Just Cry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. JK Rowling.

Author's Note: Weird little thing that I came up with on a whim.

Setting: Takes place during sixth year; the war against Voldemort has broken out.

Just cry

You don't have to hide it from me

Rely on me

Just cry

Even if you don't know why

Rely on me.

~M2M, 'Payphone'

~*~

Her hands were shaking.

She hid it perfectly; every fear, every anxiety, every unspoken terror that they could be murdered at any moment.

She always said the right thing at the right time. While others panicked, she alone remained calm, the sole voice of reason.

Her hands were shaking.

And Ron knew that Hermione was afraid.

The war had come so suddenly that it still dazed him to think about. One day, his biggest worry was whether he could summon up the courage to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball. The next, it was whether his family and friends would make it through each day alive.

Harry was gone.

He'd disappeared that morning, leaving only a note that revealed no clue to where he could be.

Harry was gone, leaving only five words to remember him by.

'I am the Boy Who Lived.'

Ron was positive that Hermione would lose it when she saw the note. Quite frankly, he'd felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. As soon as it had registered in his mind that Harry had truly gone, he'd lost it, screaming out obscenities about what a stupid bastard his best friend was.

Hermione had stood there, frozen, blinking every few seconds and yet not betraying a single emotion.

She had never been like this before; so cold, so unfeeling. He could still remember their first year, on their way through the trapdoor, battling the obstacles to save the Sorcerer's Stone.

"I know what this is - it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help."

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!"

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!"

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare...what did Professor Sprout say? - it likes the dark and the damp-"

"So light a fire!"

"Yes - of course - but there's no wood!"

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"Oh, right."

She'd seemed so much more alive then, when she actually allowed herself to get nervous and feel things and show that she wasn't as perfect as she appeared to be at first glance.

He supposed she was trying to be a pillar of strength for the rest of them, when they all truly needed a level head to look up to. She was being selfless, being strong for everyone else and forgetting about her own needs.

But he knew that she still had them.

He had suspected that she was scared, despite her flawless act over the past year.

Now he knew it.

Her hands were shaking.

Her quill sped across the parchment as she busily scribbled down the Transfiguration essay, glancing at her book every few words to verify that what she wrote was correct. Amber eyes shot back and forth at the speed of lightning, and she impatiently pushed back a lock of unruly brown hair.

Her hands were shaking.

Ron knew that he had to save her. He had to get her to be herself again, instead of this shell of a perfect girl that she'd never imitated so flawlessly before.

"You're shaking," he observed, tone low.

Everyone else had gone to bed; it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. If McGonagall discovered that they were still up, they'd surely have detentions. Normally, Hermione would have completed her homework hours before, but Ginny had come to her crying about Harry's departure that afternoon. Hermione had spent hours walking around the Hogwarts grounds with Ginny until she finally forced a weak smile.

She looked up at him now. Normally, she would have been annoyed at his interrupting her, but not now.

God, he missed the real Hermione.

"I'm not shaking," she responded blankly before returning to her essay.

He gathered all his courage and reached over, placing his hand firmly over hers.

"You're shaking," he determined.

Hermione let out a light sigh of annoyance. "Ron..."

That was a start.

"What?" he asked, grinning his specially-designed-to-annoy-Hermione mischievous smile that always caused her to lose it at him.

"Please be quiet," she replied, voice soft and completely even as she looked back at her book. "I'm trying to work."

She was a complete bloody idiot if she thought he was going to give up that easily.

"Aw, come on Herm," he groaned, allowing his smile to turn into a full-out beam. "You're no fun."

"Ron, this is due tomorrow."

"Today," he corrected her, then consulted his watch. "In about...seven hours."

"Ron," she repeated, sounding as though she was struggling with all her might to remain calm. "Please leave me alone. Just go to bed."

"You have to sleep too," he reminded her.

"I'm not tired," she said flatly.

Yup, the annoyance was definitely there now.

On to Step Two.

"McGonagall's a real bitch, to give us homework when all this is going on."

Insult-the-favorite-teacher. Worked like a charm.

Well...usually.

"She's trying to keep the schedule normal," Hermione replied, her tone sounding abnormally thick. "Just because...things are going on in the outside world doesn't mean that our educations should suffer."

Bloody hell. Would nothing defrost her icy exterior??

He wasn't sure what to resort to next.

"You know," he murmured in a ridiculously deep voice. "You're really sexy when you talk about education like that. It totally turns me on."

"Ron!" she snapped.

Oooh. Snapping was definite progress.

But no; there was no further lecture, no 'you're the most disgusting, vile git I've ever met!'...nothing.

He didn't know where to go from here.

And so he said the thing that had been haunting him all day.

The absolute worst thing he could possibly say.

"Harry could be dead right now."

She visibly shuddered at his words, her whole body shaking.

He wanted to hold her; she looked so fragile, so vulnerable and unprotected. The faintest trace of her true self.

"He could be dead. Drowning in a pool of his own blood."

"Ron, don't," she ordered tiredly. "Please, please don't get into this."

"Aren't you scared, Hermione?" he asked, his tone cruel and taunting. "Don't you care? Or are you too busy being perfect, Hermione? Too busy being calm and cool and collected while the rest of our lives fall to pieces?"

Her eyes began to sparkle as he spoke, molten pools of sheer fury.

It encouraged him, and so he continued to speak those awful words that he didn't want to say.

Words he knew were lies.

"You think you're so high above us, don't you, Hermione?" he sneered. "You get some sick, twisted delight from knowing you're better, don't you?? You-"

"GODDAMMIT, RON!"

She shouted it at the top of her lungs, standing up abruptly and knocking her chair down with a thud that echoed through the empty room.

Never, in all their years of friendship, had he heard Hermione swear.

Perfect.

"I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO HELP ALL OF YOU!" she screamed, clearing the contents of the table (Transfiguration essay included) with one swipe of her arm. "DO YOU THINK I DON'T CARE? DO YOU THINK I'M NOT SCARED? DO YOU THINK I DON'T CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP AT NIGHT??"

There were tears in her eyes now; one danced down her cheek, and she wiped it away impatiently.

"I AM SO SICK OF ALL OF THIS! I WISH EVERYTHING COULD BE PERFECT, RON! I WISH EVERYTHING WAS LIKE IT USED TO BE! BUT IT'S NOT, AND EVERYTHING IS FALLING TO PIECES AROUND ME! THIS ENTIRE YEAR HAS BEEN HELL!"

She took a deep breath, then continued, more composed this time.

"I'm just trying to help, Ron. Help Gryffindor, and Ginny, and Harry, and...you."

And with that, she dissolved into a fit of tears, hiding her face with her hands.

"Ignore me," she ordered in between sobs. "It's late, I'm tired, I need to finish my homework, I..."

She fell silent as Ron made his way over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Shhh," he whispered soothingly. "It's okay, 'Mione. It's going to be okay."

A blatant lie. He had no idea if anything would ever be okay again.

She managed a weak smile through her tears. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"It's okay for you to cry, you know," he said softly. "You're only human."

She paused for a moment, as though considering his words.

Finally she said, in a small, high voice unlike her own, "I'm scared."

He laughed shortly. "You think the rest of us aren't?"

She sighed hopelessly. "I don't know. It's just...I...really hate not knowing what's going to happen. I hate the thought that our best friend could be...might be..."

"Shhh," Ron insisted, this time gently placing a finger to her lips. "Don't talk like that. We'd know if he'd gone and gotten himself blown up."

"How do you know?"

"We're best friends," Ron retorted easily. "We sense things like that."

She forced him a weak smile. Tears still shone in her eyes.

"You're going to have to let those fall sooner or later, you know," he informed her softly, meeting her gaze.

"I know," she responded weakly. "But I...oh, goodness, I'd be crying forever. There's so much to cry for."

"Well," Ron said, "Just know you'll always have a shoulder to cry on."

She smiled. "Thanks."

And with that, she put arms around him in a quick hug and, standing up on her tip-toes, lightly kissed his cheek.

"Goodnight," she said softly, turning and disappearing into her dormitory.

Feeling slightly dazed, he brought his hand to his cheek. The sensation of her lips caressing it still caused his skin to tingle.

She was right, really; there was so much to cry for.

But there was so much to smile for, too.

FIN