Strength in What Remains Behind

Hermione

When we got on the train back to Hogwarts, Ginny ditched me to go find Draco. I didn't mind. I needed some time to think by myself. With Ginny gone I had plenty, because Harry and Ron were still pointedly avoiding me. How could I blame them, though? I had made my own bed, and now it was time to wallow in it.

The one positive thing in all this is that being alienated by them gave me something to feel miserable about that wasn't my lost chance with Harry. No, the chance I had thrown away; I might as well be honest about it. I envied Ginny. She was in a relationship with someone her family and friends would never approve, and she didn't care. It true that they had to keep it a secret, but according to Ginny, the secrecy made it more exciting. Could I have had that sort of relationship with Harry? A secret tryst?

I knew that would never have worked out. Harry is no stranger to secrets, but I... I could never hurt Ron that way. He was like a little brother to me; often irritating, but still... endearing. There was something in me that wanted to protect him, to see him succeed. I felt this way about Harry, too, but with Ron, I wanted him to stand on his own two feet and claim his success. With Harry, I wanted to share in it.

It was strange how love worked. In another time, another place, could it have been Ron that I fell in love with instead? It was something to think on, certainly. I didn't know how to make Ron understand that in this time and place, there was no chance of it. Maybe I could find this other Hermione who was carrying around the weight of a secret love for Ron, and switch places with her. Then everyone would be happy. Well, excepting me, most likely. If that Hermione loved Ron, there was no telling who her Harry would love. Still, I would do it regardless. I'd already decided to be miserable in this world. I'm fairly certain I could handle being miserable in another one.

After arriving at school, I escaped upstairs to the girl's dorm so I wouldn't have to suffer through being snubbed by Harry and Ron in the common room. I checked over the schoolwork we had been given for break, then turned in early. The first class the next day was Potions, and having to deal with Snape on top of the treatment I was getting from Ron and Harry would require a lot of energy.

I was unprepared, however, for the sight that greeted me when I entered the lab the next morning, having skipped breakfast. Ron had taken my seat beside Harry, and they both made it a point to deliberately ignore me as I entered the room. I would have to sit by myself today; Ron's regular partner, Dean Thomas, was not back at school yet. He had broken a leg over the break and his mother wouldn't allow it to be healed magically, so he was at home until the cast came off.

I plodded to the very back of the room and put my stuff down on an empty table. I had never felt more acutely alone than I did now. Briefly, anger flared up within me as I realized that Harry and Ron would never have made it into seventh year Potions without my help. How ungrateful they were now! The anger quickly dissipated, though, leaving me feeling weak and defeated. I barely noticed as the Professor strode into the room and waved the instructions for today's potion on the board.

I could not concentrate on my potion at all. I could barely read the board, even if I could concentrate. The tears swimming in my eyes made the words all blurry. It was all I could do to hold them back from spilling down over my face. I blindly chopped at the root we were given as part of the potion's ingredients, just to make it look as if I were actually doing my work.

"That's not how you're supposed to chop it, Miss Granger." The Professor's voice startled me out of my self-misery. I blinked back the tears long enough to realize he was not in front of the class anymore. "Here, let me show you the correct method," the Professor's voice sounded from behind me, then, shockingly, he placed his hands over mine and began guiding them in the correct motions.

Sandalwood and crushed amber. That was what he smelled of, with a hint of other herbs. A not unpleasant mix. He was so close to me, it was almost as if I were being embraced from behind. My gaze would not move from his hands, which I idly noticed were graceful. The fingers were long and slim. In the muggle world, he would have been said to have the hands of a pianist. I had no idea why I had never noticed these things about him before, or, for that matter, why I was noticing them now.

His lips brushed against my ear, startling me out of my inspection of his hands, and he whispered, "Don't let them see you cry, Miss Granger." An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. Then, it was over. He pulled away from me, leaving me shocked and confused.

What had just happened?