The frigid air nipped insistently at her throat. She stretched
her stiff limbs slightly, clasping the thin blanket tighter
around her torso, rubbing the fleece against her cold cheek in an
attempt to coax warmth back into them.
Her eyes felt as though they'd been glued shut with sticky
`sleep'. She dropped the blanket and ran a finger along the
bottom of her eyelids, realizing that she must have been crying
in her sleep.
Again.
The plastic mattress squeaked beneath her as she swung her legs
over the bunk bed, blinking hastily in the dim light creeping in
through the tent flap. She let the blanket fall to the mattress
and rubbed her upper arms, staring blankly at the crack in the
tent flap.
Slowly, reluctantly, she dropped her bare feet to the floor and
got up, crossing the tent space and moving towards the tent
bathroom. She opened the door and shuffled into the dismally
white space, gripping the cold faucet handle and letting icy
water stream into the sink.
She ignored the smudged mirror above the sink, choosing instead
to turn away from it as she scrubbed her face with rather frozen
fingers. There wasn't much to behold there, she'd learned a
couple months ago. No, it would be better to focus elsewhere.
Eyes still shut, she reached out and took the little towel from
the bar in front of her. She rubbed her face dry, shook her hair
away from her face, and opened her eyes. Hermione made a small
noise at the back of her throat as her skin readjusted to being
dry.
If she wasn't careful, her eyes would forget what it felt like to
be dry, too.
She lifted a hand and wrestled her hair into the single hair band
she had left, knowing by the way that her curls snared onto her
fingers that there was no use attempting to brush it. Who would
know what it looked like, anyway? She wouldn't, and Harry
certainly wouldn't pay attention.
Ron wouldn't have, either.
Her hands dropped her sides, angry at herself for letting the
thought flit across her mind.
Ron is not your world, she reminded herself furiously, Ron is not
your definition. Focus on what needs to be done; on what you and
Harry have to do, with or without him.
Almost immediately, her hand jerked up to the side of her
jawbone. As her fingers brushed it, the skin there tingled as if
in memory of the slight, brief pressure of a kiss.
Stop.
Her thoughts acted like a telegram, Hermione thought dryly,
dropping her hand and determinedly ignoring the fast, fluttery
beat of her heart. Her thoughts traveled in stiff, unfeeling
sentences that stopped the moment a trace of emotion dared to
enter them.
She pushed the door open and stepped back out into the tent. Her
eyes surveyed the messy space, then landed on the tent flap.
She took a deep breath, then ducked out the tent flap into the
feeble morning light.
He was hugging his knees and watching the sun struggle to reach
the horizon in between the trees. His glasses were sliding down
toward the end of his nose. The black frames made a sharp
contrast to his pale skin, almost like ink on paper. She stood
there silently for a moment, before she sank to the ground beside
him, joining him in watching the sunrise.
A ray of peach-colored sunlight finally struck his face, and he
squinted, looking away. As he did, his eyes swung over to stop on
her face.
She caught her breath as his green eyes narrowed as he focused
onto her eyes.
She had grown used to having her gaze avoided, she realized. It
was rather a shock to suddenly have someone looking straight at
you, like a sudden spotlight had lit up your unimportant corner
of the stage.
A moment later, he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Sorry.
I didn't realize you were there.”
She nodded mutely, reaching up and tucking a curl of hair behind
her ear.
He inclined his head, rocking back and forth slightly, reminding
her of how young he was. Or should be.
Might have been?
He'd assumed responsibility for stopping Voldemort as a baby and
hadn't stopped assuming it since. Accepting responsibility for
things both good and bad, for things he could change and things
he couldn't help.
And it had been-- was-- her responsibility to stop him from
taking the bad on his shoulders.
He had stopped rocking now, and he was picking at the frozen soil
with his fingers. She watched his strong fingers scrabbled at the
dirt, trapping earth under his chipped fingernails.
After a pause, he looked up, and again his eyes fixed on her
face. She shifted, looking away.
The silence between them suddenly slapped her in the face as she
remembered the night before, when he'd apologized, wept...
It took her a moment for her to realize that her fingers were
once again pressed against her jaw. Hastily, she dropped her hand.
He was rolling a pebble in between his fingers, staring at it
intently. His brows were weighing heavily on his eyes, but not in
a frown. Just in thought.
She stared out into the woods, biting her lip and tasting the
frosty air on her suddenly dry tongue.
The pebble tumbled to the ground, and suddenly, Harry had
swiveled around and faced her. She blinked and nearly jumped back.
“It wasn't your fault, you know. Him leaving.” He was staring at
her keenly, his chin cocked. She parted her lips, astonished that
he had spoken to her, let alone brought up Ron in her presence.
After a silence, Harry continued doggedly, “That's what you've
been crying about, isn't it?”
She attempted to form a coherent `no', but failed.
He licked his lips and hung his head, looking embarrassed but
determined.
“Because it's not.” he said in the most earnest tone of voice
she'd heard him use all year. “You didn't do anything.”
He pressed the pebble into the soil with a fist.
Warmth rushed through her body in a way she was unused to, and
she suddenly found herself trembling. He looked up again.
“I... I owe you a lot. For staying.” his voice cracked, and he
winced. He fell silent, then rushed on, “I know you'd-- rather be
with him, and everything, but still...”
He cleared his throat again.
“Thanks, Hermione.” he said finally, looking at her directly.
“You're... very sweet.”
The last words slipped out awkwardly but sincerely, releasing a
blush into her cheeks.
It was astounding how the most treasured words, most encouraging
sentences, could come at a time when she felt the least herself.
“Thank you.” A whisper was all that she could manage, but it was
enough.
And for the moment, `enough' could still fill in the silences.
her stiff limbs slightly, clasping the thin blanket tighter
around her torso, rubbing the fleece against her cold cheek in an
attempt to coax warmth back into them.
Her eyes felt as though they'd been glued shut with sticky
`sleep'. She dropped the blanket and ran a finger along the
bottom of her eyelids, realizing that she must have been crying
in her sleep.
Again.
The plastic mattress squeaked beneath her as she swung her legs
over the bunk bed, blinking hastily in the dim light creeping in
through the tent flap. She let the blanket fall to the mattress
and rubbed her upper arms, staring blankly at the crack in the
tent flap.
Slowly, reluctantly, she dropped her bare feet to the floor and
got up, crossing the tent space and moving towards the tent
bathroom. She opened the door and shuffled into the dismally
white space, gripping the cold faucet handle and letting icy
water stream into the sink.
She ignored the smudged mirror above the sink, choosing instead
to turn away from it as she scrubbed her face with rather frozen
fingers. There wasn't much to behold there, she'd learned a
couple months ago. No, it would be better to focus elsewhere.
Eyes still shut, she reached out and took the little towel from
the bar in front of her. She rubbed her face dry, shook her hair
away from her face, and opened her eyes. Hermione made a small
noise at the back of her throat as her skin readjusted to being
dry.
If she wasn't careful, her eyes would forget what it felt like to
be dry, too.
She lifted a hand and wrestled her hair into the single hair band
she had left, knowing by the way that her curls snared onto her
fingers that there was no use attempting to brush it. Who would
know what it looked like, anyway? She wouldn't, and Harry
certainly wouldn't pay attention.
Ron wouldn't have, either.
Her hands dropped her sides, angry at herself for letting the
thought flit across her mind.
Ron is not your world, she reminded herself furiously, Ron is not
your definition. Focus on what needs to be done; on what you and
Harry have to do, with or without him.
Almost immediately, her hand jerked up to the side of her
jawbone. As her fingers brushed it, the skin there tingled as if
in memory of the slight, brief pressure of a kiss.
Stop.
Her thoughts acted like a telegram, Hermione thought dryly,
dropping her hand and determinedly ignoring the fast, fluttery
beat of her heart. Her thoughts traveled in stiff, unfeeling
sentences that stopped the moment a trace of emotion dared to
enter them.
She pushed the door open and stepped back out into the tent. Her
eyes surveyed the messy space, then landed on the tent flap.
She took a deep breath, then ducked out the tent flap into the
feeble morning light.
He was hugging his knees and watching the sun struggle to reach
the horizon in between the trees. His glasses were sliding down
toward the end of his nose. The black frames made a sharp
contrast to his pale skin, almost like ink on paper. She stood
there silently for a moment, before she sank to the ground beside
him, joining him in watching the sunrise.
A ray of peach-colored sunlight finally struck his face, and he
squinted, looking away. As he did, his eyes swung over to stop on
her face.
She caught her breath as his green eyes narrowed as he focused
onto her eyes.
She had grown used to having her gaze avoided, she realized. It
was rather a shock to suddenly have someone looking straight at
you, like a sudden spotlight had lit up your unimportant corner
of the stage.
A moment later, he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Sorry.
I didn't realize you were there.”
She nodded mutely, reaching up and tucking a curl of hair behind
her ear.
He inclined his head, rocking back and forth slightly, reminding
her of how young he was. Or should be.
Might have been?
He'd assumed responsibility for stopping Voldemort as a baby and
hadn't stopped assuming it since. Accepting responsibility for
things both good and bad, for things he could change and things
he couldn't help.
And it had been-- was-- her responsibility to stop him from
taking the bad on his shoulders.
He had stopped rocking now, and he was picking at the frozen soil
with his fingers. She watched his strong fingers scrabbled at the
dirt, trapping earth under his chipped fingernails.
After a pause, he looked up, and again his eyes fixed on her
face. She shifted, looking away.
The silence between them suddenly slapped her in the face as she
remembered the night before, when he'd apologized, wept...
It took her a moment for her to realize that her fingers were
once again pressed against her jaw. Hastily, she dropped her hand.
He was rolling a pebble in between his fingers, staring at it
intently. His brows were weighing heavily on his eyes, but not in
a frown. Just in thought.
She stared out into the woods, biting her lip and tasting the
frosty air on her suddenly dry tongue.
The pebble tumbled to the ground, and suddenly, Harry had
swiveled around and faced her. She blinked and nearly jumped back.
“It wasn't your fault, you know. Him leaving.” He was staring at
her keenly, his chin cocked. She parted her lips, astonished that
he had spoken to her, let alone brought up Ron in her presence.
After a silence, Harry continued doggedly, “That's what you've
been crying about, isn't it?”
She attempted to form a coherent `no', but failed.
He licked his lips and hung his head, looking embarrassed but
determined.
“Because it's not.” he said in the most earnest tone of voice
she'd heard him use all year. “You didn't do anything.”
He pressed the pebble into the soil with a fist.
Warmth rushed through her body in a way she was unused to, and
she suddenly found herself trembling. He looked up again.
“I... I owe you a lot. For staying.” his voice cracked, and he
winced. He fell silent, then rushed on, “I know you'd-- rather be
with him, and everything, but still...”
He cleared his throat again.
“Thanks, Hermione.” he said finally, looking at her directly.
“You're... very sweet.”
The last words slipped out awkwardly but sincerely, releasing a
blush into her cheeks.
It was astounding how the most treasured words, most encouraging
sentences, could come at a time when she felt the least herself.
“Thank you.” A whisper was all that she could manage, but it was
enough.
And for the moment, `enough' could still fill in the silences.
Filling in the Silence
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| The Ultimate Harry Potter Analysis Source |
| Choosing what is Right over what is Easy |
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