The Centaur Clan

Seven- Compliments Are Of The Necessity

Hermione had never really felt at such a loss before. She almost always won, and was almost alwayss right- of course there were exceptions to everything, but she was so used to having the upper hand that it threw her off to be so far behind. Even when she was fighting in the war at the castle, she still felt some sort of hope in her, because she was standing with all of her friends behind her, all of her allies. All of the people willing to die to give a better life for future generations to come, just like her.

Even when she saw Harry dead in Hagrid's arms.

Some part of her couldn't believe it. No way was Harry James Potter, her best friend, actually dead. It couldn't be true. She still felt the sting of tears on her cheeks, burning her eyes as she stared at his limp form, and she tried to deny the part of her that kept insisting that he wasn't dead.

But he wasn't.

The only time that Hermione had really felt so limp and useless was back at the Manor, when Bellatrix had been torturing her. What if Hermione hadn't been strong enough? What if she had slipped up, and gave away information? The thought was too terrible to bear.

Hermione had nightmares about many things after the war, things that kept her up at night, tossing and turning in her bed and tangling the sheets around her legs. But, the tangled sheets weren't a problem in this cold cave. The real problem was keeping warm.

She and Harry hadn't fallen asleep beside each other that night like they had before, simply because they had fallen asleep on accident. Hermione had crawled over to look at the small opening in the cave, staring at the stars in the sky and wishing desperately to see outside again, thought it had only been two days. Harry's retelling of the beauty of the nature outside that he had seen had only made her wish for the outdoors grow.

Harry had stayed over by the wall, hugging his coat close to him and stating that it still smelled a little bit like home. "Not much," he had said. "but enough to get me by for now."

Hermione still didn't have her jacket, and though it was chilly by the cave opening, she hugged her knit sweater around her as close as she could and closed her eyes, planning to go back to Harry and the jacket that they were using as a makeshift blanket later on, but she never did.

She woke in a cold sweat later that night, gasping and jerking her head side to side, trying desperately to find some source of reassurance like she did when she was back home. She had had yet another nightmare.

This time it was about the centaurs killing them. Hermione normally had nightmares about things that happened in her past- taking her parents' memory, seeing Harry dead, getting tortured, Nagini lunging at her face. But this time, it was about something that she feared would happen in the future.

Whenever Hermione had a nightmare back home, she would crawl closer to Ron, and wake him up, that is, if her flailing hadn't already stirred him awake. And then he would tell her it was alright, and put his arms around her shoulders, and fall back to sleep, and yet it was so comforting because he was so warm and peaceful...

But Ron wasn't here.

Sadness crashed over her like a wave, and she feels tears drip down her face, and she lets out a choked gasp. The gasp she let out was enough to make her cry turn into a painful, ugly sob, one that contorted her face and made snot come from her nose. She wipes it with her sleeve, for there was hardly any tissues around, and continues her crying, and feels nothing short of broken.

"Hermione?"

She had woken up Harry.

"Hermione? Hermione what's wrong?" She hears him crawl across the small cave towards her. "Hermione."