Hey guys! ^_^

How you doing? So, I had this written a while ago, as a self-therapy after romance in DH, which I'm not even commenting… The thing is that I wasn't sure if I liked it enough to post it -perhaps because of its canoness.

But I thought that perhaps someone might like it, so, there. It's NOT part of the Bench series, by the way.

This might be a two-three shots at best. It all depends on if my idea, a two-paragraph idea, evolves into something else. I can't obviously post a two-paragraph chapter, can I? ^_^ Ok, my idea and your opinion, lol.

Cheers!

I'm reposting this first chapter, because now it's beated by my lovely Steph, who has been working 24/7 last week, the poor thing :D

NOT WRONG

It's freezing cold here, outside the tent, but I really, really needed to take a break.

The silence is solid. So solid that I can feel my ears buzzing, my heart pulsing, my mind wandering.

I'm surprised when I realise just what has been running through my head. Is there something not wrong anymore?

Well, no. There's not.

The snowy land before me is beautiful. It would be soothing, I'm sure of it, if it just didn't make me think of snowy feathers. And then I wish there weren't so much snow around at all.

Some nights, among all the Voldemorts, Ollivanders and Naginis, Hedwig slips into my nightmares, too. In them, she's never flying, delivering letters, asking for treats. She is just there, staring at me from the floor of her cage with lifeless, blaming eyes. And very still. Forever still. Funny how six years of seeing her full of life can be easily outweighed by just one moment of horror. I guess that's how it works after all.

Sometimes Ginny's the one who comes unexpectedly. No trace of those more-than-pleasant dreams I used to have at Hogwarts, though. No. In these ones, she's being tortured. Or dead, or dying, whatever it particularly fits my subconscious for the night. Just last night I realised that several days had passed since I last checked for her dot in the Map. I'm too tired to even think of the reason why.

But she's not the only redhead invading my nightmares. He, the one I thought -I think- of as my only real friend, has had his good share of stellar moments, too. I take a deep breath, the cold air somehow soothing the weight inside my chest. Thinking of him does me no good lately.

I shift to a more comfortable position on the ground. I don't know how long I've been here, but my body is aching, and I hadn't even realised. Even so, I don't really want to go back inside.

Am I still angry? Is that the reason? No, I don't think I am. Desperation led to anger, yes, but that anger turned into numbness at some point during the night. The kind of numbness you feel when you realise that nothing is not wrong anymore.

I still can't believe my wand is broken. That it was she who broke it, even if by accident. But I try to be totally honest with myself- searching for the anger, for the resentment, for the bitterness. I'm better off knowing if any of those horrible feelings are there, an invisible wall between me and my best friend.

The fact that she's still here with me, by itself, might have had something to do with my anger ebbing for good. But there's something else. It's finally sunk in, that's all. The fact that she saved my life, both our lives, yet again, has finally sunk in. Of course she would do anything to save my life. A stupid wand wasn't her priority.

And now I feel like scum for having been angry at her even for a second. She's been working so hard for what we're doing; she has Obliviated her parents, who now don't even remember her. How painful is that? And she watched Ron desert us, desert her. And yet she's still here, inside this tent. I suddenly feel the need to get inside and start planning something, whatever, with her. I don't want her to be more hurt than she already is. I don't want her to think I'm mad at her, because I'm not only not mad, but absolutely grateful for her presence, for her support. For her.

Careful of the cloak around my body, I walk back to the tent.

And I see her.

She hasn't heard me come in, totally focused in the task at hand. Saving thoughts about the dangers of her inattention for a later conversation, I observe her.

Sitting on the floor, my broken wand before her, she's muttering something. Whatever it is, it doesn't work. Then she tries again. And again. And once more. Her voice is catching in her throat, I can tell.

“Reparo!” she repeats, but still nothing happens. “Reparo!”

She knows, just as I know, that there's nothing we can do to mend the damage. But there she is, unaware of my presence, wiping furiously at the tears in her eyes with the back of her hands, only to continue with her task.

“Please, Reparo!”

The lump in my throat barely allows me to swallow. I've never felt this wave of… I don't know, of this, whatever this is, for Hermione before. Is this what Ron feels when he looks at her? No, of course not. He loves her the way I love Ginny. This is different. I know it is, because I've never felt like this for Ginny. Like I'm going to burst with gratefulness and tenderness and pride and…

And I don't know when I started to move, or when I took the cloak off. But in a second I'm there, whispering her name. She looks at me, and her eyes tell me that she's ashamed. Ashamed that I found her like that. Ashamed that she broke my wand. Ashamed that she can't mend it.

“Harry, I--”

“Come here,” I say, my hand inviting her to get up before she can say anything.

She looks at me hesitantly. She believes I'm still angry but trying not to be. She finally takes it.

I'm realising so many things so quickly. I never imagined Hermione, my best friend Hermione, would be one of them.

I realise, for example, that I've never hugged her, really hugged her, like I'm doing now. She feels tiny in my arms, as strong as she is. I haven't got much experience with girls in my arms, and neither I should be comparing, but I can't help myself. Holding Hermione feels so different from holding Ginny. Of course, holding Ginny usually involves snogging, while this embrace clearly does not. I'm very aware of her waist in my arms, on her arms around my neck, of her breath on my neck. Is this what Ron…No, not again. This can't be the same thing Ron feels. But in this moment, with my eyes closed, my hand on her back and my nose in her hair, I can't imagine anything more that Ron could feel.

“I know you're still mad at me, Harry,” her voice brings me back. “I'm so sorry, I've tried to mend it, but I can't.”

I hug her tighter, because I want her to believe me.

“I'm not mad at you, Hermione.”

She disentangles herself from me, and I don't like it. I want to hold her. Or hold onto her, I'm not sure. Perhaps I miss Ginny more than I thought.

“Harry, you don't have to pretend,” she tells me, looking me in the eye. “I broke your wand. I've left you wandless, Harry,” and she can say no more, because she's trying not to cry again.

I take a breath. Or a sigh, I'm not sure.

“You broke my wand, Hermione,” I say, and suddenly I notice that my hands took hers at some point. I don't care. “And saved my life. I'm sorry I got so upset with you…I wasn't mad at you, Hermione.” Not anymore at least, I think privately, and guiltily. “How much longer do you think I could have kept my wand with me if You-Know-Who had caught us?”

She looks troubled, but I know she's listening to what I'm saying.

“Not much longer,” she finally admits, the corner of her lips curling up a bit. And then she's suddenly looking at me, her eyes wide open. “Harry, you're freezing! God, come here.”

I hadn't noticed, I promise. I hadn't noticed that I was shaking from the cold, but now, as her tiny hand has grabs mine and leads me to the armchair by the fire, I suddenly realise I am freezing.

Thanking Merlin for the armchair and the fire, I watch her prepare hot tea, waving her wand --our wand now, here and there. She finally comes with the two mugs and hands one to me. I take a sip, adding `tea' to the list of things I'm thankful for today. When I look up, I find her staring at me. I know she's dying to apologise all over again. She's hoping I've not lied to her, that I'm not angry, and she's grateful I'm actually attempting to relax. Most of all, her look is practically screaming that she's scared to death for me. Has she ever not been?

“Come on, Hermione,” I suddenly say. “There's enough room for the two of us here.”

It's not exactly true. The armchair is not big enough for the both of us to sit comfortably. But I want her near me again. I want her as close as possible, actually. I don't know why, though I suspect it has to do with the overwhelming gratefulness I'm feeling today. That's why I've never felt like this with Ginny, I'm sure of it. Because although I care for her, I'm not indebted to her. This is overwhelming gratefulness. I think.

She hesitates a little, and then I feel a pang of something that tastes a lot like guilt, and shame, and makes me think of Ron. But I don't want to think anymore. I just want to rest. Damn it, I'm tired.

It takes a while for us to find a comfortable position. When we find it, she is half resting on my chest, my right arm around her shoulders, stroking some locks of hair distractedly.

Maybe I was wrong, I think to myself.

There's still something not wrong after all.

oOoOoOoOo