Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was a nightmare.

She spent the majority of her time holed away from the Order cleaning the drafty and dank house they now resided in, missing the light and warmth of the manor’s sunrooms and grounds. The Order members that stayed at Grimmauld were kind enough – it was nice to see her favorite DADA teacher, Remus Lupin, again and though Sirius Black was intimidating, she couldn’t deny the humor that could brighten a room at any given moment. On the other side of his humor, however, was a melancholy so dark it could infect them all if he got into one of his moods.

Though she kept up consistent contact with Draco through their journals, she had to admit she felt lonelier than ever.

The only exception to this was Ginny, who after they had settled into their shared room at Grimmauld Place, had turned to her with a knowing smirk.

“Your hair is different.”

Hermione started, running a hand over the smoothed curls Narcissa had done for her a few days earlier. The charm usually held until she washed her hair.

“Oh! Yes…” She thought for a moment. “My mum took me to get my hair done.”

Something twinkled in her eyes.

“It looks nice… Any particular reason?”

Hermione blinked at Ginny for a moment, her brows starting to pull together.

“Particular… reason?” She hedged.

“Did you get your hair done for a certain someone?” Ginny wiggled her eyebrows at her.

Hermione’s stomach swooped low. How much did Ginny know? Had she figured something out? Seen something?

“No…” Hermione said cautiously. “I did it for myself.”

And for the Dark Lord , she amended silently.

“You didn’t do it for say…” Ginny’s eyes glittered in a way Hermione always associated with the beginnings of a bat bogey hex. “Ron?”

Hermione couldn’t help the scoff that scraped through her throat as relief coursed through her veins.

“Of course not, why in the world would I do my hair for Ron ?” She couldn’t help the Draco-like sneer that crossed her face at the thought.

Something like surprise flitted across Ginny’s face before a grin settled around the corners of her mouth.

“Honestly, Mione? I was asking myself the same thing .”

Hermione couldn’t help but grin back as she leaned forward to change the subject.

“Heard anything else from Theodore Nott?”

…

Harry, surly and forlorn, arrived two weeks later.

Though Hermione worried about the dementor attack and the murderous glares Mrs. Weasley had been throwing Mundungus Fletcher, her heart broke to watch as her best friend of five years ranted and railed about being left in the dark. He’d been furious, imagining Hermione and Ron holed up comfortably at headquarters while he suffered once again at the hands of the Dursleys.

Oh Harry… if only you knew. Hermione thought bitterly as he yelled, only stopping once he’d been interrupted by the twins.

Over the coming days she tried to figure out a way to get Harry on his own. She could see his stress over the coming trial, hear it in the tone of his voice and set of his shoulders. Bitterness coated the back of her throat as she thought of the task she must accomplish – to penetrate his mind at a time when he was so angry, so worried… it felt criminal.

She expressed as much to Draco in the two-way journal, who dutifully listened (read) and tried to comfort her best he could. Though she could not disclose her location due to the fidelius charm, she did inform him that she was no longer at the Burrow, but at the headquarters to the Order. Draco had hoped that perhaps that information alone may be enough to please the Dark Lord should she fail, but Hermione wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t until a different, neat and looping script covered her pages one morning when she woke that she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Darling,

I apologize for intruding upon Draco and your method of communication, but as getting an owl to you would be suspicious at the present, I thought this may be an acceptable way of communicating with you.

Draco has told Lucius and myself about Mr. Potter’s current mental struggles and I first and foremost want to offer my support to you. I know this task is a difficult one in the best of times and now it must feel even more daunting. Therefore, consider perhaps a secondary task while you complete His bidding.

When you enter, try to smooth out the edges of his stress or pain. Focus on it as you find your spot for your task and your magic will help guide you through the process. Perhaps in that way you may provide a small bit of support to your friend.

Please remember, if you are caught or suspected, use your bracelet to take you home. We will protect you from the Order.

Love,

Narcissa

The night before Harry’s trial for using magic outside of school, Hermione finally found him alone in the sitting room staring off at the fire.

“Harry?” she said quietly, trying to get his attention while not rousing his ever-present temper.

He blinked a few times, removing his glasses to wipe a hand down his face.

“Oh… Hey Mione,” he said in a weary voice.

Tentatively she moved towards the loveseat, wringing her hands in front of her. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and his hair was even more scruffy than usual – sticking out at every possible angle.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped after a moment, watching the expression of concern bloom on her face.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” she responded in a quiet voice. “I just… I don’t know, Harry… Wanted to tell you I’m here if you need anything. No judgment, we don’t have to talk.”

The frustration fell off Harry's face, replaced with exhaustion. Heavily he scooted over and patted the cushion next to him.

“Thanks, Mione.”

Settling herself next to him, she drew a leg underneath herself and tugged a pillow onto her lap. Turning to him, she tried unsuccessfully to smooth his hair down. She couldn’t stop her laugh as a particularly stubborn lock of hair continued to defy gravity.

“Sirius said my hair is just like my father’s…” Harry said with a small grin then cleared his throat. “I asked him if I could stay here after the trial… If I lose – I mean.”

Hermione nodded, continuing to run her fingers through his hair.

“What did Sirius say?”

Harry shrugged.

“Said we’ll talk about it after the trial. It’d be nice though… to know I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys.”

She hummed her agreement before gently pulling on his shoulder until he laid his head down in her lap.

“You haven’t done this since second year,” Harry said, voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

“Well, you haven’t been this upset since second year.”

He let out a small chuckle.

“It’s hard to top the whole school thinking you’re the heir of Slytherin.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to top it at some point,” she quipped.

Harry twisted until he could look at her.

“You’re a good friend, you know that right?” he said softly after a moment.

Her heart squeezed in her chest, fingertips still running through his hair as she smiled at him best she could. Then, while keeping eye contact – she sent out her invisible line and linked their minds together. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as she stepped inside.

Whereas Theo’s mind was a swirl of light and color, Harry’s was a strange mixture of cold and warmth. In many ways it reminded her of the onyx chamber she’d seen inside the Dark Lord’s mind. She found warmth in small pools of happy memory and though it pleased her that most of them included her, it also caused the guilt to squeeze through her throat.

Thoughts and fears swirled around her like dead leaves on an invisible wind. She saw imagined scenarios of the trial tomorrow, the faint snapping of a wand, the clank of Azkaban chains. Hermione and Ron’s retreating backs as they returned to Hogwarts without him. Instinctually she reached out to these fears, smoothing a palm over them as they passed, softening the images until they were blurry and difficult to read. She hoped that perhaps this would be enough to allow him a peaceful night’s rest.

As she traveled deeper, she found freezing spots of loneliness. Memories of Harry alone on his small bed under the stairs playing with toys he’d scrounged and hid until night when it was safe. The sharp sound of a slap reverberated through a darker space and she could see crackles of pain as she passed. Rage skittered across Hermione’s skin – hers and Harry’s – for the way the Dursley’s treated him.

Finally, she found a spot far enough away from his conscious mind and took a deep breath. The space she’d found looked similar to the obsidian walls of the Dark Lord’s mind, she noted with interest, and therefore perhaps it would be easier for Him to penetrate through. With the edge of her hand, she pressed deep into the wall, feeling it give beneath her until a small fissure appeared with a groan. She pressed harder, watching her fingertips disappear into the darkness.

Create a space , she thought, without hurting Harry.

When she was sure she’d created ample room for the Dark Lord – or at least she hoped she had – she silently slipped back through his mind. Taking another opportunity to pass her hand lovingly over his fears and stresses as she did. She saw Sirius’ face – both when he’d broken out of Azkaban, hollowed and skeletal, and now, fuller and full of laughter – looking at him with confusion as the word “James” bounced through the space. On more than one occasion she’d heard Sirius slip up and it seemed Harry worried about it more than he let on.

Slowly she eased out fully, breaking the connection, and was pleased when Harry’s eyes were still closed. She continued to stroke his hair for another half-hour or so, gazing off into the crackling flames hoping against hope it had been enough.

Eventually Harry stirred, stretching languidly before his bright green eyes blinked open.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked thickly.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she nodded.

“How you feeling?”

Harry sat up to run a hand through his hair as if somehow that would tame it.

“Funnily enough, loads better.” He turned to her with a smile on his face. “Thanks, Mione.”

She blinked a few times.

“For what, Harry?”

He knocked his shoulder with hers before getting up and stretching.

“For always taking care of me.”

The small fissure that had crackled through her heart at the Dark Lord’s pronouncement, cracked open as Harry made his way from the room.