Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter Three: If you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid?

Hermione sat on the edge of Harry's bed, watching him sleep for a few peaceful moments as the dawning sunlight streamed in, slatting across the boy's still-pale skin. She studied him, as she'd often done in the tent when she'd been awake as he rested, and wondered what it must have been like to have gone through what he did. She knew a fragment of it, of course, because she had been there - had been in the real thick of it more than almost anyone else - but she couldn't imagine growing up as he did. Stuck in a home full of hate, parents dead before they could be known, thrust into a responsibility he'd never asked for and that no child should ever have to bear.

He'd been angsty quite often, of course; downright irritable and unpleasant on many occasions, and yet...

She would never know what it had really been like. The scar still emblazoned in his forehead was proof of that. He had been scarred in quite a different way than anyone else had, but he seemed to be handling the postscript of the war that had revolved around him quite well. She admired it - and wished she could manage to do the same.

Harry's eyes squinted open and he jumped lightly at seeing the shape sitting on his bed, then focused on the female form. "Hermione?" He muttered, brushing his fingers over the nightstand to the right of his bed and eventually coming upon his round black-framed glasses.

"How could you tell, Mr. Magoo?" Hermione laughed, but Harry only tilted his head back at her.

"I...don't know what you mean, but I would've known if you were Ginny. You...sit different than she does."

Hermione shook her head disbelievingly. "Now I've heard everything."

Harry sat up and gazed at her questioningly. "So...y'ok?"

"I wanted to be the first to say...happy birthday, Harry." She placed a wrapped present on the bed and smiled, and he raked his fingers through hopelessly messy dark hair.

"Eighteen, huh?"

"On the nosey."

"There were times..." he trailed off, flicking the bow Hermione had affixed to the present. "There were times, y'know, I didn't think I'd make it."

She didn't have to question what he meant by this.

He meant he had wondered if he might be dead before he got there.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced the image of Hagrid carrying his limp body out of her head. For a moment it refused to leave but, like an old television, eventually she made it flicker and fade - if only for Harry's sake. She leaned forward and hugged him fiercely, and he hugged her back, with a deep sense of desperation. He was always hugging and holding people lately...it was like he was clinging onto the life he was miraculously allowed to have again. She felt strong fingers on her shoulder blades, and he whispered, "Thank you, Hermione."

"It's just a book," she tried to shrug, but her eyes were already teary. "You know it's just a book."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Harry pulled back and sighed, then smiled. "We the first up?"

"I suspect Molly has already gone down to prepare a morning feast in honor of you." Harry grinned at this.

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?"

-

The rest of the day was great fun. There was an ersatz Quidditch match in the orchard - Ron, Harry, Fred, George, Angelina, and Ginny had worked out a game of 3-on-3, which was incredibly thrilling to watch. Fred and George on different teams! Ron and Harry pitted against each other! But, the pairing of Harry and Ginny, along with Fred, proved the other team no match for their partnership, and they won two out of three of the games handily. Lee, of course, announced every twist and turn with his magically-amplified voice, and Lupin had magicked-together some wooden beams to serve as stands for the rest of the group to watch and cheer from. It was late July and yet not too hot; the sun was bright but not hazy. It was truly beautiful.