Shadow Walks |h.p/h.g|

ch. 19

Harry came awake slowly, taking a moment to remember where he was, and wondering idly what time it was. There was no way to determine time of day in the little underground, windowless room. His nose ached where he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on; he'd turned over in the night and driven them into his face. The earpiece was still hanging crookedly where he'd broken them, falling on Hermione the night before, but he ignored it. He pushed two fingers beneath the frames and rubbed, as he stretched experimentally and sat up.

Hermione was in the bed with him. It gave him a momentary jolt, until he saw the way she was laying, curled up into a tight defensive ball facing away from him, so close to the edge of the bed that she seemed seconds away from falling off, with a tattered afghan clutched tightly around her. A pang of sorrow washed over him, as he regarded her, feeling an immense regret that he had come here at all, that he had been the showcase for all her regrets, had put on display to her what she was missing - would forever miss - and that he was going to leave her behind, in a universe where she'd already been left behind countless times.

He leaned over her, propped on one arm, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

She sniffed suddenly, and blinked her eyes open, shrinking back into the mattress as she saw his proximity. She scrambled from the bed, still holding the afghan around herself like it was armor.

"You're awake," she blurted obviously. "I'm - I'm sorry... I tried not to take up much room, but - but the floor is cold, and - "

"Hermione..." he interrupted gently. "It's your bed. If anything, I'm grateful that you didn't chuck me out." He looked at the desk, with the multiverse book lying open atop it, and several pieces of parchment covered in Hermione's tidy scrawl. "You were up much later than I was. Why don't you get back in the bed and rest, and I'll get us some breakfast? How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine," she mumbled, as he steered her by both arms back to the bed, and made her sit down. He moved over to the tiny stove, and looked back over his shoulder at her.

"What do you usually eat?"

She shrugged, apparently embarrassed.

"Usually just toast. There are some bananas under an Everfresh charm too; they should still be good." Harry found the necessary items, and began to prepare a simple breakfast, while Hermione watched, hunched beneath her afghan.

"Don't you want to know how much progress I made last night?" She finally asked, when the silence seemed to grow oppressive.

"It can wait until after breakfast," he said, holding two plates aloft and speaking with impressive nonchalance. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I don't need your pity, Harry," she nearly growled. "Who wouldn't be eager to leave this wretched place?"

"I trust you remember exactly what I said to you last night?" Harry asked, though it wasn't really a question. "Then you also remember that the word 'pity' was nowhere to be heard, was it?"

"I think I've got it," she said softly, and was rewarded with a loud clatter, as Harry let the plates drop the remaining distance to the surface of the stove.

"R - really?" he stammered, dolloping marmalade onto the toast and spreading it out. He perched a banana on the edge of the plate, and handed it to Hermione. She accepted the plate, and took a bite, without really tasting it.

"Yes," was her response, and they finished the scanty meal in silence. Harry felt anticipation thrumming through his gut in a dead heat with guilt.