The rhythm of the waves was Harry's constant companion at Shell
Cottage. Sometimes he'd still see Hermione outside, next to
Dobby's grave. The air had gotten colder again, and the wind had
gotten considerably stronger this week.
As he stepped from the living room into the kitchen, he glimpsed
Hermione sitting alone by the white stone, hand propping her chin
up.
He paused, then opened the door and strode outside, making his
way to sit beside her.
“Hermione, it's freezing out here.” he said over the sound of the
waves. She blinked, looking surprised to see him.
When she didn't reply, Harry pressed on, “It's warmer inside;
there's a fire in the living room--”
“You're not angry with me.”
He stopped short, staring at her. She'd been looking much better
recently; it was alarming now to see her cheeks lose their color.
Her curls whipped over her face as the wind gave a particularly
loud whistle. Through the curly mass covering her face, he could
see her eyes studying his face nervously.
“Of course I'm not angry with you.” he said finally, as she shook
back her hair. “Why would I be?”
“I'm the reason you have to use that wand, and I let them find
out.” she whispered.
Astonished, Harry stared at her.
“Hermione, you can't still be dwelling on that, can you?”
Her face told him his answer.
“Look, Hermione, I'm not angry with you for any of that.” he said
swiftly, hoping to calm her and perhaps convince her to go
inside. “I swear. You couldn't help it; you saved my life that
night.”
She looked away. Alarmed by her unusual behavior, Harry reached
out and clasped her hand in his own. “Hermione, you're not...
you're ill-- I'll take you inside, Fleur can do something for
you--”
Hermione's eyes moved to his own, and after a long pause, she
whispered, “Is that what it felt like, every time?”
Harry's words died on his lips. He gazed at her, bewildered and
worried.
“Every time...?” he repeated slowly. “I don't know what you mean.”
“When he-- when he tortured you?”
Comprehension dawned on him, and he licked his chapped lips
before answering carefully, “I suppose that's how it felt, I--
Hermione, you're not yourself; please let me bring you inside--”
She shook her head and he felt something like panic strike him;
only a week before they'd had a conversation about Teddy and
she'd been fine-- something had happened, something had hurt
her...
“Talk to me, Hermione, please.” he said desperately, “I can't
help you if you don't.”
Her hands were trembling uncontrollably in his, and he gripped
them firmly in his own.
“My dreams... and you didn't come; you and Ron just left me--
left me with her...” she broke off, hiding her face in her hands.
His heart gave a painful pulse as he realized that he wasn't the
only one who suffered from nightmares.
“Hermione, please look at me!” he pleaded urgently, “You're all
right, I swear, I'm not going to let her hurt you again--”
He moved closer to her, as she shook even more violently at the
vague mention of Lestrange. He felt a sudden rush of hatred for
Lestrange burn through him as he reached out and pulled Hermione
into his arms. Her arms wound around his torso, in a tight grasp
that almost hurt.
“I'm sorry; I'm sorry for being so frightened.” he heard her
whisper, and he only squeezed her slightly.
“Don't be stupid; I'd be frightened, too.” he said quietly,
“Anyone would.”
The waves crashed hard against the rocks, and he glanced up. The
clouds had darkened considerably, and the smells of the earth had
gotten stronger. Rain would be coming soon.
He spoke into her hair, “We should go inside, Hermione-- it's
going to rain.”
She looked up, and her face was so astonishingly close to Harry's
that he caught his breath. Every curve of her face, every arch
and every line; Harry knew all of them by heart...
“I wish it wouldn't.” she murmured, clinging to him.
“Sometimes we can't help it.” he whispered finally, sweeping her
up into his arms. “Sometimes, we just can't help it.”
She only nestled closer to him as icy sheets of rain began to
fall.
Cottage. Sometimes he'd still see Hermione outside, next to
Dobby's grave. The air had gotten colder again, and the wind had
gotten considerably stronger this week.
As he stepped from the living room into the kitchen, he glimpsed
Hermione sitting alone by the white stone, hand propping her chin
up.
He paused, then opened the door and strode outside, making his
way to sit beside her.
“Hermione, it's freezing out here.” he said over the sound of the
waves. She blinked, looking surprised to see him.
When she didn't reply, Harry pressed on, “It's warmer inside;
there's a fire in the living room--”
“You're not angry with me.”
He stopped short, staring at her. She'd been looking much better
recently; it was alarming now to see her cheeks lose their color.
Her curls whipped over her face as the wind gave a particularly
loud whistle. Through the curly mass covering her face, he could
see her eyes studying his face nervously.
“Of course I'm not angry with you.” he said finally, as she shook
back her hair. “Why would I be?”
“I'm the reason you have to use that wand, and I let them find
out.” she whispered.
Astonished, Harry stared at her.
“Hermione, you can't still be dwelling on that, can you?”
Her face told him his answer.
“Look, Hermione, I'm not angry with you for any of that.” he said
swiftly, hoping to calm her and perhaps convince her to go
inside. “I swear. You couldn't help it; you saved my life that
night.”
She looked away. Alarmed by her unusual behavior, Harry reached
out and clasped her hand in his own. “Hermione, you're not...
you're ill-- I'll take you inside, Fleur can do something for
you--”
Hermione's eyes moved to his own, and after a long pause, she
whispered, “Is that what it felt like, every time?”
Harry's words died on his lips. He gazed at her, bewildered and
worried.
“Every time...?” he repeated slowly. “I don't know what you mean.”
“When he-- when he tortured you?”
Comprehension dawned on him, and he licked his chapped lips
before answering carefully, “I suppose that's how it felt, I--
Hermione, you're not yourself; please let me bring you inside--”
She shook her head and he felt something like panic strike him;
only a week before they'd had a conversation about Teddy and
she'd been fine-- something had happened, something had hurt
her...
“Talk to me, Hermione, please.” he said desperately, “I can't
help you if you don't.”
Her hands were trembling uncontrollably in his, and he gripped
them firmly in his own.
“My dreams... and you didn't come; you and Ron just left me--
left me with her...” she broke off, hiding her face in her hands.
His heart gave a painful pulse as he realized that he wasn't the
only one who suffered from nightmares.
“Hermione, please look at me!” he pleaded urgently, “You're all
right, I swear, I'm not going to let her hurt you again--”
He moved closer to her, as she shook even more violently at the
vague mention of Lestrange. He felt a sudden rush of hatred for
Lestrange burn through him as he reached out and pulled Hermione
into his arms. Her arms wound around his torso, in a tight grasp
that almost hurt.
“I'm sorry; I'm sorry for being so frightened.” he heard her
whisper, and he only squeezed her slightly.
“Don't be stupid; I'd be frightened, too.” he said quietly,
“Anyone would.”
The waves crashed hard against the rocks, and he glanced up. The
clouds had darkened considerably, and the smells of the earth had
gotten stronger. Rain would be coming soon.
He spoke into her hair, “We should go inside, Hermione-- it's
going to rain.”
She looked up, and her face was so astonishingly close to Harry's
that he caught his breath. Every curve of her face, every arch
and every line; Harry knew all of them by heart...
“I wish it wouldn't.” she murmured, clinging to him.
“Sometimes we can't help it.” he whispered finally, sweeping her
up into his arms. “Sometimes, we just can't help it.”
She only nestled closer to him as icy sheets of rain began to
fall.
Escaping the Rain
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| The Ultimate Harry Potter Analysis Source |
| Choosing what is Right over what is Easy |
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