40 Days

November 17, 1997

November 17, 1997

I woke up alone in the tent and went quickly through my morning routine before looking for Harry. He was outside again, seemingly unaffected by the cold winds. He only wore a jumper as opposed to my heavy jacket and scarf.

I dug my hands into my pockets, trying to brace myself to talk to him about his behavior at night. Just as I was about to open my mouth to begin, he turned around with a small smile.

"Morning, Hermione. Are you hungry?"

Lately the answer to that was always yes, but I had so much anxiety writhing inside me that for once the thought of food was much lower on my list of concerns. I shifted uncomfortably in front of him and he came closer to me. "Harry..."

"What's wrong Hermione?"

"I just, I know you're trying to help me. With Ron leaving.." His body jerked a little at Ron's name, as if receiving an unpleasant jolt.

"I'd rather we didn't talk about him, if you don't mind." He cut me off sharply, and I glanced up at him as opposed to staring at his shoulder.

"Okay. Yeah, okay, we don't have to." My words were softer now, unconsciously pleading again. "I just don't think it would be good if we slept together... I mean, if we are close at night..." I lost track of what I was saying as a thin smile spread across his face, his eyes flicking up and down me as if inspecting something strange.

"Let's go have breakfast, Hermione." Harry didn't bother acknowledging what I had said as he walked off towards the tent, confident I would follow. I stood there a moment, not really understanding how things had changed so quickly.

Today was... today was... Monday. Ron had left Saturday evening. Was this really only the second day?

Harry made breakfast and our meager lunch and dinner when the time rolled around, not letting me help, just advising me I should rest. He was comfortable in the kitchen cooking, barely using any magic to help him. We talked about theories on where the sword could be, and he seemed almost normal.

Almost.

There was an edge to him that peeked out occasionally. Harry had always had a temper, but this was different. His temper was passionate, aggrieved, and when it blew over, he was fine.

This was an icy anger, and any disagreement from me seemed to provoke him. After dinner, I rubbed my shoulder, trying to loosen a kink that tension had given me when Harry spotted me.

"Come here, I'll give you a massage."

I looked over at him with a smile, not stopping my rubbing motion. "No, it's fine. I'm just a little tense."

He ignored me and stood up, walking behind me. I flinched when his hands landed on me.

"Don't move," he said.

His hands stroked over my shoulders, digging gently into the muscles, and even though I tried not to, I felt myself relax. I tried not to make any noises as he massaged my shoulders and the silence stretched for several minutes before he asked me, "Do you know what I'm afraid of, Hermione?"

I almost turned to look at him before I remembered he had told me not to move. "What?"

His hands glided softly further down my back, gently moving through my hair, pausing whenever he met a knot to gently untangle the strands.

"I'm afraid of being alone." I couldn't help myself. I jerked around to face him at that. His face was mournful, almost tormented, an expression I had seen on him before, first when Sirius died, and then Dumbledore. I was so caught by his expression that I ignored the hard glitter of his pale green eyes.

I reached up, pulling him down into a hug, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck. "You're not alone. I'm with you, and I won't leave you."

"I realized that." He shifted, his hands coming up to pull my arms down. "Since I met you, you've always stood at my side, even when you disagreed with me."

"You're my best friend."

"I really thought you would leave me the other day, that you wouldn't pick me over Ron."

I was a little flustered by that characterization of my behavior. I hadn't really thought of it that way. Harry needed me. I had promised him I would help him and that is exactly what I was going to do. "I think—I think Ron will come back, Harry. He —"

"We don't need him. We are all we need." He stepped back, pulling on my hand to get me to stand. "It's late."

I wobbled when I stood up and he caught my elbow, pulling me firmly towards his bed. I dug in my heels, determined to avoid this happening again. "Harry, wait."

"What?"

"I think we need to sleep in our own beds."

"Why?"

I sputtered for a second. What did he mean? Why? "Because, because—the beds are small! There's barely enough room for one person!"

He laughed and the lights suddenly went out in the tent, causing me to jump. He took advantage of my momentary distraction to push me forward and I lost my balance, landing on his bed with a small bounce.

"Harry–"

"Do you know where I used to sleep?" He climbed in after me.

"What? Harry, please–" He was twining around me again, pining me in place. Like a snake wrapping around me.

"Before I came to Hogwarts, I used to sleep in a tiny cupboard under the stairs."

I paused in my wiggling, taken aback. What the hell? "You what?"

"It was three feet wide by six feet long and when I stretched out, my toes would touch the underside of the stairs. This bed is spacious by comparison. We fit perfectly."

I got stuck on the first part of his statement. I knew he had a terrible childhood, but that was unimaginable. They kept him in a cupboard under the stairs? Those bastards.

I felt him nuzzle into me like I was some big teddy bear. When he spoke, his breath tickled the back of my neck, making me shiver. "I don't want to be alone, Hermione."

I'm afraid of being alone.

"Just—just for tonight, Harry, okay?"

He didn't respond, and I tried to ignore the discomfort from the locket. He nuzzled me again, and I felt the press of his lips against the back of my neck.