Hermione
The first traces of the morning sun had begun to lighten the obsidian mirror that was the Black Lake in the distance. The only movement at this early hour was the owls that returned to their own tower after whatever errands they had been sent on the day before. She had counted nearly a dozen within the last two or three hours that she had sat, tucked into a window sill of the divination corridor hidden away at the highest level of the north tower.
She had found that this was the ideal place for her to spend her nights when sleep had already proved out of the question. The variety of cushions that Sybil had tossed about at random around her classroom were quite comfortable and there were far fewer portraits in this area of the castle so she was left undisturbed. She had created the perfect place to pretend she didn’t exist, wrapped in the invisibility cloak she had borrowed from Harry in case Filch or Mrs. Norris decided to wander so far from the main halls.
Crookshanks had found her at some point in the night and he now sat curled up, heavy on her lap. Pausing the rhythmic stroking through his fir, her fingers lingered above the irritated skin of her forearm. The spinning cycle of nightmares that plagued her had landed on the hours she had spent with Bellatrix Lestrange that night. She hadn’t even lasted to midnight before she awoke screaming, the scars drawn into her arm aflame with the haunting memory of agony from the cursed witch. If Molly Weasley hadn’t killed her, Hermione was certain she would have cast an Avada of her own without hesitation had she come across the horrid bitch in the heat of the final battle. When she had finally successfully pulled herself from the nightmare, she had raced from her room, desperate to find some place to be sick and to cleanse herself without being discovered.
That was how she had found herself scrubbing violently at her skin listening to Draco Malfoy retch into the same loo she had just heaved her supper away in minutes before. She had steeled herself, ready for a fight when he finally realized he wasn’t alone. She had been stunned by his complete silence while they both stood before sinks with matching red-rimmed eyes.
She begged Merlin and Morgana that he would remain silent about what he had seen but Malfoy had never been reliable for mercy.
The sky had turned a hazy pink over the lake as the morning pushed the night away. She watched as smoke slowly began to rise from Hagrid’s chimney, a sure sign that he had woken to begin his morning rounds with the magical creatures still on the property, her usual sign to head back to her dormitory so her absence wouldn’t be noticed.
She stood, closing the cloak more tightly around her, and lifted it to conceal her face before silencing her slippers to make her way back to the eighth-year rooms.
Narrowly avoiding a skirmish between Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris after they descended the staircase to the main floor, she had just barely made it behind the door of her bedroom before she could hear the familiar sounds of the other students waking and preparing for the day.
Harry had found her several hours later, texts sprawled open to various sections covering the entire surface of the table she had claimed in the library. She hadn’t bothered to glamour away the evidence of her exhaustion and noted the clear concern written in his expression when he finally stole her attention from the paragraph she had been studying. She had found an interesting record of a wizard in India who had made connections between ancient muggle understandings of energy centers and the magical nervous system. Harry had insisted that she take a break and join him for a walk.
She ignored the chill in the air as they slowly made their way down the path to the lakeshore.
“Seriously, Hermione. I know how you feel about it, but I would feel much better if you would talk to Pomphrey about taking a dreamless sleep every now and again. You’re going to collapse if you continue like this.”
The concern in both his voice and his eyes was genuine. She knew he understood better than anyone what had happened. The pressure. The loss. The pain. The frustration. Just as she now found herself, Harry was also completely alone. Neither of them had any family to support them. They only had each other.
“I’ll think about it, Harry. I just don’t want to become dependent on it, you know…”
And he did know. They had both witnessed it firsthand immediately after the war when it was the only way the Weasleys could calm George. He had quickly found relief in the empty reprieve of the potion, begging for it at all hours of the day simply to escape from the reality of a world in which Fred was gone.
It had taken Arthur, Bill, and Charlie being with him around the clock for weeks before they were confident that he would be okay.
“Just every now and again is the intended purpose for the potion in the first place, and Pomphrey would monitor you. You need rest.” She felt his hand wrap around her upper arm with a comforting squeeze.
“I’m trying, Harry. I promise that I’m trying.” She swallowed a heavy breath to push the tears away that threatened to break free.
They walked in silence for a while longer before they reached the rocky beach of the loch.
She found a place to sit while Harry hunted through the stones. He returned and made himself comfortable at her side, palm full of several smooth, flat stones that he held out to her in offering.
A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips, the memory of the first time she had tried to teach Harry and Ron how to skip stones across the water pulled to the front of her mind.
Ron had been so frustrated as he watched each of his stones plop through the surface, immediately sinking to the bottom. Harry studied her example a few times and then tossed his first stone with five successful skips.
Her dad had been the one to show her how to find the perfect stone and how to angle the flick of her wrist in just the right way when she had been a small girl. It had become one of her favorite games. She and Harry had made a contest of it over the years and it had surprised none of them just how competitive Hermione truly was.
She leaned over her best friend and eyed the cache of rocks he had collected, finally, she selected a circular flat grey piece.
“Erm, I also wanted to talk to you about something else, Hermione,” Harry said so quietly she wasn’t sure she had actually heard him.
She nodded for him to continue as she waited for the perfect moment between the small waves.
“Well, err… you recall the other day outside of Minerva’s office? When I was waiting for you and Nott showed up…”
“I remember, Harry. He made quite the insinuation about his opinion of you,” she tried to hide the chuckle that wanted to escape her. She turned to study his face, which she could not see was a similar shade of pink as it had been during that very encounter. The wind was quite calm so she knew that wasn’t the reason for his ruddy cheeks.
“Well, I’m not sure if he was being serious or simply trying to rile one of us, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it… about him that is…”
“Thinking about him in which way, Harry? I guess I’m going to need you to be a bit more clear. Don’t let his teasing bother you.”
“Thinking about him, about his smile, about his continued laughing and humor despite everything his father has done…”
She furrowed her brow in confusion, unsure of what he meant or when Harry would have gotten to know Theodore Nott so well.
She waited to see if he would continue but when he didn’t after he sent several stones skittering across the surface of the water, she decided that being blunt was her best option in this moment.
“Harry, do you fancy Theodore Nott?”
He shoved against her with his shoulder, “Don’t say it like that!” he insisted, clearly feeling rather flustered by his feelings. “But, I’m not sure. I think that- maybe? I don’t know Hermione! He might not have even meant a word of what he said!”
“I didn’t ask if you were dating him, Harry! I only asked if you liked him. I supposed I don’t know him terribly well, but if he makes you this flustered, I think that probably answers the question well enough.” She turned and gave her friend a reassuring smile before reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen crooked.
“I just, I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never felt like this before. With Gin, everything felt laid out for me. She had been quite clear about her interest long before either of us was old enough to take anything seriously.”
“I think when you’re ready, you’ll have to talk to him about it. No one else will be able to give you the answers you need.”
He leaned his head against her shoulder as they both stared out over the moving water, “Feelings are the worst,” he whispered.
“You’ve survived far more daunting things than having a bit of a vulnerable chat with Theodore Nott, Harry.” They enjoyed several more hours of the crisp air before she finally returned to the library.