Lightning

Tears glazed his eyes, blurring his vision as he looked out the window at the Hogwarts grounds. He leaned his burning forehead against the cold window pain, but the persistent pounding of rain against the glass only made his scar hurt more. The wind howled and lightning crashed just beyond the Quidditch Pitch. He dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping to ease the pain in his chest that was keeping him from breathing correctly.

'Harry, please, sit down,' a small voice said from the couch in front of the fireplace.

Harry shook his head against the window. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the emotions welled up in his chest, which were surely what were hurting his lungs so badly. No matter how hard he tried, the rope of emotions seemed to squeeze tighter around his lungs, letting little air come in or out.

'It's been a long day for the both of us,' she insisted pointlessly. 'Come take a load off.'

'No,' Harry croaked, his voice quivering from forced-back tears. He took a deep breath of the scent of the burning wood in the fireplace. His hands began to shake as he sighed, letting out a tiny ounce of frustration.

'Harry,' she whispered once more. He jerked involuntarily as he hand touched his shoulder. 'Sorry,' she said in regards to surprising him. 'You need to sit. You need to sleep.'

'No,' Harry said forcefully, trying to get out of her reach. He stumbled sideways into an end table, and a vase of red roses fell to the floor with a deafening crash. All was silent for several long seconds before she waved her wand at the mess of the ground. 'Reparo.' The vase glued itself back together but the roses remained on the floor in a puddle of water.

Harry looked at her at last. Her cheeks and forehead were blotchy, and her brown eyes still bore the resemblance of a small child with pink eye, but the only thing that truly made her look different was her missing smile, the smile that she had earned in her fourth year at Hogwarts.

'Harry,' she started, clearly unsure of herself, 'can you... I dunno, just yell, or shout at me, or something...anything.'

'What for?' he muttered, truly not caring at all about how she felt.

'Because I can't stand not knowing what you're thinking,' she said, staring at him, as though wishing that she knew Legilimency. 'I can't stand watching you just ignore the pain.'

'It's just my scar,' Harry said stubbornly. 'I can deal with it.'

'How dare you,' she hissed just loud enough for him to hear.

'What are you on about?' he asked, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye as he turned back to the window.

'How dare you pretend that it's just your bloody scar,' she said a bit louder this time. 'Why can't you just admit what you're feeling for once, Harry?'

'Piss off, Hermione,' Harry snapped. 'You don't know what it's like.'

Hermione scoffed at his words. 'Don't know what it's like? Have you forgotten that they were my friends too, Harry?' she said. 'You're not the only one with losses, you know.'

'Drop it, Hermione,' Harry said as he marched past her, toward the Boys' Dormitory.

'I will not drop it,' Hermione said, following after him, infuriated by his words. 'You need to stop acting like you're a pitiful reject that no one understands. Everyone feels the same way that you do right now, so stop acting like you have an excuse for the way you're behaving.'

'Oh, stop the motherly words of wisdom act, Hermione,' Harry said, opening the door to his dormitory. 'It's really getting old.'

'The way you're always storming around like it's your fault that things turned out the way they did is getting old,' Hermione shot back.

Harry blocked out her words and the way they poked needles at his heart. He opened his trunk, hearing only a few words escaping Hermione's lips. 'Understandable...Cry...Here for you...Run away...problems...'

At last, when he thought he might not be able to bear listening to Hermione's soothing words another second, Harry's fingers gripped the ash handle of his slightly worn, but still perfectly usable, Firebolt. He slowly closed his trunk, then held up his broom and just stared at it. Sirius had given it to him four years ago. Thinking back on it, Harry never remembered thanking him. But there would be time for that soon enough.

'Harry, are you listening to me?' This time, Hermione's voice broke through the wall that had kept him to himself as he stared at the Firebolt and reminisced on his time with Sirius.

'Honestly?' Harry said, looking at her but seeing nothing but memories flashing before his eyes. 'No, Hermione.'

He stood up, his Firebolt held firmly in his right hand, and turned to the window next to his bed.

'Harry, where are you going?'

He propped his broom up against his bedside table and grasped the brass handle on the window. Closing his eyes, Harry pushed the window open. The cold wind and rain blew in, sprinkling the windowsill with fat drops of water.

'What are you doing?' Hermione asked frantically as he climbed on top of the windowsill.

'Going out for a ride,' Harry said, staring at the lightning racing across the sky. He imagined the sensation of a single bolt surging through his veins.

'You can't!' she gasped. 'Can't you see that there's a storm? It's suicide!'

The raindrops were pounding against his face, against his aching scar, relieving some of the intense pain. He wondered how ironic the post would make it out to be if the lightning struck right through his scar.

'I know,' Harry said darkly. His mind screamed at him not to look at her--it would surely kill him, or not in this case. But his heart begged him to take one look into her deep brown eyes. Unable to convince himself otherwise, he looked at her face, where fresh tears were streaming down her face.

She didn't say a word--she didn't beg him to not do it or pull him off the window ledge. No, he did that on his own. Harry stepped down, away from the window. Even then, perhaps for fear of scaring him out the window, Hermione didn't make a move. She just let the tears flow gracefully, like never-ending rivers, down her cheeks.

When Harry couldn't stand staring at her--the shaking, sobbing mess that she was--he wrapped his arms around her, unable to think of any other way to keep himself from looking at her. Her arms snaked around his neck, clinging to him for support, which he eagerly gave her. She pushed her face into his chest, grasping the warmth of his touch.

After what could have been anywhere from several minutes to several long hours, she pulled away, her face blotched more than before.

'First Ron, then Ginny...' she whispered hoarsely. 'I need you here...'

She pleaded as if she might die without him there with her. Harry wished he understood what gave her the will to live with so many lost.

'I can't promise that I'll be OK without you here,' she said, choking on her words.

Harry longed for a way to tell her that he couldn't be OK ever again, but it didn't come out right. 'I can't promise that I can make it better,' he said, wiping a tear off her face.

A flicker of a smile made its way on to her face, but by the time Harry could digest what he had seen, it was gone, like a flash of brilliant lightning.

'You will,' she said knowingly. 'And I'll make you better too.' Harry didn't know how she knew what he had been thinking or how she would make it better, but he didn't ask. Something--perhaps it was the way that Hermione was always right, or the way that the smile had returned to her face for one brief second--made him believe her. He nodded, and the knot in his chest--around his heart--loosened.

'I know you will.'