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"Why do you never complain, Harry?" Hermione finally blurted out, sitting up straight on the Gryffindor sofa, her homework spread around her meticulously. Yet the frustration was present on her face; her lips thinned together with her brown eyes squinted.
Harry peered up from his position on the carpeted floor opposite her, a questioning yet confused look forming on his face. Green eyes drooping from the long hours of catching up with homework and a few hours of sleep.
"I mean, you take so long to come forward with anything that concerns you." She started in the tone where she's trying to figure something out, but for whatever reason, can't. "…you always have to do it yourself first! Then get angry if someone tries to help you-"
Before she could continue, Harry cut her off, his voice unusually cold and almost robotic. "Life is unfair. Kill yourself or get over it." The way he said it, spoken in such a manner as if he'd been told it repeatedly. Drilled into him until it was embedded into him.
"That's what my aunt told me constantly; I've heard it since I can remember..." Hermione was for once lost for words, she couldn't help but stare with wide, mortified eyes at the teen, who over the years has become her best friend. At the realisation of what he said dawns upon him, his heart constricts in his chest and he clenches his fists at the confession. It feels wrong to say, to admit, and frankly, he’s confused why he even said it. Breathing deeply, he can’t bear to look up and witness Hermione's expression. The horror, the pity that he knows will show clearly on her face. He knows and yet it’s like he’s opened up a dam that won’t bloody stop, so he continues.
"I think...I think a part of her hoped that one day I would." He reveals in small voice, eyes unfocused, as he looks at the wood of the table in front of him. "That one day...I would finally crumble from the lack of food. The yelling would become too much. That the occasional hit, slap from Vernon or the beating from Dudley would cause me to break." He swallowed, throat bobbing. He's never spoken so openly about this before, and he never thought he would. And by the look of Hermione's face, neither did she.
"Oh, Harry..." Her voice was breaking slightly, and when he finally looked up, he saw tear marks on her cheeks. "Don't." He warns, his jaw clenching at the look of pity that was aimed at him.
Shaking her head, she wipes the tears away with a sniffle. "I know, I know you don't like pity, Harry, but Merlin, you can't expect me to be unaffected."
Sighing, he opened his arms, his shoulders still tense. "Fine." He reluctantly nodded. "Now come here before Ron gets here and goes all defensive thinking I've yelled at you." He didn't get to the end of the sentence before his face was engulfed with brown curls of hair, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Her ink-stained fingers digging into his jumper, gripping, grasping as her shoulders wobble slightly. Like she’s scared he’ll be gone like his relatives wanted if she lets go.
Rubbing her back, he felt himself relax. It's fine, this is Hermione. She wouldn't hurt him. It's ok. With that repeating in his mind, he couldn't help the shuddering breath that left him, and if his eyes filled with unshed tears, that was only his business.
"We love you, Harry. We appreciate you so much, Ron, and I couldn't ask for a better friend," Hermione says as she breaks the silence with her muffled voice. Yet the thickness of it, the sniffles, doesn’t go unnoticed.
Harry closes his green eyes behind his glasses and smiles. "I know." He replies so quietly it was almost unheard. The fire in the common room continues to burn as their pain is engulfed by the soothing silence of the castle's magic.