Chapter 16
Hermione
Hermione was in the middle of her nighttime routine. The routine, the specific order of each step, gave her time to shut down mentally, calming her before she tried to sleep. Wash face, brush teeth, lotion, wrap hair, feed the beetle, choose a book- when there was a knock on her door. She set down the worn copy of Jane Eyre she had selected (tonight felt like a comfort-read-until-you-fall-asleep-face-down-in-the-book kind of night) and walked over to the door. She smiled to herself, imagioning Fred or George coming up with some late-night excuse to bother her. They certainly did that at all other hours of the day, it seemed no matter where she ended up in the house they would appear, ready to help or coax her into skivving off chores, explore some new part of the mansion they found, or knock down a wall just to get rid of a painting. At least they’re knocking now. She thought wryly, opening the door.
Harry stood in her doorway, looking awkward but determined. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders curled forward slightly, as though unused to the height difference in himself. Hermione, having expected an altogether different sort of visit, gaped at him.
“Hey, Hermione. Can we talk?” He didn’t quite meet her eyes, shifting uncomfortably.
“Harry! Yeah, of course.” She stepped aside, inviting him in. Harry settled down in her desk chair, and she sat on her bed opposite. They sat in silence, Harry idly shuffling papers on her desk and shifting side to side in the chair.
“Did you want to talk, Harry? Or should we have a staring competition?” She smiled to soften her words.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He exploded suddenly, making Hermione jump back. His tone sounded hurt, not angry.
“Which part, Harry.” Her tone was bland. She suddenly felt so tired. She had, she thought, successfully avoided this very conversation for a week. Hermione wasn’t sure exactly what he had been told, but was sure that Ron and the others had filled him in at least somewhat. Every interaction they had had in the last week had been benign, topics kept neutral and safe.
“How about anything? How much have you been hiding Hermione?!”
“I-” Hermione struggled to come up with the words. She had had this conversation in her head so many times, but facing it still had no idea what to say. Every justification sounded like an excuse, lame and flat. “I don’t know. I was ashamed, I guess. Then so much time past and…I don’t know, Harry. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
She hung her head and waited for the moment he told her he wouldn’t forgive her for lying.
“Hermione, you could never be a burden. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Harry had tears in his eyes, holding himself stiffly at the desk.
“I told myself that if any of you asked me, I’d tell you everything. I’d tell myself, well others have it worse. You had it worse Harry. My parents didn’t love me. But I wasn’t beaten or starved so I told myself it wasn’t so bad. Then I had you, and the Weasleys, and it was almost like having a family so it was better. I could pretend everything was fine as long as we were together. I’m sorry, Harry. “ She looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I should have confided in you, but I wanted to protect you. Then when you didn’t say anything I thought, well, we’ll just carry on.”
Harry crossed the space and sat next to her on the bed. Hermione took his hand and they sat a moment in sad silence.
“It’s not a competition to see whose family is the worst. I was waiting, everyone said to give you space and not bother you so I did that, but I couldn’t wait anymore. The attack, are you…OK?”
“I don’t know, Harry. Sometimes I’m fine.” Hermione pulled her knees up and hugged them.
“Hermione, I thought we told each other everything. We handle problems together, we-”
“I know, Harry. I just…I can’t face it. Or couldn’t? If I’m not exhausted at the end of the day I can’t sleep, I can only see Greyback, grabbing me, or hear their voices. Feel the heat of the fire on my face.”
“I see the maze.” Harry said quietly. “Cedric- the flash of green light. His laugh. “ He looked down at his hands.
“Nights are the hardest.” She murmured in agreement. “I don’t know how to talk about it, I guess. It makes it feel more…real.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have to hear what’s going on with my best friend from everyone else.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m sorry Harry. Never again, I promise.” She hugged him, and they held each other tight.
“I’m sorry too. I should have noticed something. You spend as much time with the Weasleys as I do, and I never thought about your parents-you never saw them.” He trailed off, speaking into her shoulder.
“No more secrets. Not between us.” She said, putting back and looking into his green eyes.
“Not between us.” He agreed. He grinned then, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, what’s all this.” He reached a hand out and tugged the wrap covering her curls.
“Hey!” She cried, pulling back and smoothing the scarf back down. “It’s my hair wrap- it protects my hair at night.”
“From what? Does Crookshanks nest in it?”
She stuck her tongue out at her friend. “It keeps my hair from getting frizzy. It’s a girl thing.”
“Well you look like Professor Quirrel. You sure you don’t have Voldemort in there?” He teased.
“Quirrel? How dare you!” She cried in mock outrage. They laughed together, and Hermione felt as though weights had been lifted from her. She saw that in her attempt to protect Harry she had driven a wedge between them, and the relief of bridging that gap was almost physical. She had spent the better part of a week avoiding any conversation more serious than chocolate frog cards and cleaning updates with him, too scared of the fallout to face anything more.
“There is something else.” Harry said, sounding cautious again. Hermione’s stomach dropped, and she frantically tried to remember if she had done anything else that would make her friend angry with her.
“So…I talked to Sirius. He told me about your parents, and he… said he wants to adopt you too. I guess he wanted to know if I’d be Ok you being my sister. Blood adoption is binding, did you know?” Harry turned slightly pink and looked away, picking at a nonexistent spot on her bedspread.
“What do you mean, Harry?” Hermione felt a bolt of panic. Harry didn’t want her, not as family. Maybe he didn’t want her getting between himself and Sirius? Maybe he just doesn’t trust me anymore. She thought glumly.
Harry flushed deeper, keeping his eyes down. “Just..uh, he wanted to make sure I didn’t, have…um you know…non-brother feelings for you.” He stuttered out.
Hermione laughed. She couldn’t help it, the idea of Harry being anything but her friend utterly ridiculous.
“I suppose…it’s nice of him to make sure.” She said through her giggles. “What did you tell him?”
“That you’re the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have.” He mumbled the heartfelt words, risking a brief glance at her face before ducking his head again. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to grip Harry’s hand.
“So…your OK then? When Sirius is free…”
“We’ll be a real family. The three of us.” He locked eyes with her for a moment, squeezing her hand back.
“I’m sorry I’m not better at this stuff. Er, feelings, you know.”
“ Yeah I know, but the Dursleys raised you so we’ll have to work on it.” Hermione said playfully.
“Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?”
“I think the twins are rubbing off on me.”
Harry’s brows shot up into his mess of black hair, and Hermione realized where his teenage mind went with her statement. “Oh gods, harry! Ew!” She doubled over laughing, swatting his arm.
Harry laughed too, and her heart thrilled at the sound.He stood and wandered back to her desk, picking up a sheet of parchment that was jutting out of the stack.
“What’s that?” She asked.
. “Did you draw this? It’s really good.” He held up the parchment for her. It was an incredibly detailed sketch, depicting a delicate locket, intricately designed with a snake-like 'S' coiled on the front, as if guarding a precious secret within. The artist's hand had expertly captured every detail, from the shimmering scales of the serpent to the ornate engravings on the locket itself. Hermione crossed the room and took the drawing from Harry, looking closer at the image. It sparked something, some hint of a memory she couldn’t quite reach.
“No, I’m not this talented.” She tossed the sketch back down on the desk, and thumbed through the stack, finding more sketches, half drawn images of objects and people.
“These were left here, I haven’t cleaned them up yet. I’ve been meaning to put them with the journals.”
“Journals?”
“Yeah, this was Sirius’s brother’s room. He must have been an avid writer- there’s a big stack of them in the box over there.” She gestured to the corner near the bookshelf. They lapsed into silence again, both lost to their thoughts about the artist-turned-death eater who used to occupy this space. Harry yawned and stretched, and they soon said their goodnights. As Harry turned to leave, he spotted something on her bedside table that made him pause.
“Uh, Hermione?”
“Yes Harry?”
“Do you..still have Rita Skeeter in that jar?”