Understand

He crouched in the corner of the yard, his hands shaking, tears on the verge of spilling down his hot stinging cheeks. His eyes were a riot of fire and his throat was tight as though it was clenched in a vice. His patience was gone, his heart was a hollow ache and he had never felt so utterly alone. He was absolutely sure that no one, not a soul in the entire house, understood how he felt.

He remembered the moment where all his good will broke perfectly. He was sitting there, steak abandoned, any patience he had very thin as Hermione looked between him and Ron with a worried look. Harry wasn't overflowing with good will as it was. He was forced to stay with the Dursleys at least one month of the year till he was strong enough to face Voldemort on his own. The Dursleys didn't care a whit that he'd lost the only parental support he felt he had. Harry's sanity was saved, surprisingly, by a very quietly understanding Petunia Dursley.

One afternoon as he hid amongst the shrubbery in the garden, Petunia stood next to it, pretending to clip the foliage.

"I made a promise to Lily," she said. "For a very long time I blamed you for losing her. You look so like him..." She had a quiet, soft pause. "I forget you aren't him, until I look at your eyes."

"So I'm just a token of remembrance of my Mum then?"

The pause that came was a surprise - offence? Or hurt?

"I thought you didn't care about us Harry... but you saved my boy." Before he could say anything, she added. "It's not a matter of debt. You are an Evans, underneath the arrogance and the petulant little stare. You cared about Duddy. I can't help but see you differently."

"Why?"

He peeked through the leaves of the begonia he was hunched amongst. Petunia's expression was soft, and he'd never seen her look so nice.

"It's what Lily would have done. It's what Lily did for you."

Petunia's bony but supple hand reached through the tangle of leaves and patted his shoulder lightly, almost embarrassedly, before she rushed inside.

But he wasn't at number four Privet Drive anymore. He was hiding in the corner of the Weasley's garden, hearing chairs and crockery being moved about inside. He wondered what they were doing. Sure, he was sulking to a point, but he was also so very very angry. He kicked the tree next to him as rage built up in him again. All he could ask himself was why? Why did he have to be the one to deal with all of this? Why did it have to be Sirius that died? Wasn't it bad enough that he'd lost his parents?

If there was a God, Harry hated him. If the Creator was in front of him right now, he would have wrung his bloody neck.

His argument with Ron brought it all back, all of it flooding back. He hadn't let himself cry when it had just happened. He didn't dare let himself act anything but stoic when he was at the Dursleys, and he had tried very hard to be quietly friendly when he arrived at the Burrow. He refused to bring any problems to the only safe place he knew. He respected the Weasleys too much to ruin their happiness. Of course that was before Ron slipped up and said the wrong thing. Harry's mood in front of the others was generally a quiet one, but in private, with Ron and Hermione, it tended to be a mite snappy. It was four days now that he'd been terse with his best friends, and Ron, being the fair fellow he was, had seen enough of Harry biting his words at Hermione.

Harry had made the mistake of letting his temper get the better of him at the dinner table of all places. Thankfully it was only him, Molly, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Arthur was at work late and Fred and George were out at a party.

"Oh I really can't stand the waiting till the OWL results," said Hermione, clattering her knife and fork against her plate for a moment. She squirmed and picked them up again. "If I can't do the career I want I'll just die."

Harry glanced up at her, no amusement in his eyes at all. Hermione's mouth dropped open and she gasped.

"Oh Harry," she said, "Oh I'm sorry."

He shook his head, saying nothing, looking back down at his food. The young woman squirmed again, frowning at her meal. She tried to turn the conversation back to their marks.

"Well... do you think you did well? I'm sure you did, you studied so hard..."

Harry didn't feel like eating. He put his knife and fork down very carefully. "I have no idea, Hermione. I tell you what I do know." He left a very deliberate pause then as he met her eyes. "If I don't get the career I'm after, I will die. Literally."

Ron's jaw dropped now.

"Harry..." began Hermione, but Harry stood, shaking his head.

"Forget it," he said, tones clipped, and Hermione covered her mouth in her hand.

"Now hang on," Ron said, standing up to Harry and towering him convincingly. "You know Hermione didn't mean anything by it! I'm sick of you letting her have it when she's done nothing to you! It's not fair!"

Harry clenched his teeth at Ron, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes.

"Fair. You want fair?"

Hermione took in a long breath, her brown eyes glinting, knowing Ron said the wrong thing. She even shook her head slowly.

When Harry spoke it was haunting. His voice was quiet, deathly calm. The crack of tears were in his voice, however, and as he finished his voice broke completely.

"Everyone I care about is being picked off, all of them... one - by - one." He tightened his fists into balls. "Is that fair Ron? IS IT?"

Ron ground his teeth. "Harry, it's tragic what happened, but it's no excuse to treat you friends like crap!"

Harry felt his heart drop to an empty chasm. Ron didn't understand... he didn't understand... Half the time Harry was making the hugest effort just to hold it all together... the thankless, unsympathetic....

He was only vaguely aware of Molly standing, her hands reaching out as if waiting to break up an all out fist fight. Hermione had the same caution in her eyes.

"Well maybe it's better if I don't have any friends at all," he exclaimed. "You'd be a hell of a lot safer that way!"

Hermione stood, gasping. "Harry you don't mean that!"

Harry shrugged. She was so damned naive. Deep inside, he needed Hermione to understand. She just had to.

"Put yourself in my place. Would you?"

She sighed, tilting her head, her eyes reddening.

"I wouldn't treat her like the enemy for a start," said Ron.

Molly propped her hands on her hips. "Now Ron!"

Harry shook his head. "Forget it. I was stupid for thinking you had an inkling of what I felt."

He stormed out of there, the room deathly quiet. He'd heard Molly's raised voice for a moment, followed by Ron's own indignant tones. Harry was sure he'd never felt so betrayed in his life. Surely Ron, of all people, would be sensitive to the pain he felt. Surely he knew how much Sirius meant to Harry, and how pointless everything seemed when you had no one to turn to.

When Sirius had slipped through that black fluttering veil, all of Harry's hope and comfort slipped away with him, his heart shrinking a little in his chest and joy retreating in the world.

He collapsed to the ground under the large oak in the corner of the Weasley's huge yard. Mud soaked Harry's knees, and he leant his head against the trunk, his skull thumping painfully thanks to the stress. He'd never let loose, never shown his weakness. He refused to. He refused. He wouldn't let them have that victory. He wouldn't let them break him. Those that took all he cared for away... those that took away the only person who knew how he felt.

A small soft hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched. It wasn't supposed to be that way. He wasn't sure who was intruding on his despair, and he recoiled and glared at the perpetrator with all his rage and grief.

Hermione took a step back, a gasp leaving her.

He almost groaned. "Go back inside," he said. "You don't need to see me make a bigger idiot of myself." He buried his face in his arms, curling up in a ball and leaning against the tree.

The hand was back.

"Go..." he said again.

The hand didn't move.

"Go!" he shouted, tensing all over.

"No."

"God damn it, Hermione!" he cried, "Get LOST! I have problems that can't be fixed with a book or a bloody study chart all right?!" There. She would leave at that insult.

There were two hands at his shoulders now.

"I'm not leaving you."

Tears of frustration crept up at his eyes, and he moaned.

"Oh for God's sakes, Hermione, just get away from me!"

The hands slid down his back, and her little arms wound about him.

"I'm not leaving you, Harry."

"Go away..."

She was crouched in front of him, her arms around him, and she leant her head against his, her voice so soft, so gentle.

"I'm not leaving you. I'm never leaving you."

"No," he whimpered, and hot sickening tears cascaded down his cheeks. "Please go, please just go..."

She shook her head, her forehead against his, tears in her eyes. "I'm not. I'm not going to."

"You have to," he sobbed, his chest heaving. "You have to."

She shook her head again, sniffling, and she cradled his face in her hands, a sad smile on her face. "I won't."

With a great sobbing sigh, Harry gave up. He simply didn't have the strength to fight her off or push her away. He needed her too much, and his damned weakness engulfed him, his arms around Hermione now, his face buried in her neck, her hair about him, her smell in his lungs and his own tears falling unbidden. He cried, his face burning, his eyes feeling too swollen to fit in his head, his hands shaking as they clung for dear life to the girl in his arms. His pain found a voice, and he stuttered as he spoke to her.

"H-how am I to d-defeat him? I c-can't even stand one death!"

His face was in Hermione's hands again, and she met his eyes with a firm gaze.

"Look at you Harry. You're a wreck. He can't defeat you because you care, and he doesn't. He doesn't care for anyone." She sniffled, stroking his face. "You care so much it breaks your heart."

"How can that make me strong?"

She sighed gently. "Because someone that cares will fight that little bit harder than someone that doesn't."

He fell into her arms again, holding her tight against him, crying softly, feeling the bedlam of agony and rage take over his entirety.

"How can you hold me?" he asked, his voice shaking. "After the way I've been treating you?"

She tutted. "Oh Harry, I know you wouldn't normally behave like that," she said. "If I lost any of my family like that I'd lose my mind! I don't know anyone that wouldn't! The fact that you've kept it together this long..." She sighed, shaking her head.

"You're not angry with me?"

"Of course I'm not," she said, hugging him tightly.

"Ron is."

"Ron's frightened," she said. "His father nearly died, and you too, with facing off Voldemort. He'll react to anything at the moment, it's how he copes. He'll be all right, Harry. And so will you."

He was curled into her arms, the girl kneeling upon the ground, him sprawled in the mud, his arms about her and his head on her shoulder. He looked up at her, taking a sharp breath in.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Hermione," he breathed. "When that Death Eater got you I-" He shook, and Hermione put her hand over his mouth.

"Shh. It was just a hex," she said. "He didn't get me, Harry."

"But if he did-"

He got that firm yet gentle look again, and his heart melted a little.

"He didn't. And I know better now." She smiled. "They won't get me like that again."

He hugged her again, eyes closed, the pain sizzling in his entire body as he felt her warmth. It was the strangest sensation that took him then. As he held her the broken parts of himself slowly slid together, like a reparo spell on a shattered mirror. The pain didn't leave him... it was a numb warm thud within that he knew would never really leave him... just slowly shrink over time. But it wasn't raw anymore, it wasn't like bright hot fire. It was winking glowing embers, dying gently, receding into charcoal and ash. He became so relaxed, concentrating on the hurt diminish, the tears drying on his face, that he almost felt as if he could fall asleep against her. He tightened his arms about her, nuzzling her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"No," she said, "You don't have to be sorry."

"But I am," he said, sitting up a little. "I shouldn't have talked to you the way I have been."

"Harry, I know you've been carrying all this inside you," she said. "I don't want any more apologies, all right?"

He nodded quietly.

She smiled faintly, running the tips of her fingers through his hair. "You ready to go inside?"

He took a shuddering breath in, and he narrowed his eyes affectionately. "I'd like to just sit here with you a while first, if that's all right."

She tilted her head, squeezing his shoulder. "Of course it is."

He sank into her arms again, his heart warming as she wrapped her arms about him. They stayed there like that, still and quiet in each other's arms, barely saying a thing to each other but exchanging something far more meaningful than words. The embrace was the most fortifying, healing thing that Harry had ever experienced. It made him strong enough to talk to Ron that night when he went to bed, to apologise for getting angry, to explain a little, that everything had just gone wrong around him. It gave him the strength to withstand Ron's silence, Ron's gentle remonstrations on his prickly behaviour for the last few days, and the firm judicial glare from his best friend's blue eyes.

Those things passed, and Ron, who was generally an agreeable fellow, forgave him once he saw where Harry was coming from. It was most gratifying to feel the familiar brotherly thump on the back from the lanky redhead, and the nod that told him that everything was fine now.

When Harry curled up into his bed that night, he hugged the blankets and pillow to him, and for a moment it felt as encompassing and comforting as Hermione's embrace.

Almost.