A/N: Took out all that ramble at the end. Thanks to the reviewer who gave me that advice! Have a read and then review. I can't get better if you don't.


I can't do it. I've been standing here for five minutes with my hand outstretch, my brain screaming at my right arm to just reach out that little bit further.

'Come on Hermione, stop being so ridiculous!" I scream silently at myself. It doesn't work. My hand still won't, move.

I'm frozen in this one position. Will I stay like this forever? Will I ever be able to open this damn door? I think about Ron, who is standing next to me, and how stupid I must look, how weak. He hasn't said a thing since we left The Burrow an hour ago, and I know he won't. He hasn't said much at all to me since it all happened. Since our worlds got turned upside down.

If I know him as well as I think I do, he's afraid. He's afraid that he'll say something stupid, without thinking it though and hurt me. He's done it before, and I know he'll do it again. We both will. That's just how we are. Not right now though. He's walking on eggshells around me. Everyone is. Like I'm a fine piece of the best hand-painted bone china that money can buy. The china that is never brought out for tea, but remains in its cupboard, never seeing the light of day, or in my case, never seeing how people are really feeling.

"Say something to him!" my thoughts scream at me, but its no use, my vocal cords are relentless in their silence. So I resign myself to standing there, hand outstretched, my hand trembling, waiting for the moment I am ready to open the door. I'm frozen.


She's trembling right now. She's staring up at the huge wooden door right in front of her, hand outstretched towards the doorknob. Her face is set into this steely look of determination and I know her well enough to know she is standing there silently berating herself for not having the courage to just open the door. I know that if I was to look into her eyes right now, I would be told a different story. Her eyes tell me anything I ever need to know about her.

Right now, if I was to stand in front of her and look into her beautiful chocolate eyes, I would see her heart breaking. And that terrifies me because I'm not sure there is anything I can do for her, anything I can possibly say to make it better for her, any easier for her.

I'm not sure about what to say recently. How can I be? It seems every time I open my mouth where she's concerned I say something so god damn stupid that when I see the hurt in her eyes I want to turn into a puddle a disappear. And she cries. I hate it when she cries. I may not admit it, but it rips my heart right out of my chest and I berate myself every time, remind myself that I don't want to be the one that makes her cry. I never want to make her cry. I don't want that. Not for us. Not for me. Never for her.

As I look at her frozen form out of the corner of my eye, I want so much just to reach out and touch her. Soothe her pain. And even though I know there is nothing I can possibly do or say to even take a fraction of her heartbreak and pain away, I reach out tentatively, and gently close my fingers around hers.

She doesn't look at me, but she stops trembling. It's a start.