Chapter Text
Harry was having nightmares. Nightmares weren't anything new; he'd had them for years. Only now, they were different, and he was starting to think he preferred the ones about Voldemort because watching his friends die was infinitely worse.
From how Hermione looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention, it was apparent they were taking a toll. She'd get this little frown, her brows pulling together in concern. He hated it when she looked at him like that. Like he was fragile, just waiting to break into a thousand tiny pieces.
"Are you alright?" she asked over their small breakfast and mugs of watery tea.
He nodded because he didn't know what else to do.
"Are you sure?"
He wasn't. But he didn't think talking about it would make it any better. Besides, whenever Ron came up in conversation, Hermione looked like she wanted to cry, and there was no reason for both of them to feel awful.
"It's just bad dreams," said Harry, sipping his tea. His hands were wrapped tightly around the mug, more concerned with absorbing its warmth than the taste.
"We don't have to go tonight if you don't feel well," she said, "we can go another night."
"You know that's not true," he said, "if we wait, then Voldemort might get there before us, and then we're out of our only lead."
She frowned but didn't argue. She knew he was right. But it didn't matter in the end because they were too late, and their only lead was lost. The image of Nagini bursting from the chest of Bathilda Bagshot would not leave Harry's mind long after they landed in a heap in the snow back in the safety of the forest. He lay on his back, heart pounding, the feeling of being near death still wrapped around him like a cloak.
Hermione got up first, pacing the small clearing in front of their tent. "We shouldn't stay here," she said, eyes raking the tree line, "we need to move- and fast."
Harry couldn't bring himself to move just yet, his heart still caught in his throat. He looked up at the black sky. She was right; they should move. The possibility of being found was yet another thing that sat in the back of his mind making it hard to sleep.
He took Hermione's hand, struggling to get to his feet. He brushed the snow from his clothes, and without words, they packed up the tent with practiced ease. Soon they started their westward trek through the woods. It was a warm winter night, and it was snowing. Big fat flakes swirled gently around them as they hiked in the moonlight. They moved slowly, taking turns to wipe away their footprints with sweeping arcs.
Harry led the way up a long hill, "you know," said Hermione softly from behind him, "if you ever decide to tell me what's wrong, I promise I'll listen; I know I haven't always been the best at that," she said stepping over a rotten fallen log, "but I want to be better, I want to be the kind of friend you can tell things to."
"You are," said Harry, surprised.
"No, I'm not," she said, "I've been thinking a lot about it recently. Look- I know you're unwell, I can see it, Harry, so don't try and argue with me, and there's no requirement that you tell me why- I can't even blame you for not wanting to - but I guess it's made me think a lot about things. Sometimes I don't listen very well because I think I know best, and just do that instead of hearing what the people around me are saying."
They had stopped in a small clearing of trees after cresting the hill. The snow fell fast, piling up all around them. It was warm enough that it crunched under their shoes, the climb leaving them both breathless.
"What I mean," said Hermione, between panting breaths, "is that I'm sorry for before, for all the times I didn't listen. I want to do better so that when something's wrong, you can tell me and know I'm not going to run off and do the exact opposite of what you wanted."
Maybe it was because he hadn't slept properly in weeks, but a hard lump formed in Harry's throat, making it hard to swallow. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, the cold wind making them sting. He tried to swipe them away without her noticing. "It's alright," he said, "I know you're always trying to do what's best for all of us."
She'd gotten a few steps ahead of him and spun around, "but I shouldn't! Not unless I've asked first, and, and," and then she was crying too. The next thing Harry knew, she had nearly bowled him over. She was hugging him so hard, her hands fisted into the back of his coat, and her cold nose shoved against his neck.
"I've been having dreams," he said. He didn't want to say again because that wasn't accurate. They hadn't stopped, just changed, so now, instead of watching Cedric die or listening to his mother's screams, there was a new horrifying way to watch his friends die every night.
"About what?"
"About my friends dying," he said, swallowing hard, "it's been wearing on me, I think."
"You mean you've been having dreams about Ron dying," she said, her head resting on his shoulder.
"Yeah," said Harry, "how did you know?"
"You talk in your sleep. A lot."
"I'm sorry! You should have told me, I'd have cast a silencing charm. God Hermione, do I keep you awake often?"
"No," she said, wrapping her arm a little tighter around his, "not usually, but sometimes I can't sleep either, and I'll get up to do some reading, and that's when I'll hear you. I was wondering how long it would take before you told me."
"I didn't want to upset you. I know you miss him."
"Of course I do! But it's not the same."
Harry didn't understand what she meant, "what do you mean not the same?"
She sighed and struggled to her feet, brushing the snow off her jeans, "right, that's enough of that. Time to set up the tent."
She set off across the clearing.
"Hermione!" Harry called after her, "what do you mean it's not the same?"