Her Worst Memory by babyeinstein12
Chapter Notes: Hi! I'm new here, but I do have an account on Portkey. I tweaked this story a litte bit; I really like this one. I hope you do too! It's a 3-part fic. (and it really doesn't have anything to do with Horcruxes)
Raindrops were tumbling down from the sodden clouds, whispering and drumming away ever so gently, as if singing a soft lullaby. They were all alone to reign on the night; no thunder or sun threatened to thrust themselves upon the dark landscape. Trees, drenched from the cloud‘s tears, swayed smoothly with the languid breeze, reveling in the rain’s onslaught.
The rain continued to fall as the growing sound of footsteps was heard, pattering upon the wet ground and disturbing the peaceful night. It was only a single human after all, so the raindrops carried on in whispering their lullabies, and the trees persisted in dancing to the light wind.
The person whom the footsteps belonged to was a man, a young, handsome man. He had unmanageable yet charming black hair, vivid green eyes hidden by his drenched glasses, and a curious scar on his forehead. He was walking all alone, and it seemed as though he was thinking hard about something. A sigh then escaped his lips, and he shoved his hands dejectedly into his pockets as he walked on.
Harry Potter was not happy. The Horcrux hunt was not going well; he could not find a way to destroy them, even though he already found two with his friends, Ron and Hermione. All three of them put themselves in grave danger, and it was extremely fortunate that none were killed, but the entire effort accounted for nothing now that nobody knew how to destroy them. Despair succeeded in slowly filling Harry up day by day, and his confidence was waning fast. As he walked, Harry suddenly felt anger and self-pity pulsing throughout his body, leaving him with an odd tingling sensation. Why did he have to get stuck with the job as famous Harry Potter, the only one who had a chance at defeating Voldemort? He resentfully kicked a small pebble out of his path and trudged along, grumbling.
Suddenly, a girl’s voice cut through the quiet, pattering air like a gunshot.
“Harry? Where are you?”
Harry resignedly turned around, just when Hermione Granger came bounding up to him. He couldn’t help noticing how pretty she looked, with her pink cheeks and shivering frame, but he was so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he didn’t really care at the moment.
“What do you want, Hermione?”
“Why don’t you come inside? It’s freezing cold out.”
Harry looked down at her anxious face and felt like smiling, despite his current feelings. She was willing to come out to the cold from their warm cottage, just to look for him.
“We’re about to have dinner,” Hermione continued. “Ron’s really hungry, so you’d better come now. Why are you out here anyway?”
“I was just thinking about things,” Harry said, just now noticing how cold he was.
Hermione seemed to have read his mind. “Here,” she said, taking off her cloak and handing it to him.
“No, I don’t really need”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said quietly, thrusting her cloak at him.
“Thanks,” Harry said dully, taking it and putting it on.
“So what were you thinking about?” Hermione inquired, pulling Harry’s hand and leading him back to the cottage.
“About the Horcruxes,” Harry replied in a low voice. “Did you find out how to destroy them yet?”
“No, Harry,” Hermione said, a little sadly. “I’ve been trying, but I can’t find out about it anywhere.”
Already in a sullen mood, Harry just scoffed and marched onward, his hands back inside his pockets. He hated this, he hated how the fate of the wizarding world depended on him, he hated all the worry and nightmares and the whole deal about the stupid Horcruxes…
“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione sped up to reach him. “Everything will go okay. Let’s just… just carry on and hope for the best.”
She received no answer.
“Harry…” She grabbed his hand, but Harry wrenched it away, and he finally spun around to face her. Despair and anger were churning inside of him; he couldn’t understand why Hermione was so relaxed about the whole thing. He was lightheaded and could feel himself shaking from the sheer magnitude of his self-pity. The rain and coldness were driven from his mind as he stood there, trembling with rage.
“How can you stand this?” he demanded. “Here we are, searching for dangerous objects just for the small chance of defeating Voldemort, with the entire wizarding world at war, and you’re talking about going to dinner!”
Hermione looked thoroughly confused. “Harry, what”
“I’m sick of all this Voldemort business,” Harry spat, as if his words were poison. “You don’t know what it’s like being me, do you?”
Hermione truly did look sorry for him as she stood in the steady downpour, her hair dripping wet and her hands hanging limply by her sides.
“Why did my parents die?” Harry railed at her. “Why did Sirius die? Why did Dumbledore die? Why do all the people I care about have to die?” He bellowed out the last part, driven on by his sadness and anger. He felt completely hopeless.
“Harry, you went through a lot, but you can’t pretend that the rest of us didn’t,” she murmured, looking straight back at him. “I’ve suffered as well”
“What do you know about suffering?” Harry interrupted coldly.
The both of them stood there in the rain, drenched and cold, staring hard at each other. Harry was breathing in and out rapidly, and he noticed how fast his heart was beating in his chest. His hands were clenched, and he still felt the anger mingled with self-pity boiling within him. Hermione was simply looking at him, her brown eyes filled to the brim with sadness and…and something else. What was it?
“Harry,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, “I’ve suffered too. I thought you knew that.”
“When?” Harry asked in an aggressive voice.
Hermione didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out and placed her right hand tenderly on Harry’s soaked cheek. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pain etched upon every syllable she uttered, “Think about all the things you just said.”
She lifted her hand off and started walking back towards the cottage, but Harry remained where he stood, with Hermione‘s words still ringing in his ears. An icy wind blew through him, and the wet clothes he wore stuck to his skin, but all Harry felt was hot, burning shame trickling throughout his body as he watched the dark figure of Hermione retreat into the distance.