Harry stirred the hot chocolate and added marshmallows, wondering what he could do to help Hermione. She was worse this morning, and late into the night he had heard her screaming from nightmares and stayed up to comfort her. Now, as he walked back to her bedroom with the hot chocolate, it seemed as if he was doing nothing.
Making hot chocolate? Easy. Waking her up from a nightmare and helping her calm down? Just what a decent person would do. Staying with her until the morning and staying awake to make sure she didn't have another? Of course, he'd be a horrible friend if he didn't. None of that made much of a difference - her parents were still dead.
Harry set the hot chocolate down beside Hermione's bed and nudged Crookshanks.
"Go on, shoo. Budge over, I'm trying to sit."
Crookshanks was lying on the side of the bed Harry was trying to sit on, and the large cat was unmoving. When Harry shoved him away, though, Crookshanks leapt up, hissing, and tried to lay on Hermione's head. Hermione pushed him off and put him on the floor. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and held Hermione's hand.
"Hey, want to talk?" He asked gently.
Hermione didn't respond. Harry didn't push her to and just sat beside her, rubbing her shoulder and holding her hand. After twenty minutes of this, Harry spoke up.
"I brought some hot chocolate."
Hermione shrugged. "Leave it here."
Harry nodded, understanding what she meant. "I'll come back later. Is there anything you want?"
Hermione shrugged again. Harry stood up and hesitated by the door, watching her. His heart was doing a weird constricting thing and all he wanted to do was just be there with her.
"Hermione, I think..." Harry trailed off as Hermione turned away from him. Harry looked at her, confused at the pain he felt, but then left and went downstairs.
While Harry left and went downstairs, and then started looking for his sock and Crookshanks, Hermione was still in her bedroom. A bit of her was dully hurt that Harry had left, but the rest was glad. If she didn't do anything or experience anything, she wouldn't be leaving her parents. Every hot chocolate she drank, every time she laughed, all the time spent eating, it was all taking her further away from the time where her parents were there.
Hermione looked at the mug of hot chocolate. The proof that something happened, that life was still going. The faint steam blowing from it softly, the faint smell of hot chocolate with almost a hint of vanilla. She was still here. They weren't. Her parents weren't here. There was just the ghost of their lives, abruptly cut short.
Hermione closed her eyes, willing the world away, her mind swirling back the years. First-year, getting her letter, her parents seeming so proud. Meeting Harry, Ron, getting to Hogwarts. Sending home letters. Going to France. Using the time-turner. Spending the summer at the Weasley's house. S.P.E.W. The Yule Ball. Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore's Army. Sending her parents away. Searching for Horcruxes.
It was surprising how little time they had truly spent together since she was eleven. She hadn't realized until now, though her parents and her had been separate from the second she spotted her Hogwarts letter that day.
Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione was halfway down the stairs and holding a bag of quickly-snatched items. Then she was out the door and down the street, walking fast without thought of where she was. Her plan was simply to go away.
Several times on her journey down the neighbourhood, she narrowly avoided cars or people, and she only stopped when she ran into an inconvenient mailbox. Hitting the ground and spilling her bag, Hermione let out a huff and stopped, looking around.
As she hadn't had friends before Hogwarts, she had never been to many of the houses she now saw, though she recognized them from walks and driving past. She figured she was twelve or so streets away and it was high past time she discover what she truly carried with her.
Putting them away as she perused, Hermione discovered a dark grey shirt; a pair of socks neatly folded and matched, clearly done months back since she hadn't given a thought to laundry for a while; fifty dollars in muggle money; a picture of her and her friends; a list of books; and a peppermint.
Hermione picked up all the objects and continued down the road, intent on finding a motel or hotel to stay at. While she did, her brain was puzzling about the recent events and coming up short. Her actions made no sense, and yet a part of her did not mind a bit.
It seemed much too late to go back, and worthless. Why should she return to a family home if she had no family with her? So she entered the hotel she found and asked for a room, then took the key with barely another word and strode down the hall, swiftly unlocking the door and then shutting it firmly.
Hermione's vision swayed as she sat on the bed, and she relaxed, releasing her bag and the tears that were welling up. She flicked on the television, turning the volume up and laying down. Where had the years gone? And why did they refuse to stop?
Eventually, Hermione fell into a fitful sleep, but after a few hours, she settled down, feeling calmer and warmer as for the first time for weeks, she felt safe.