Chapter Text
Unfolding her limbs from the cocoon of blankets, Hermione stretched. The glow of light that permeated through her closed eyelids told her it was morning. Lazily, movements cumbersome, she disentangled herself from the blankets that she didn’t recall covering herself with. Opening her eyes, she looked down and saw, in confusion, that every blanket had been put over her. No wonder she had felt so snug.
Blearily, she looked around the tent, the damp smell was now permanent. She was alone. That much was clear. It wasn’t completely silent. Some bird chitter was noticeable, the rustling of wind through trees, but nothing else, nothing in the tent.
She rose from her nest of blankets and the moment she took a step, it hit her. Like a sledgehammer to the chest, it all came back. Her mind raced back through the memory of the previous night. She played over the flashes of raised voices, the ache of her heart returning as she remembered the things that Harry and Ron had said to each other. Her breath seized as she recalled the fight that ensued and how she dashed out into the rain, calling out into the dark, only to hear the rejection in the sharp crack of Ron’s disapparation.
There was also the overwhelming guilt. She could see the hurt on Harry’s face when Ron voiced his disappointment, the dejection in his eyes that was swiftly swallowed up as he let his anger get the better of him. She shivered as she recalled the bitter sarcastic tone he used, the venom in his words as he lashed out with his barbed tongue. He knew how to hurt with words, but then, so did Ron…
“I get it. You choose him.”
Hermione closed her eyes as the devastating reality struck her. It had been a fear for a while, for years, that there would one day be a time when she would have to choose between them. Her two best friends were boys and she had crushed on both of them at different points in their friendship. First, it was Harry, brave, brilliant Harry. But when it was clear that he didn’t see her in that way at all, she let her feelings turn purely platonic instead. It still struck her when she least expected it, whenever Harry lowered his guard and let her see the gentle, kind soul that he was. There was less of that now he had hardened himself for war. It was so desperately unfair that he wasn’t allowed to be himself and had to take on the burden of being the Chosen One.
With Harry closed off and cold, Hermione found comfort in Ron’s steady presence. He was always ready to find the light side of a situation, no matter how bleak. Determined, resolute Ron - he was hopelessly tactless and oblivious, yet it was endearing in a way. He tried to make some effort, at least, even if it fell short of the mark.
Last night, her two best friends had been the worst versions of themselves. Then when it truly struck her that Ron was leaving and walking out on Harry, it knocked her back. Yes, she had been frustrated by their lack of progress, but she never blamed Harry for it. He was trying his best and she could see that. She believed that something would come up and it did. They found out about the sword and, best of all, she saw the gleam of hope in Harry’s eyes. He was returning to them. He had hope.
And then, it was gone. Instead, there was the distorted look of utter fury on Harry’s face, molten and menacing as his hurt morphed into hate.
When she returned into the tent, the truth of Ron’s abandonment gasping out of her in the form of ‘He’s gone’, she didn’t look at Harry. She caved into the loss and hurt, curling up on her chair, her grief ripping through her. She barely noticed Harry putting blankets over her, nor the ghostly touch of his hand that paused to comfort her, but pulled away as he left her to her misery.
Raising her head, she looked back at her bed. Had Harry carried her to bed? She didn’t remember moving. She looked around, the silence weighing heavily as she searched for signs of Harry Potter. She hugged her arms around herself as she stepped from the bedroom to the living area. Everything was so tidy, clean. Much tidier than it usually was. She slipped into the tiny kitchen, seeing a cup of tea.
She saw then a note. The scrawl was unmistakable. She stared at the words, her heart kickstarting.
I’m sorry I let you down. I’m outside keeping watch - H
Her fingers touched the mug, feeling the warming charm that he had cast to keep it from going cold. Her eyes filled with tears.
She put a hand to her mouth, taking in a shaky breath. Hermione knew Harry better than anyone. She knew that he would be blaming himself for Ron’s actions, locking himself up in his guilt, hating himself.
Hermione tugged on her boots and drew back the flap, stepping out into the forest scape. The tent was surrounded by handsome oak trees. They were on the turn, the green leaves now more yellow, the season on shift. It was cold and damp. The rain had ceased, at least, but there were many large muddy puddles amid the sodden leaf litter. She searched the area for Harry, not calling out in fear of alarming him and causing him to throw a hex in self-defence. She soon spotted where he was from the fog of his breath. She trudged towards him, her boots audibly squelching, giving her away at once.
He pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as she neared. He turned to look at her and her heart stuttered. He looked horrendous. His face was splotchy, his eyes red-rimmed. His hair was all over the place, sticking out in all directions. He appeared to be wearing all his coats, his striped Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck. His nose was bright red, matching his red cheeks, and his lip was quivering from where he was shivering in the cold.
“Oh God, Harry… do you want to get pneumonia?” He gave a feeble attempt at a smile. “You should have woken me up! Have you been out here all night?”
“I didn’t… want to disturb you. I’ve been here in…”
In case he comes back. He couldn’t finish his sentence but it hung between them anyway, as clear as if he had said the words.
“Come on.” She grabbed his arm and hoisted him up to his feet. She was surprised that he compiled, but then he was likely so tired, he couldn’t muster up the energy to fight back. He staggered to his feet, leaning on the tree behind him for support.
They walked together back to the tent. Harry folded his cloak and tucked it under his arm. Before heading inside, they both took off their shoes so they didn’t track mud inside. Harry pushed through the flap first, giving a heavy sigh. Hermione followed him. He made his way towards the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t, you are sitting down right now and getting warm,” she put her hands on his shoulders and steered him over to the chair where she had collapsed last night.
“Hermione, really I’m… fine.”
“You are not fine, Harry Potter.” She told him. He sighed and sat down, looking up at her tiredly. She then held out her hand. “Give me the horcrux. You’ve worn it long enough.”
Harry stiffly unearthed the locket from under his scarf, raising the chain over his head. He handed it over. As it passed from him, his shoulders dropped, tension leaving his body. She pulled it over her head, cringing as the metal touched her skin. Even though it had been close to Harry’s body, it was still very cold. She tucked it under her jumper.
She went to her bed, taking the blankets that Harry had removed from Ron’s bunk last night and put over her. Harry was sat leaning forwards, rubbing his hands together, wincing as feeling returned to his fingers. She brought the blanket around him, tucking it around his shaking body.
Harry didn’t speak. His eyes were downcast as he huddled under the blanket. Hermione cast some of her blue flames around him and went to put the kettle on. Busying herself distracted her from the waves of hurt, anger and grief that kept surging when her thoughts went to Ron’s marked absence. She drank the cup of tea that Harry had left her while she made one for him, wincing as she did. They didn’t have any milk or sugar, just tea. It was bitter, but warm. She carried Harry’s tea over to him, finding him sitting just as silently as she left him. He was still shaking.
“Here,” she said, passing him the mug. He brought his arms out from his blanket and took the mug in his hands.
“Th-thanks,” he said, then returned his weary gaze back to the flames that she had cast. She took the seat next to him and joined him.
They didn’t speak, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Hermione glanced over to Harry, watching the odd tension in his jaw. He was hurting badly. He felt her gaze on him and he turned his head, meeting her look. He sighed through his nose, a desolate expression now fixed on his face.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” he said, his voice as quiet as the flickering blue flames. His fingers flexed on the mug, trying to absorb the heat from the drink into his cold-numbed digits. Hermione could see the dirt under his nails and how swollen his knuckles were. On some fingers, the skin was broken. It looked suspiciously like he had been punching something.
“I’m… sorry, Hermione,” his voice broke a little, betraying emotion that she rarely heard from him. He sighed. “I’ve really messed up this time. I’ll understand if you want to leave.”
“I’m not leaving you, Harry,” she said gently. He let out a sharp breath.
“You should…I just push people away. Hurt them. I’m just going to hurt you too.” Harry’s eyes filled with tears. He was shaking more from emotion now than the cold. He turned his face from her, not wanting her to see him at his most vulnerable. The sight of it made her heart ache. Harry had survived more loss than someone his age should ever endure and now his best friend had abandoned him. He was coming apart at the seams.
She put her mug down, rising from her chair. She settled down on her knees next to Harry, taking the mug from his hands. He looked over at her, his brilliant green eyes red-rimmed, brimming with tears. The pain and hurt in his eyes was fathomless. No one should ever look like that, least of all her best friend. She took his hands in hers.
“I am not leaving you,” she told him firmly this time, “I’m staying right by your side. There is nowhere I’d rather be.”
He stared at her, his fingers shifting in her hold, his lips twitching a little. He blinked, dislodging two tears that clung to his thick, black eyelashes. She held his gaze, trying to convey as much as she could. Yes, it hurt that Ron had left, it hurt that they had fallen out, that Ron forced her to choose between her friends. But she had made the right decision.
Ron had a family to return to. He could pretend a miraculous recovery from splattergroit, return to Hogwarts if he wanted. She didn’t have that choice and neither did Harry. She had sacrificed her family for their protection. She had nowhere else to go. And Harry… he had his family taken away from him. Not just his parents, but his Godfather and then the closest thing he had to a father figure, Dumbledore. Ron wrongly assumed that Harry was cavalier about his friends' wellbeing as he had no family to speak of, but in truth, it made Harry cling harder to what little he had left. Losing Ron’s faith in him was a catastrophic blow.
She knew she had to help him restore his self-belief. It had been utterly shattered. Her part in his demoralisation made her feel sick with herself.
“I… I never wanted you to be in this position,” Harry said hoarsely, “I know you have feelings for each other. I never wanted to get in the way.”
“Oh Harry…” she breathed out, her heart seizing in her chest as tears sprung to her eyes, “I value your life over whatever feelings I may have. I value what you are doing, what we’re doing. It’s a lot more important than whatever there is between… us.” She swallowed, her heart aching. “And he left me too, Harry. He knew he had a home to go back to. We don’t have that luxury.”
His jaw clenched at that and he gave a nod.
“Let’s drink up our tea and then make plans for where we go next. I… think we’ve waited long enough.” She said, releasing his hands. Harry looked up and brought his hand up, his fingers brushing against her cheek.
“Thank you,” he said, voice thick, “I don’t deserve you.”
She reached out her hand, her fingers lightly touching his face, feeling the heat coming off his flushed cheeks.
“You do.” She told him, then got up to drink the rest of her tea. She grimaced as she picked up her mug.
“And we need to make plans for supplies. Tea without milk is horrific.”