A/N: Thanks everyone, very much, for the kind reviews. I know this has been a while since I last updated, but you know how things go. School, sleep, food, social life… add a Portkey schedule to match, and I'm beat. *grins*
Anyway, here's the next chapter (angst-happy Lauren, God forbid). Enjoy! Try not to get lost! Lol.
* * *
"He has a new scar, did you know?"
"He should've died - no one knows how he survived."
"Where was he?"
"They don't know, no one does - it's like he vanished off the face of the earth."
She could hear the whispers as loudly as though they were magnified, closing in around her and squeezing the air from her strained, gasping lungs. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest. Beads of cold sweat dribbled down her forehead and onto her parchment, blurring the ink so it was almost unreadable. She was devoid of any emotion, just shock. Shock that turned her blood to ice inside her veins; her entire body sent trembling with the very thought that he had… after all those years…
A feral confusion swept through her, and she saw the brief piece of lifeless string that was her hold on reality. This was no different from addled visions and imaginings; this was what she yearned for so desperately, so often, that, in spite of herself, had began to create her own safe haven, where she no longer had to hide behind a veil of sorrow - and yet, it had done nothing, accomplished less than she was willing to believe. In the back of her anguished mind, she knew he was gone. She knew that her life, that earlier had seemed so complete, so full, had reached a barrier that could never be passed by herself alone.
She was sick with herself, with her untamed mind. She was sick of everything she had known and loved. There seemed to be only one reason to live any longer, and that was him: her companion, her other half, her downfall.
It felt so real… Desperately, she wanted it to be truth, to reside outside of her tortured mind.
They didn't know, the naïve people. They didn't know what the meaning of life was.
It wasn't to prance around and make their insignificant lives worthwhile - it was to grab hold of something and never let it go…
So easy was it for them, their lives untouched by misery. What happened to her was unnatural. What happened to him was unnatural. The world was afraid, but it was nothing, nothing compared to how she felt every goddamn day of her life.
Hermione stood up with a clatter, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing. She swept her belongings together, shot a glare around the quieted library, and disappeared.
* * *
It was hours before anyone found her, huddled like a small child in the corner of the kitchen, trembling and sobbing shamelessly. She did not know why she had appeared at the Burrow, nor did she care; she just crawled into the tightest place she could find and wrapped her arms around herself. Then there, in the dim light of morning, Hermione Granger broke down and wept.
For the first time in her young life, Hermione felt out of control - utterly traumatized and scared; scared for his life, scared for her failing sanity. It was not real. It was not. It could not be.
It did not surprise her when a warm hand was placed on her shoulder, and Molly Weasley's voice said softly, "Oh, Hermione…"
Despite herself, Hermione threw herself onto Molly, and buried her face on her shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.
The hand stroked her hair soothingly, cooing, "Shh… Hermione… It'll be alright…"
Unable to speak, Hermione closed her eyes tightly, gasping for air. Molly rubbed her back in motherly affection, trying to pacify Hermione's shaking body.
"Hermione, dear… what's wrong?"
Hermione's heart thumped halfheartedly.
So it was not real. So it was in her head.
A few tears leaked through her closed eyelids. "Molly, I can't… do this… anymore…"
"Hermione, what are you talking about?" She sounded startled.
She could hear footsteps pounding on the stairs. She looked up, tears running in endless tracks down her face, and felt herself retch inwardly.
"Get away from me," she croaked. She jerked herself out of Molly's arms.
Harry's body walked towards her, looking not a day over fifteen. "I want to help you… Hermione… I can help you. Trust me."
She stumbled backwards. "Don't come any closer!"
"You want to know why, don't you? I can tell you."
Hermione trembled.
Harry stopped short, and said quietly, "I gave you that ring. I visit you every day in that library…"
She wanted to scream, but felt her throat close, and all she emitted was a dull, raggedy moan. "No… no, you're never there… you're gone…"
"I never left," he said sorrowfully, "You left."
"That's not true!" cried Hermione, backing away once more.
"You've locked yourself away."
"You did, Harry, you did!"
Harry looked at her, his eyes blank. "Don't you understand, Hermione? Ron's dead, Molly's dead, Arthur's dead… Your parents, all dead… It was too late… I thought I had lost you too…"
"No!" she screamed, her face blanching, "You're lying!"
"I want you to come back," he said hoarsely. "I'm not lying. I need you."
Hermione's eyes blurred with freshly stinging tears.
"Hermione," Harry looked like he was struggling desperately with himself. "You… you slid into a comatose right after the war… the doctors said you wouldn't make it. Years…" Harry's bottle green eyes dimmed. "Years… I've been trying to find you. You mind was so damaged…" He swallowed. "You've been living a lie… I didn't leave, Hermione… I would never leave you…"
He took a step towards her, slowly and cautiously, as though approaching an untamed creature. "Listen to me, please. You don't know because you stopped yourself from knowing. It was too much strain… too much loss…" Hermione saw him wince slightly. "You don't know how important you are to me… I couldn't…"
Hermione's insides turned to ice. "Harry… please…"
"You don't know what it's like," Harry said throatily, his complexion pale. "You were just lying there, never moving. You were worse than dead. You were trapped in your own mind, creating a life apart from the hell we live in…"
He stepped forward, never wavering in her stricken gaze.
He didn't need to tell her. She knew.
And for the first time in four years, she opened her eyes.
* * *
Hermione lay on the bed, breathing heavily, mind reeling. Every coherent thought was washed away in a tidal wave of emotions, smothering her until it was almost unbearable. Her eyes felt dull and lead-like, and her arms and legs felt too weak to lift with her own strength. In fact, she felt like she was not a body at all, but just a human-shaped pile of flesh, lingering to be waited upon.
She blinked up at the sunlight that streamed through her window, and heard the birds chirping madly. It was reassuring in a way, but horrifying in another. How long had her life been faked, mocked, when she was lying here, on this very bed, for years on end? How long had it been? What had been missed?
She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw her way out of this miserable world and send herself back, when she was eleven, and had no worries or fears. And even before that, when she could bask in the warmth of her mother's strong arms, and the world was just a big, scary place outside that would never involve her.
Oh, but it had.
She never asked herself why. She would never pity herself when there were others who never had such a loving childhood; who never had time to be carefree and dependant; who were grown before their rightful time.
Hermione moaned, and moved her head to one side. There, in the bed opposite hers, was Harry. His face was ashen, his eyelids red and swollen. His chest was rising heavily, painstakingly, as if it hurt him, and it was so slight Hermione did not see it at first. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. She was so close to him, and yet - he was too far away for her weakened body. Her hand reached pathetically, and dropped back to her side.
His scar was more pronounced than usual, a throbbing scarlet bolt against pallid skin.
She found herself desperately trying to hoist herself off of the bed, to touch him, to know he was real. But it was her strength that failed her, and she could do no more than whisper and plead hoarsely for him to awake.
She needed him. Desperately.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice straining.
There was a soft fluttering of material, and Hermione found herself kneeling on her bed, tears streaming down her face. Her neglected muscles felt like rubber, and they shook precariously. But Hermione's motive was too strong. For too long she had been deprived of the one person she needed. For too long had she been unable to reach out to him.
Trembling uncontrollably, Hermione gingerly touched her foot to the floor and, using the bed as a support, held herself upright. She walked forward tentatively, planting her feet firmly to the ground. Her determination growing with every small step, she stumbled to Harry's side and dropped to her knees, utterly exhausted.
It was too much. All that he had told her, everything he had said. It didn't seem reasonable. Ron dead… Molly dead… Arthur dead… She suppressed a shuddering sob. Her parents… Everyone she had known and loved, pushed aside, passed away… And here she had been, creating a new life, a new reality, without so much as knowledge of the deaths that had occurred. But it was not perfect. Harry was never there. Everyone else had tried, but they had never replaced him.
She had left him. She had abandoned him. She had failed him.
How could she have committed such a felony at the very time he needed her most?
You were afraid, a voice said savagely, You were bloody afraid. You did what everyone else would do - wrap themselves in their own sorrow and misery and deny the truth. There is nothing special about you… In fact, you're normal. Imperfect. Flawed. An imperfect human being with imperfect qualities.
But this…
You ruined your life. You ruined his life. You brought everything upon yourself.
She could not deny it, and it tore her from inside out.
Yes, the voice whispered, soundly oddly snakelike, You should suffer. You should suffer like he did, watching you all night and day…
"No!" Hermione cried, throwing herself over Harry's limp body, "Harry… please… wake up…"
You know he won't. Look what you did, you stupid girl.
No…
It came spiraling back. Her life. The war. The end.
Was it the end, really?
The misery had not ended. The Dark Lord's reign of terror had proved itself far more terrible than anything the world had seen, leaving long-lasting marks upon the earth and its people.
She had been utterly selfish.
Yes…
It had not ended.
She embraced him, holding him close to her, and closed her eyes.
* * *
She was in a room; a vast, magnificent room with torches lining the walls, flickering heartily. The ceiling was in shadow, and she could see the essence of souls, blanketed in darkness, gliding eerily across the walls and ceiling and floor. Every one that passed by seemed to be beckoning her forward, and she went bemusedly, cautiously, following their lead, never stopping or halting. The light of the flames danced across them every so often, and she saw their real forms.
People. Millions of them, swimming and gliding through the room.
She gasped, but continued onward.
Suddenly, she could not go forward. There was a wall, a giant slab of stone, blocking her pathway. Inscribed on it were words of a different tongue, which she could not perceive, and she pressed her hands against it, feeling angry. Cheated. She must go on. She must.
The essences dipped around her, sliding gracefully through the rock, leaving her behind.
Leaving her behind…
* * *
A gasp of air, a shudder, and she was liberated from the vast room.
Her arms were still around Harry, her head rested gently on his chest, her hair cascading down his shoulders. A moment passed and she breathed loudly and freely, shaking uncontrollably, her face pained and horrorstricken.
She felt him stir.
"Hermione…" A faint whisper, but it was enough. He was there.
"I couldn't go on," she sobbed, not caring whether he understood or not. "I couldn't… Oh, Harry…"
She clutched onto his shirt, burying her head onto the comforting recess between his neck and shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and perpetual. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… I left you… It was me…"
"You're here now," his voice, his voice, said softly, soothingly.
Hermione raised her eyes, and met his startlingly green ones. "But you waited for me."
A fleeting, tired smile. "I always wait for you."
* * *
A/N: Ah, a twist. I don't think you guys saw that coming. *winks*
This is probably the weirdest, most incomplete story I have ever written in my life. But I meant it to be that way. Some things won't make sense. Now, it makes sense to me, but I had the crazy, "fool-proof" idea of giving you guys the chance of creating your own logic for this. I don't know if you care, if you're completely lost, or if you really want to think for yourself on this… I just really wanted to leave it open for ideas.
The main idea of this story (I think someone already realized this) is to illustrate Harry and Hermione's deep devotion to each other. So it didn't end in a kiss. So it didn't "end" at all. I hope you guys really think about it thoroughly, though - when it comes to love, people show it in different ways. I love cute, fluffy romance, but sometimes I have to buckle down and write this. Pure angst.
Anyway… thanks for reading! Please review!
-Lauren