Hope

Giving in to the exquisite angst of the moment, Hermione heaved a huge self-pitying sigh, and immediately gasped as the sharp pain shot through her chest. She was still in need of the ten different potions that Madam Pomfrey was practically forcing down her throat every day.

 

Her eyes filled with tears. Not for herself, but because her thoughts had strayed back to the cause of her sigh, the cause of his absence, and the helplessness she felt now. She’d always been able to go to him. She’d been the one to visit him in the Hospital, and heaven knew that was often enough. She’d been able to seek him out and pull him from his fears, his funks, his nightmares even. She wasn’t sure if this hurt was beyond her ability to help. She was just so used to being there for him, she always had been, ever since that first day, no, before that even.

 

She’d been so excited to find out that she was a witch and was going to come to Hogwarts. She’d badgered her parents into immediately going to get her schoolbooks so that she could get a head start. Hermione loved books. The printed words leaped out at her, telling her everything she needed to know, or wanted to know, or could ever hope to know. They didn’t say one thing, and do another; they told the truth. Black and white. Stark on the page. They helped her grow, discover truths, have adventures, become anyone she wanted to, and go anywhere she wanted to go, if only for an hour. If she could rely on any one thing in the world, it was the printed words in the library.

 

She had perused through the new school books with a speed and retention that even she had been amazed at. She couldn’t seem to ever get enough. The driest and most boring of the texts was still a page turner that kept her from sleeping. It was on one of these late nights that she’d come across his name. Harry Potter. It seemed to sear itself through her eyes and embed itself very deeply into her brain, into her very being. It wasn’t any bigger, or darker, or lighter, or smaller, or at all different from any of the words surrounding it, yet it stood out so much more crisply on the page. Black against white.

 

It startled her at first. She blinked rapidly, held her eyes shut for a minute and then slowly opened them. Those two words, that one name, again immediately permeated her field of vision. She looked carefully over the letters, her eyes sliding through, around, up and down the strokes of each letter. “Harry Potter” she murmured. Something about it glowed within her.

 

“Hermione!” her mother yelled up the stairs.

 

The spell was broken, and the letters faded back with the rest of the words on the page. She glanced curiously back twice more before she shut the book to answer her mother’s call, but they remained the same. Almost dull looking now, but nothing out of the ordinary.

 

At her first leisure, Hermione immediately read as much as she could about this young hero. “Harry Potter,” “The Boy Who Lived,” “The Hero who conquered the Dark Lord,” no name they gave him stood out to her again, but his fame was prominent. He was more than a boy who lived to the authors of the books. She was sure that the world she was entering quite revered him. This troubled her a little.

 

Her own mother liked to relate stories about her childhood to her, and she always loved to hear them, but that was mainly because she couldn’t remember them herself. She certainly couldn’t remember anything from age one, and she couldn’t imagine living without her parents. Her mother who loved her, helped her, nurtured her, and her father who adored her, taught her, and protected her.

 

What would he be like, this boy? This hero? This baby wonder? Growing up as a Muggle without his parents? He would be about her age, and she wanted to meet him. How should she approach him? What should she say? She had so many questions she wanted to ask him already, yet she felt timid even thinking them to an imaginary image of him.

 

Then she’d met him on the train.

 

What a surprise that had been.

 

She’d been hearing all the buzz and excitement that he was present, but hadn’t managed to figure out which compartment he was in. Neville had come blundering into her compartment asking about his toad, and she’d immediately decided to champion his search to cover her curious wandering. She had spotted a car down the way where a dark haired boy had gone in. He’d seemed so much the hero type, even though he was but eleven, she thought that was probably the Harry Potter she’d read about, heard about, and even blushingly dreamt about.

 

However, before she got that far down the train she’d opened a compartment door and found the real Harry Potter. At first she hadn’t seen him. The redheaded boy that was sitting with his wand out commanded her attention, as she was so curious to see magic done. She’d asked in a businesslike tone whether or not they’d seen Neville’s toad, and then sat in to see the magic. She’d introduced herself and heard the redhead introduce himself, and then she heard Harry speak.

 

He’d taken her by surprise for sure. She’d barely glanced in his direction she’d been so engrossed in the spell. But when she looked at him for his introduction, and he’d spoken aloud that name…a singular sensation ran through her, and up her spine, almost like she’d gotten a shock. It wasn’t a chill, it was a pleasant sensation, but she couldn’t describe it, not even to herself, now, after all these years. His voice had seemed to chime within her brain, the same way reading his name had.

 

This little boy!? This skinny, neglected child? This was the Harry Potter? The savior of the Wizarding world?  She was usually quick, but her mind seemed numb, and so she stupidly said, “Are you really?”

 

Embarrassed by this question that he must get every time he introduced himself, she hurriedly explained, “I’ve read all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

 

“Am I?” he asked sounding more surprised than anything else.

 

“Goodness, didn’t you know?” She’d asked, “I’d have found out everything I could if it was me.”

 

That was so egotistical sounding! She thought now. She had been dead serious then though. He hadn’t stopped looking dazed, and his forehead was starting to crease in worry, so she had changed the subject. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in?”

 

Those days she never seemed to know how to act around him. The blushing hero worship she’d felt in the early days had worn off once she actually met him. Instead, she felt a certain draw to this small skinny boy who looked more neglected than anything else, and never seemed to understand how much he meant to the Wizarding world at all. What that draw had been, she didn’t know then. She wasn’t sure now. But it was there, as strong as ever.

 

He had blundered on, oblivious to her, and simply trying to fit in. Hermione smiled to herself. Harry might do many things in his life, but fitting in and being normal would never be one of them. It was ironic that the one thing he desired would be kept from him forever, when the Wizarding world that owed him so much, and would owe him much more in the future would give him anything he desired, but were powerless to give him this.

 

Her desire to be his friend, to help him out, and to be around him, increased within her everyday. She wanted to protect him from the world. He was special to her, and she was determined to keep whatever might hurt him as far away from him as she could. She had one huge obstacle in this though, and his name was Ronald Weasley.

 

At first, it was just that Ron had kept trying to push her out, and she knew he might have eventually succeeded if it hadn’t been for the troll. She had been weeping over that very thing, that fatal day in the girl’s bathroom. Then she had gotten the biggest shock of her life when she came out of the stall and saw the troll standing there staring stupidly at her. The thought made her shiver under her covers. The only thing she could do was to scream, squirming backwards against the cold wall as the troll advanced on her smashing the sinks as it came.

 

Her shock only increased, when Harry and Ron came bounding in to rescue her. The only thing she could think was, “Harry’s in the girl’s toilet.” She didn’t know why that was the only thing occupying her mind, and causing her to continue standing as stupidly as the troll, which was now getting confused and mad as the boys threw objects at it. Harry’s strangled yell failed to help her trembling legs to move, and she still might have died if Harry hadn’t jumped on the troll. They could all have been killed.

 

Why had he been so persistent in saving her? She knew that before that she hadn’t made much of an impression on him. Did he have that same reaction to her, as she had had to him when they met? He wouldn’t have read about her in any book, of course, but when she first spoke with him, did her voice ring deep inside of him, as his did in her? No, it hadn’t happened again, but it was a singular experience, and she remembered it.

 

That was all it had been about at first, she had to admit to herself if she were to be totally honest. It wasn’t much better than the fascination Ginny had had towards him. No, Hermione had never once thought of him as a crush in those days, but it was still a form of hero worship just the same. But the troll had changed everything. Everything.

 

Her draw towards Harry was something more tangible now. Friendship. And he reciprocated. Even Ron reciprocated. And the hero worship was gone. Hermione was able to see and appreciate things about Harry that she didn’t before, and she was able to get acquainted with him, the real him. Her fantasies stopped, and their friendship bloomed. She only wished the same would have happened with Ron. Their relationship was always a bit tenuous. Founded on arguments and teasing, rather than mutual respect. She doubted whether their friendship would have lasted if it hadn’t been for Harry. But she knew that Harry needed Ron too.

 

Ron meant well, and she supposed he really loved Harry as much as she did. He was a great friend for the most part, and he was always there with a suggestion to lighten up the occasion whenever homework was involved. He just never thought before he opened his mouth. She understood that Harry would’ve given anything in the world to have a loving family, and to belong. Ron never seemed to understand this. He complained about his family constantly, completely oblivious to the look that came into Harry’s eyes when he did this.

 

She wasn’t sure exactly what that look defined. It was a deep-seated pain and longing, but there was something else there as well. Fleeting jealousy, amusement, and love for his friend. Her heart skipped every time she saw that look. It was never quite the same when he turned his eyes to her though. She could never read the expression behind them then. She had tried so many times.

 

When he was hurting, she could see that. It seemed to scream from him. It took everything she had to keep herself from gathering him into her arms and kissing his hurts away. She’d lost it a couple of times, and she’d learned. He wasn’t ready for that. He’d never been accustomed to people caring for him, hugging him, wanting to comfort him.

 

When they’d stood in the chamber with Snape’s Challenge in it, not knowing what was to come, she’d looked into his eyes and seen that look, that determination, and that pain. She’d thrown herself onto him, almost crushing his small thin frame in her eagerness. She couldn’t help it. She was so scared that her friend, this boy that carried burdens on his head that she could only dream of, this person who held her heart so intertwined with his life and safety, this small and wondrous wizard in training would disappear into the chamber and never be seen again. She thought she would die if that happened.

 

He’d reacted in horror. She didn’t mind though, she understood. He was eleven. He was not used to emotion. He was steeling himself to face a fully grown and fully trained wizard; to pit himself into battle against his foe, yet again before he was fully grown. He wasn’t ready for a tender hearted moment with a girl that was, even to herself, inexplicably obsessed with one Harry James Potter.

 

She’d held herself back better after that. It was hard at times. The little times stood out to her so much more than the big moments. They’d be doing their homework, and he would heave a little sigh of frustration. She could hear this even over any of the boisterous noise that might be filling the common room. He would be staring into space thinking, and she could watch the emotions wash over him. Sadness, yes sometimes, but also he would give a lopsided grin when he was remembering a happy moment. Those little grins were totally subconscious, and he never reproduced them if he were alert, but they made her heart race.

 

She would have to immediately avoid him, or talk to Ron to hide the warmth she felt creeping into her cheeks at these times. Ron could be counted on to start an argument, which would provide a ready excuse for her face turning red. At times she loved him for this, and other times, she really wished he could be more considerate of her feelings. He never knew when to stop, and his constant teasing really made her want to either cry or smack him really hard, and she was never quite sure which to do. That of course, spared her from doing either, as she didn’t have time to decide before he started in again with another barbed comment.

 

He was a source of grief for her a lot of the time, but she knew how much he meant to Harry, so she could hardly do more than try to forgive and befriend him as well. He was a horrible influence on Harry’s responsibility and homework habits. But she grudgingly admitted that he was able to give Harry some light moments that she never seemed to be able to inspire in him. Maybe it was just the pure immaturity of those moments, but at least Harry got to laugh a little. It always did her heart good to see him laugh. Underneath, she felt a twinge of jealousy and regret that she couldn’t produce the same effect, but she hung on to the hope that one day she too would be able to inspire those moments that made her friend giggle, and his face light up like nothing she’d ever seen before.

 

Those moments showed his true beauty, for her friend was a very beautiful person. She knew that most of the world saw Harry with his “I’m facing the world in all it’s evil” face. They saw features set in stone, a face that showed no emotion, except in the briefest moments in the depth of his eyes. He could hide his feelings, and his true self behind this mask. He was then able to face whatever was set before him, and act accordingly without giving anything away. The effect of this was that he looked, bored at best, sullen at worst, with a lot of defiance in between.

 

Sometimes he had a glassy look, and his overall pallor was one of an unhealthy paleness of someone denied the sun, fresh air, and space to grow. A lot of people looked at him and saw arrogance. Most people didn’t think he looked the hero. He was rather small and skinny. He wasn’t exactly handsome or dashing on the outside. But to Hermione, there was no one else that could compare. He was exactly her idea of a hero. And she thought him beautiful most times, but those times that he let go and laughed…he really was.

 

*~*

 

Madam Pomfrey came by jolting her out of her thoughts, and gave her a spoonful of some awful smelling and sizzling purple potion that she gulped down as quickly as she could. The Hogwarts Nurse fluffed the pillow, tucked the covers more snugly around her, patted her arm and said, “Try and get a little sleep dear. It is almost time the castle bustles awake, and now that term is over, I’m afraid the peace we usually enjoy is shattered by end of the year spirits and noise.”

 

Hermione smiled at her replying, “Thank you. I’ll try.” She lay back snuggling deep into the soft bed, and closed her eyes trying to clear her mind of her worries.

 

An image swam slowly into focus behind her closed eyes. A boy with tangled and messy black hair that stuck out in ever so ridiculous and untamable angles was facing something off to his left, giving her a perfect profile. He turned his head, and glanced backwards towards her, showing his face that had as it’s prominent feature small black glasses that framed his piercing emerald eyes. His trademark scar was covered at the moment by his unruly bangs blowing in the breeze. He was flying in a Quidditch match, and Hermione felt her body tense as she watched him dodging dangerous and harmful situations including bludgers, hexes from opponents, death defying dives, swerves and maneuvers on his broomstick thousands of feet above ground.

 

She understood why the power and freedom of the game would intrigue Harry, and as he seemed to take naturally to flying, she always encouraged his talent, but there was nothing at Hogwarts that Hermione hated more. Harry had enough of an arsenal pointed at him already without adding to it in school activities. She would never miss a game for fear that she could save him somehow. Her desperation in watching him overpowered everything else around her, even when Ron and Neville were being beaten senseless by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, she never noticed though they were right behind her, beside her, and even rolled under her seat.

 

Harry had been injured before, and miraculously always came through it alive, even cheerful. One of the biggest frights she had was when he had fallen off his broom during their third year. No one knew if he was alive. She had shrieked aloud from his first falter and watched in horror as he’d plummeted towards the earth. Her screams of terror lasted through his descent, and only subsided to sobbing when Dumbledore magicked Harry onto a stretcher and started to the hospital wing. She didn’t know how long she would’ve carried on blubbering and being totally useless, but Ron grabbed her arm and they raced up to the castle, fighting the crowd to try and reach the hospital wing. They were having a hard time getting through, and Ron suddenly moaned, pointing towards the Whomping Willow. Harry’s beloved broom was on a collision course with the violent plant, and they watched helpless, as it struck the tree, and was immediately beaten into a thousand splinters.

 

Hermione wrenched Ron away and cut her way through the crowd using her elbows and feet as battering rams and weapons to wade through. They made it to the hospital wing finally and were admitted to see Harry. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was close behind them, and they all crowded around his bed waiting for him to wake. Hermione checked her sobbing, but seeing him there lying unconscious and vulnerable her fear overwhelmed her and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down her face.

 

Everyone was so concerned, and quite a few of the others had white faces and shaking limbs before Harry woke, that she blended in to the overall trepidation that surrounded him.

 

Her fear at his Quidditch feats though, had been very small when compared to their fourth year and the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Watching him dodging the dragon in the first task, she had filled her face full of deep fingernail marks that had lasted for several hours afterward. He took too many tight turns, and feints, and the dragon had finally scored a hit with her horned tail. Hermione was relieved to see him continue on as if it were only a small scratch, the blood soaking his robes testifying to the opposite. Her only comfort was that it was quick. Harry managed to lure the dragon out, and kept from getting burned. Then in one heart stopping swoop, he had dived down and came out triumphant with the egg.

 

Ron was beside her of course, watching at first sullenly, then he showed some anxiety. She wanted to hit him hard when Harry was hit, and he did nothing but sit there fidgeting a little in his seat. Harry occupied her vision too much though, and she was somewhat surprised when at Harry’s last dive Ron was leaping around and whooping loudly. She felt limp. Now the task was over, and Ron was supporting his friend. She sat back for a second trying to feel her legs again, and then jumped up and started through the stands pushing Ron in front of her. She simply HAD to see Harry to make sure he was all right. Luckily the reconciliation between Harry and Ron overshadowed any questions they might have had about the marks on her face, or her actions.

 

It was during that stressful time of the Tri-wizard Tournament that Hermione finally recognized her feelings towards Harry were changing. She cared for him so deeply; that she felt his life dictated her heart at times. His fears were hers, his goals were hers, his woes were hers. It was only a matter of time before she subconsciously began thinking of him as hers as well. She was confused, and more than a little frightened to find that her obsession with Harry was turning from friendship into something deeper. She wasn’t quite ready to admit that it was love then, but that’s what she knew it for now.

 

As Hermione lay there mulling this over, she cringed. She’d hidden these truths, these feelings from everyone alive, even her parents. She never knew why at first. It surely wasn’t a shameful thing to be concerned about your best friend was it? Yet, she dreaded anyone, especially Harry, finding out how she felt.

 

She never wrote it down. She never said it aloud. She hardly even dared think about it, except late at night in the sanctuary of her own room. She had only just figured out what it was. She loved Harry. She LOVED Harry. She practically LIVED for Harry, and Harry alone. She couldn’t imagine her life without Harry. She was sure that she would die if anything happened to Harry. She sounded like some helpless love-struck maiden from a fairy tale when she thought of it in these terms. This was what she cringed from.

 

She wasn’t helpless! If it weren’t for her, Harry wouldn’t be where he was today. It was doubtful whether he’d even be alive. Wasn’t she one of the top students at Hogwarts? Didn’t she learn and perform the spells faster than most, if not everyone? Didn’t Harry and Ron depend on her to even pass their Potions class among others? Didn’t Harry depend on her for any kind of help? Didn’t this mean she was a strong witch? She could certainly take care of herself, if these two boys depended on her to take care of them as well! Didn’t the teachers also see her strengths? Weren’t her achievements recognized by her Prefects badge this year?

 

She blushed deeply in the dark remembering when she’d burst in to show her Prefects badge to Harry. She’d been so sure that he would be her counter partner. When she had received her badge, she rushed immediately asking in such a hurry, that she couldn’t even get the whole question out.

 

“Did you - did you get -?” she’d asked breathlessly. Seeing, him holding the badge with a look of wonderment confirmed her hunch, and she’d let go of her tight reign and shouted in the pure joy of the moment. It was just like Harry to not suspect he’d be chosen. Visions of extra hours of fun with Harry had flown through her mind. She’d get him to herself for a bit. But then it had all come crashing down, just as she was in the middle of these thoughts. Harry had shoved the badge towards Ron, and said the most ridiculous thing.

 

“No. It’s Ron, not me.”

 

The confusion and embarrassment that followed were almost more than she could bear. She simply couldn’t believe that Ron, Ron had earned the Prefects badge? She had felt immediately like fleeing, but her pride kept her there. So what if she’d been excited for Harry? That didn’t mean people knew her secret. But if she fled, if she fled, they just might. She stood staunchly, and tried to gracefully remove her foot from her mouth. Luckily, Molly interrupted them, and then she was able to turn her attention to the twins’ teasing instead of her blunder.

 

She knew Harry was suffering something. She wanted badly to help him out, but she’d come too close. She could do nothing for him now, but she vowed that she would try everything she could to keep him involved. Her visions of extra time with Harry dwindled down to the stark reality of having to spend that time with Ron. She suppressed the grimace that was threatening to show, and realized that her duties had probably just doubled with Ron as her partner. He was in need of a disciplinarian himself, she didn’t see how he could help her keep the others in line. But maybe, just maybe he would be the key to keeping the twins out of trouble, even if Percy had been unsuccessful at it.

 

*~*

 

Hermione couldn’t suppress the grimace she felt now. She glanced out the hospital window at the last dying stars. Things could have gone so differently this year. There were a million what ifs and if onlys that ran through her mind. But she had done the best she knew how.

 

Oh how she’d tried to hide her newly recognized feelings during this last year! The fact that Harry didn’t seem to be at all aware of her didn’t hurt as much as the fact that he was very aware of Cho Chang. Hermione couldn’t hate Cho, she was too kind, too nice, too perfect. She didn’t hate her, but she couldn’t bring herself to befriend her. She was determined to be Harry’s friend though, and she stood by him throughout the year, encouraging his happiness, though never quite able to encourage his romantic relationship. Her bravery fooled him, or at least it had seemed to.

 

Ron, of course, had been absolutely no help at all. The fact that his views on relationships was still very childish didn’t help, but when he chortled and giggled, and acted so immature when Harry had his first kiss, she thought she’d had it with him. In retrospect, her anger had helped her to keep quiet about her own feelings, so maybe she did owe Ron for that. However, her correspondence with Victor Krum had helped her to establish some of her own goals, make her own life, and walk on some of her own paths to distance herself from Harry.

 

She recognized that she needed that distance so that she would not totally meld into him. He needed her and her help, not some shell that reflected only himself. She needed herself as well. She’d always been independent, and her mother swore that if she hadn’t known better she’d think Hermione was half mule, because she could be so stubborn. But that independence had served her well growing up, it had saved her life, along with her friend’s lives several times, and it was helping her now as well. She could be her own person, and not conform to whatever mold was thrust upon her, only with that strength and willpower that she had previously developed.

 

And she was determined about one thing. Harry needed her, and she would be there for him. She would take this secret of hers to her grave if she had to, but she would stand by him, and be whatever he needed her to be, even if that meant just a friend. She’d gotten through this last year, and she knew that the next might be worse, but she would be there.

 

She was only sorry that she couldn’t go to him now.

 

*~*

 

The sun was creeping ever so slowly higher and higher in the sky. It finally peeked over the edge of the windowsill and shone brightly through the bottles and empty glasses sitting on the trays by the beds.

 

Hermione’s eyes felt gritty and heavy. She hadn’t managed to get much sleep. Ron stirred in the bed beside her, and she turned her gaze on him. He was sleeping still, but rising towards waking and his lips curled into a slight smile before stretching into a yawn. She looked away before he opened his eyes.

 

“Morning.” He yawned.

 

“Good morning.” She answered smiling. “How are you feeling today?”

 

“Hmph…raphty goob doak” He said yawning again.

 

She couldn’t help it, a giggle escaped her before she asked “What!? You should try actually being awake before you start speaking. It makes it easier on those of us who feel obliged to answer you.”

 

He grinned at her before chucking his pillow across the gap.

 

Harry walked in and almost smiled before he sat down. Then a shadow crossed his face and he sat impassive and saying nothing to Ron’s greeting.

 

Hermione knew the name of that shadow. Sirius. Harry blamed himself. She knew it, but she also knew for certain that he wasn’t to blame. But she couldn’t convince him. It would just take time.

 

“Morning, Harry” She said echoing Ron.

 

Harry mumbled out greetings to them and again fell into silence. She was worried. He didn’t seem to ever want to spend time in their company. She wondered for the millionth time what had passed between him and Dumbledore. He’d always told them before, but now whenever she saw him, he was locked away behind this stony silence. She didn’t know what to say.

 

“What’s happening around the school?” she asked by way of fishing for his mood.

 

“Nothing.” He responded.

 

“Not fair!” Ron interjected “I’m doing nothing in here! The least they could do is give everyone else lessons until I get out to help them do nothing!”

 

Harry smiled faintly.

 

“Well, at least that leaves you free to visit.” Hermione said brightly.

 

Harry glanced at her and then back at the floor. She wasn’t sure whether or not he would’ve said anything or not, as Ginny, and Luna came in carrying stacks of toast just then.

 

“Good morning everyone!” Ginny called. “I snuck these from the kitchen for you. They’re nice and warm, not like some of the second hand and second rate junk that comes up here.”

 

“All right! Bring it over here Gin.” Ron said. “I, for one, think Madam Pomfrey is trying to starve us!”

 

Ginny obliged, and Luna divided her stack between Hermione and Harry before sitting lightly on the end of Ron’s bed.

 

“Mmph..rumph…gumph” Ron mumbled through his mouthful.

 

“Ron, really!” Ginny scolded him. “I can think of about twenty things Mum would tell you right now.”

 

“Well, keep them to yourself!” he snapped swallowing, “no one cares to hear them when we’re trying to get a decent meal.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes, and Luna helped herself to one of Ron’s pieces nibbling lightly at the corner as she stared off in the general direction of the ceiling.

 

Harry left soon after that, and Hermione watched him leave wishing that she could follow. Nothing she said kept him around. Where was he spending all his time? She felt like cursing everyone around her. Why hadn’t she been there to help him? A heavy weight fell on her chest as soon as he disappeared around the corner.

 

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said softly “You’re getting to be as dull as Harry.”

 

She flashed him an evil look, but kept her mouth tightly shut. The choice words fighting to get out would only worsen the situation, and she couldn’t imagine what her Mum would say if she heard her little girl using that kind of language.

 

Ginny solved the problem by hitting Ron squarely on top of his head. He immediately retaliated, and the war was on. Minor bops and slaps were exchanged along with insults like, “dolt!” and “you stupid insensitive git!” Luna sat on the end of the bed the whole time nibbling her toast, and staring at the spot on the ceiling that had occupied her thoughts for the last half hour. Suddenly Ron whipped his pillow out and managed one good whack before Ginny found another from the bed next to him. The fight that ensued got Ginny a black eye, Ron an elbow in the nose, and a lot of feathers everywhere when Ron’s pillow split its seams.

 

Ginny and Luna were subsequently kicked out of the hospital by an enraged and very intimidating Madam Pomfrey. Luna went good naturdly even though she had not participated in the fight, waving goodbye to Ron as if it were her idea to leave just then, and she wasn’t being hauled out by her ear.

 

“I’ll come back later, Ronald. Maybe you would like some pumpkin pasties for lunch?” She asked before she disappeared around the corner.

 

Ron was too busy trying to stop the blood flowing from his nose to answer.

 

*~*

 

Hermione didn’t get a chance to talk with Harry until much later. She got out of the hospital determined to mention Sirius, and try to get through to Harry that it wasn’t his fault. She knew a fraction of the guilt he was feeling, because she was feeling it too. She was very sorry that Sirius had died, but her relief that it hadn’t been Harry overshadowed her grief. She didn’t know what she could have done, if anything, had she been there at the end, instead of lying unconscious, but she knew that she could’ve told Harry for certain that he wasn’t to blame for any of it.

 

It wasn’t until late one night, when Ron had gone up to the dorm before Harry, that she was able to pull him aside.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He immediately protested.

 

“Harry, I just want to talk to you. Whatever the subject.” She watched his face carefully as she spoke the next thought, “You’ve been so distant.” I miss you, she added silently.

 

He looked as though he were about to turn away again, but seemed to change his mind, and a shudder went down his form before he opened his mouth. “I’m tired.”

 

“Oh... Well, if you want to go to bed…” she trailed off.

 

“No, I mean I’m tired of being me.”

 

“What?” Her startled question caught the attention of two third year students still down in the common room. They giggled once, and moved off towards the dormitory stairs. She moved closer to Harry and asked again, gentler, “What? Why would you say that?”

 

“I’m so tired of the whole thing.” His eyes closed, and he slid off the chair onto the floor, leaning his head backwards and laying it on the seat. “The stares, the questions, the fame, everything. But most of all the expectations.”

 

“Expectations?” She felt foolish for repeating his words, but she hadn’t seen this coming. She didn’t know how to react, and she didn’t know what to say.

 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. It was a scrutinizing look, and several of those internal battles waged in his shaded eyes, making the green in them flash as he gazed at her. She shivered a little and scooted down to the floor by him.

 

“Whose expectations?” She said lamely.

 

“Everyone’s.” He opened his mouth, his lips started to form a word, and then he closed it again. Whatever he was about to tell her, it was lost, at least for now. He let his eyes slide back to the ceiling.

 

“The only place I’m not expected to do something is the Dursley’s and I don’t ever want to go back there. Its the only place that doesn’t want me again either. Their highest expectation for me is to get myself spectacularly blown up, preferably sooner rather than later. I just want a normal life.”

 

She smiled at him, “What’s a normal life? Everyone has problems.”

 

“Sure, Hermione. But I’m overrun. I’m plagued. I don’t know why you still stick around. You might have been killed.” He swallowed hard, and she knew Sirius was in his thoughts again. “He did. And I was the idiot who let it happen. Voldemort doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m doing his work for him. It was all my fault, and everything reminds me of it.” He might have continued, but she interrupted him.

 

“If anyone’s implied that, then they’re idiots!” she snapped. “Nothing was your fault! No one understood exactly what you were going through, Harry. And you probably handled it better than anyone else could have.”

 

“I don’t know…Sirius.” He trailed off.

 

“Sirius was an adult. He acted accordingly. His actions were no ones fault but his own. You couldn’t control him, Harry.”

 

He merely looked through her, and continued, “Anyway, look at what everyone was saying. I shouldn’t have let them get to me. I should have been stronger.”

 

“People can hurt you everyday because you let them.” She paused at the anger that flashed in his eyes, but then continued determined to get this out. “You don’t know any better. You’re so innocent you choose to see only the good in them, and you never waiver in that judgment until they’ve already cut you down. Then you make their excuses for them, and blame yourself.”

 

He interrupted her, “What’s the alternative?”

 

She paused, and then blurted out, “I can’t stand to see you hurt yourself like this!”

 

He rose to his feet, his face started to color, and his eyes were filling with tears, darkening with his passion. “Don’t you get it? I’ll never be me! I’ll always be the Boy Who Lived. But even that won’t be enough. Nothing I ever do will be enough! There will always be something out there I’ll have to do. I’ll always be expected to repeat that act over and over because it will never end! Evil is lurking everywhere and it always will be! My whole life was defined for me by something I can’t even remember. I didn’t get to choose, and I don’t want it! I don’t want this, I never have!”

 

She rose too, and reached out to him, stopping before she made contact.

 

“That’s exactly why we need you Harry. You’re bigger than yourself Harry, and you don’t even realize it. You stand for something so pure and so good it must never be tainted or destroyed.”

 

“Oh really? Have you run this all by Snape then?”

 

“I’m talking about hope Harry, hope.”

 

He was silent.

 

“The prophecy….” He stopped.

 

“What?” She asked gently. She was so close to him. Her heart was racing, and she was sure that Harry could see her chest heave with each beat. “Just tell me, Harry.”

 

He was silent.

 

She wanted to take him into her arms. She could almost feel him lying his head on her breast, and imagined rocking him until his fears ebbed away. She shifted her weight forward, taking the tiniest of steps closer, and her breath caught in her throat.

 

“Harry, Trelawny -“

 

“Nevermind.” He said. “I think you’re right. I am tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Oh, right” she stuttered stepping backwards. “Right, its late.” She watched as he walked away, up to the boy’s dormitory. “Right, its late, that’s all.” She murmured as her gaze fell to the floor, and she realized that she was wringing her hands.

 

She turned decisively and marched up to her dorm. “Its too late.”

 

*~*

 

The next morning, she decided to continue in the same vein she had throughout the year. She still didn’t know exactly what had been bothering Harry, but she did know that whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to tell her yet. She couldn’t imagine what weight the prophecy could possibly hold on his mind in Sirius’ wake, but that was what he had alluded to when she was expecting him to speak of his Godfather instead.

 

Was it possible that he’d found out what the prophecy contained? Neville had said the prophecy shattered, and no one had been able to hear it in the noise of the battle. Had Harry heard something? Something about his parents maybe? Or himself?

 

She watched him carefully when they went down to breakfast, but he was content to remain in his silence. He only broke this meditation when Ron engaged him in some game, or other activity that required no discussion. She would have suspected that he’d found someone else to speak with while she was confined to the hospital, but Ginny had told her that Cho was dating Michael now, and she never saw him in anyone else’s company.

 

He didn’t want to come to the end of the term Feast. Ron told her that he would be down later, when he came from the dorm without him, but she knew he wasn’t planning on attending. She reluctantly let herself be jostled out with the crowd and tried to enjoy the happy conversations going on around her. She couldn’t help her friend.

 

*~*

 

The train ride home was just as silently painful. Ginny, Luna, and Ron livened things up a bit, but Hermione kept a close watch on Harry. He had said that he didn’t want to go back to the Dursley’s. What was going to happen when they got back to London? She longed to speak with him again, but she knew he wouldn’t talk in front of this audience. He had barely spoken to her since that night.

 

A million different scenarios raced through her mind when the train stopped. She didn’t know what she was going to do.

 

When they stepped through the wall and met the Weasleys, she felt better. Molly would know how to handle things. And Lupin was there, and Tonks, and Moody. Things were out of her hands.

 

She happily met her parents, and greeted them with a hug, before disengaging them to go stand with Harry. She listened as the Dursley’s were given the ultimatums, and eagerly joined in with her support. She told Harry they, (she couldn’t bring herself to say I) would come very soon.

 

He seemed brighter. He looked as though he were going to say something again, but then he simply raised his arm in a farewell, and then turned and led the Dursley’s out of the station.

 

Her parents came again to claim her from the crowd, and her Dad said, “Hermione, are you ready?”

 

“Yes.” She said. “I’m ready.”

 

They started out towards the car, towing her trunk, and Crookshanks on a trolley. The sun was low in the sky bathing everything with a soft orange glow. She was ready to tell Harry, but he wasn’t ready to hear. She was ready to risk her life, and her heart, for this boy. She was ready to give him what he needed. Right now, that was a friend. But someday…maybe next year, maybe this summer, he would be ready too, and when he was…

 

“Mum, Dad, can we go out and get some pumpkin pie?”