“Oh, Harry…” was all she could say, the two words little more than a sigh.
They had reached his door and paused as she studied him, suddenly swamped with a tidal wave of concern for him. She wished she could wave her wand and bring him peace, for a fleeting moment even thought wildly of casting a spell on him or erasing his memories or something-but no, she couldn’t do that to Harry.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep a little?”
He met her eyes and his face softened, his eyes warming. “I think so. You don’t have to worry about me so much.”
“I can’t seem to help it,” she blurted out unthinkingly, her thoughts scattering as she felt her cheeks flushing, her heart fluttering at the way he was looking at her, the affection in his gaze. In the dim hallway, she was suddenly incredibly, breathlessly conscious that it was the middle of the night, that they were alone, and standing closely enough together that it would take less than a step, a mere shifting of bodies, before they would be close enough to kiss…
He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Good night, Hermione.”
“Good night,” she managed to say automatically before she turned and walked down to her own room.
She felt abruptly let down, her spirits deflated, not so much because of what had not happened but at the possible significance of it not happening. She knew what she felt-but what about him? Oh, she knew he trusted her and cared about her but how much did that mean?
She pictured his expression again, heard the affection in his voice.
It could have been nothing more and nothing less than the fondness of a brother.
In fact-she tried to remember-hadn’t Harry’s expression looked rather like what she’d occasionally seen in Bill’s or Charlie’s face when they looked at Ginny? Even the way Ron treated Ginny, the careless ease mingled in with the affection, affection that was so engrained that it was never even thought about or questioned or put into words.
She sighed as she got into bed, telling herself it didn’t matter. She hadn’t lost anything; nothing was different between them if Harry thought of her like a sister.
Like a sister. Funny, growing up alone, Hermione had spent the better part of her life wishing for a sibling. Now, the thought that she might be like a sibling to someone only hurt.
Which was silly and irrational, she told herself briskly. She was Harry’s best friend; she was like a sister to him. As she’d always been.
And that was enough. It would be enough for her. Really, it would.
And if her throat felt uncomfortably tight, her eyes abruptly pricking a little… well, that had nothing to do with anything.
She turned over onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
She was Harry’s best friend. As she always had been, as she always would be. And that would be enough for her. Really.
~To be continued...~