Strength in What Remains Behind

Hermione

I cried often over the holidays. My parents were worried, but I didn't feel comfortable talking about it. They respected my privacy, though they did try their best to cheer me up. I love them so much for that. It was nice to have their support without question.

I was dreading the return to school, not only because of having to see Harry every day, but also because Mrs. Weasley had invited me to the Burrow for the last week before we went back to school. That undoubtedly meant that Harry had been invited, too. I was not looking forward to it.

The bright spot of the trip would be seeing Ginny again. I was sure she'd find ways to keep me occupied. I had, of course, told her everything. Well, everything except my encounter with Professor Snape. She'd want to know why I had kissed him, and I really couldn't say. My best theory was that I was trying to cling to a shred of normalcy as my world was collapsing around me by my own design. We were under mistletoe together. Tradition dictates a kiss must be exchanged. I followed tradition.

If I were being truly honest with myself, it was also because that night in the hallway, I had not seen our dour and oftentimes cruel Potions master. I had seen a lonely man. His loneliness was self-imposed, true, but then, wasn't mine? I thought, if I could offer some comfort to him, some small human contact, then there was hope that someday someone would offer the same to me. Even if I could have explained all this to Ginny, I suspect she would not believe me when I said that it was not unpleasant.

The week at the Burrow turned out to be worse than I thought. On top of Harry not speaking to me, Ron chose a quiet moment alone with me (orchestrated by Mrs. Weasley) to confess his feelings for me. I let him down as gently as I could, but he was still quite hurt. Soon his mother was giving me the cold shoulder, and he in turn had joined Harry in imprisoning me in silence.

School could not come soon enough.