Author's Note: I do not intend on posting the original version on PK. I believe those of you interested in finding a copy can do so on the PK boards.
Chapter 10: Confessions
Hermione opened her eyes, blinking through the puffiness and glanced at the form beside her. For a moment she wondered why her eyes felt sore, but then the weight of the situation came crashing down.
Harry was still unconscious.
Too exhausted to cry anymore, Hermione pressed her lips to his still-cool cheek.
I love you, Harry Potter.
Through her exhaustion she could feel the tears welling behind her eyes, but she forced them back. Hearing the faint rustling of the curtains, she slowly turned her head. Remus was standing at the end of the bed, the strain evident in his tired eyes. He had a smile, but it was a forced smile. The same forced smile that Hermione was quite sure hid a breaking heart.
"Dumbledore would like to speak with you," his voice wavered slightly. Hermione reluctantly slid from her position beside Harry. Casting one last glance at Harry, she followed Remus to the fifth floor where Dumbledore, her parents, and Moody were gathered.
"Oh Hermione," Emma Granger ran to her daughter, throwing her arms around her. Hermione was quite positive she looked terrible. She'd barely managed to haphazardly throw on yesterday's robes before apparating to St. Mungo's. She looked at her mother, meeting the tearful gaze, but when she opened her mouth to speak nothing came out.
Mom, I love him. Hermione thought inwardly, fighting harder to keep the tears at bay. I can't lose him.
"Ah, Hermione, it is good to see you're functional," Dumbledore's voice was solemn as he motioned to a seat on the couch. Hermione slumped down between her parents. Her father wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, and Hermione allowed herself the moment of comfort, memories of her childhood flitting through her mind.
"What happened to Harry?" Hermione fought hard to keep her voice calm and controlled. The question had haunted her mind since yesterday, unvoiced due to the more pressing matter of Harry's condition. Dumbledore sank into a seat across from her, rubbing the bridge of his long, pointed nose.
"We're not exactly sure," Dumbledore admitted after a long pause. "From what I gathered from my contacts in the Ministry, Harry had been sent to gather some artifacts from the old LeStrange place. You remember the LeStrange's from your fifth year, I believe?" At Hermione's confirming nod, he continued, "Harry was hit in the back with a spell. When he didn't return after an hour, the Ministry sent Kingsley looking for him. He found him on the ground, in the state that you see him now."
Hermione glanced towards the door, mulling over the different alternatives. Anger flashed through her mind at the thought of someone attacking her husband like a coward. She clenched her teeth together, regarding Dumbledore with a steely gaze. "Do they have any idea who did it?"
Moody chimed in, "Unfortunately, his attacker was long gone before he was found, but the Ministry is investigating it."
Hermione rubbed her shoulders, absentmindedly wondering if the attack was in any way related to Ron, or if a Deatheater had decided to get Harry back for the death of Voldemort. The thought of Draco Malfoy passed through her mind, but she instantly dismissed it. Draco might have been cowardly enough to attack Harry when his back was turned, but he was no fool.
"Hermione, dear, why don't you come home with us and get some rest?" Her mother chimed in, interrupting Hermione's thoughts as she drew her daughter into a hug.
Go home. Leave Harry? She couldn't, Hermione thought. This marriage was not just a pretense anymore. It was real. The feelings she had for him were real.
Hermione shook her head furiously. She had to make them understand. "I need to stay here, for Harry."
Her father frowned and cleared his throat. "Hermione, you must be exhausted. Surely you can come home for a few days..."
Hermione gritted her teeth. They weren't getting it. "My home is with Harry," she watched as her parents flinched, but she didn't stop. They had to understand. This wasn't a game anymore. "He is my husband, and I'm not leaving him here alone."
Her parents gave her a curious look -- her father's of utter confusion -- her mother's of deep contemplation. Finally, her mother broke the slence.
"Of course, dear. We understand," She began, as John gave her a confused look. "You're welcome anytime; maybe you and Harry can visit some other weekend." She grabbed her husband's arm, ushering him out despite his protests. Hermione half-listened as her mother reassured her father that she'd explain later. The door closed and Hermione turned, watching Dumbledore, Moody, and Remus rise to their feet.
"Well, Hermione, I will, of course, be keeping in touch. I believe there are some members of the Order still willing to help find who is responsible for Mr. Potter's current state," Dumbledore rested a hand on her shoulder. "And I believe you have to take up your place by his side. I believe that will help him more than any of the Healers."
Hermione nodded, completely devoid of tears. She watched as Dumbledore and Moody left, but Remus hung around, turning around at the door and looking at Hermione. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I'm ... very happy Harry has found happiness," his voice was soft. "I was very worried about him. But today, when he arrived at the Ministry ... he was practically skipping. I'm glad you two have decided to work things out."
And with that, he left.
* * *
Hermione scarcely left Harry's side the following week, save to take the occasional shower and eat. He still hadn't woken, and Hermione was beginning to worry he might never wake up again.
She splashed some water from the fountain at the end of the hall on her face. She patted her face dry with a waiting towel. She had taken to reading Harry chapters from Quidditch throughout the Ages and Hogwarts: A History, in hopes that it would bring him out of his comatose state.
She stretched her legs, feeling the familiar rumble of hunger in her stomach as she made her way back down to the Spell Damage ward. As she approached, she noticed a familiar figure hunched over near the door, as if debating whether to enter.
"Ginny?" Hermione called out uncertainly, not really sure if she was looking at the youngest Weasley. Ginny's usually vibrant red hair hung dull and limp around her face. Her skin looked paler than a Hogwarts ghost. And she looked thin, as if she hadn't eaten in weeks.
That's odd, Hermione thought to herself. Ginny was still a student at Hogwarts, and Hermione was quite certain that students were not allowed to leave the school except specified Hogsmeade trips. Not to mention that Hogwarts students ate relatively well.
Ginny looked at Hermione, and Hermione was struck at just how haunted her eyes looked. Without another word, she drew Ginny into a hug before stepping back. "What's wrong, Ginny?"
Ginny glanced at the door to the ward where Harry was. "I heard he got hurt. Daily Prophet and all."
Hermione frowned inwardly. She hadn't been talking about Harry, but one more look at Ginny's face and she nodded. The Daily Prophet had been giving daily updates on Harry's condition. Of course, they also made it sound as if he was already dead.
Ginny continued, "I thought I'd come and see him. I mean, mum and dad are still mad at him, but he was like my brother." Her eyes began to well with tears.
Hermione nodded, sympathy crossing her features as she ushered Ginny into the room and to Harry's bed. Ginny hung back as Hermione announced her arrival to Harry, stepping back and giving Ginny a slight nod. Ginny made her way to Harry's side, tracing a finger lightly over his wrist. She leaned down, whispering something unintelligible in his ear. Hermione watched, warmth filling her body. At least she and Harry still had some friends.
Ginny stepped back, tears pouring down her cheeks as she mumbled her thanks. She was about to depart when Hermione rested a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to a chair outside the ward.
"Ginny, what's going on?" Hermione asked, concern building in her stomach. Ginny looked to the ground, refusing to meet her friend's gaze. She watched helplessly as Ginny burst into tears, her hands covering her face as she muffled the sobs. Hermione did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped an arm around Ginny, holding her as she sobbed. Her mind raced over scenarios that could have affected her friend so deeply, but she could think of nothing. It was a long time before her crying faded into a soft whimper.
"Ginny, what's wrong? Talk to me, please?" Hermione absently pushed a limp tendril of hair behind Ginny's ear. Ginny shook her head, furiously.
"I ... I can't talk to anyone..."
Hermione lowered her voice, using the calm, soothing tone her mother had used so often when she'd been upset. "Why can't you talk to anyone, Ginny?"
Ginny blinked, and then her head froze, her gaze settling on a lone figure in the distance. Hermione's own mahogany gaze traced Ginny's to fall on a figure coming down the hallway.
Rita Skeeter.
Hermione felt Ginny stiffen. A second later she rose to her feet sharply and hurriedly walked away as Rita reached Hermione.
"Oh, Hermione! Fancy seeing you here. I was just here to get the hospital reports on your husband. Would you like to make a comment?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed and she focused her gaze on Rita's beady eyes. Anger surged through her body. Why was it that Rita always ruined everything?
"Here's a quote," Hermione said caustically. "Go away. I've nothing to say to you."
And with that she spun on her heel, heading back into Harry's room. She drew the curtains around his bed and settled restlessly at his side; a new question weighing heavily on the back of her mind.
What happened to Ginny?
* * *
She was awoken some time later by a slight stirring beside her. Her eyes fluttered open and locked with a familiar emerald gaze. Harry gave her a lopsided smile, leaning slightly to place a gentle kiss on her nose.
"'Mione, you're here."
Hermione smiled, tears filling her gaze as she kissed him furiously. "It's about time you woke up, Mr. Potter." She threw her arms around her husband, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks.
They lay like that for a long time.
* * *
Two days later Harry was ready to leave and waited impatiently as Hippocrates Smethwyck gave last minute instructions to Hermione for his care.
Hermione nodded intently, writing instructions down in a small book as they were given. Eventually, he finished and gave Hermione a cursory nod.
"Any questions, Mrs. Potter?"
Hermione glanced between the healer and Harry, mulling things over. Harry looked impatient, as if he couldn't wait to get out of there. Hermione felt her own impatience, eager to get Harry home and give him a more thorough examination than that provided by the healers. With a smile on her face, Hermione looked back at Hippocrates.
"Just one question. Are there any restrictions on his activity?"
The healer frowned. "Well, as we went over, he shouldn't..."
Hermione interrupted. "No...I mean...his activity," she said, grinning as Harry's face reddened at her emphasis on the word activity.
Hippocrates frowned, still confused. "Don't understand what you're talking about. We already discussed..."
Harry turned a deep shade of rose.
"His physical activity..." Hermione said, silently enjoying watching Harry squirm.
The healer frowned, and then his eyes flashed with a hint of recognition, a blush spreading across his features.
"Well...was he ... active before?" Harry was sinking lower into the bed. Hermione gave her blushing husband a wry grin, and then nodded. Harry returned her grin with a particularly nasty look.
"Well then...I suppose he should be able to now," Hippocrates gave Harry a sly look.
* * *
Two months later, Harry and Hermione had settled into an easy routine. Hermione had decided to wait until after the New Year before getting a job. In the meantime, she had begun pouring over books of curses and countercurses, trying to determine what might have been cast at Harry. Harry was working harder than ever in his training.
He had just come home one evening when there was a knock at the door. It was Dumbledore.
"Greetings, Hermione, Harry, may I come in?"
Hermione nodded, a bit surprised to see her former Headmaster standing at her doorway. They had so few visitors. She ushered Dumbledore to a seat and offered him some warm tea.
"None for me, I'm afraid. The business I've come on is quite pressing," he said, his expression grim. "It's about Ginny Weasley."
Hermione sank down into the couch beside Harry, her face etched with concern. Her mind flashed to the moment two months ago when Ginny had visited Harry. Dread filled in her stomach. Oh no, what's happened to Ginny?
"Is Ginny alrig..."
Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing Harry's inquiry. "She is still alive, if that's what you asking," he began. "But I'm afraid she is suffering deeply, and all of her teachers are at a loss as to how to help her."
Hermione mentally went over the last time she'd seen the youngest Weasley. Had it really gone on this long? She mentally cursed herself for failing to keep up on Ginny's condition.
Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid her parents don't help much ... they have suffered much heartache themselves. And that is why I come here."
Harry sat up a bit straighter.
"I'd like to have Ginny come stay here for Winter Break. I believe the time out of Hogwarts will do her some good. And she could use some good friends to keep her company."
"We'll do it," Hermione said immediately, glancing at Harry afterwards for approval. He gave a slight nod. Dumbledore smiled.
"Very well. She shall be here at the end of the week." And with that, he was gone.
Hermione spent much of the remainder of the week cleaning out the spare bedroom and transfiguring furniture to furnish it. She couldn't help but think of how sickly Ginny looked, and began researching different magical ailments to try to the source of her friend's discomfort. But nothing seemed to fit, and Hermione began to wonder if the source of her anguish was more mental.
Finally, the day arrived and Ginny stood in their living room, her trunk on the floor.
"Thanks," she mumbled, looking at the ground. Hermione had gasped when she'd originally seen her. She looked even thinner than before, almost anorexic.
"You didn't have to do this," Ginny continued. Hermione immediately crossed the room and embraced her friend, careful not to squeeze too hard, scared she might break her.
"Nonsense," Harry said as he began lugging her trunk to the room. "Make yourself at home."
And while Ginny did settle into a routine after a few days, she refused all of Harry's and Hermione's attempts to discuss about what was troubling her.
Finally, Christmas came, and Hermione watched Ginny's expression of shock to see that she had presents underneath the pine tree Harry had managed to get inside their tiny flat.
"Well of course you have presents," Harry said matter-of-factly. "It's not Christmas without presents."
Ginny blushed as she pulled out a new set of dress robes, a new cauldron, several books (courtesy of Hermione), and a set of quills. Hermione smiled lightly as Ginny's eyes lit up as she spun around, holding the dress robes to her.
She was still thin, though she had put on some weight during her stay with them. But the dark circles underneath her eyes hadn't faded, and Hermione had begun to despair that she would not be able to help the youngest Weasley.
"Oh, it's perfect," Ginny muttered, giving Harry and Hermione each a huge hug. Later that evening, after Christmas dinner, they sat comfortably in front of the fireplace, resting. Hermione thought it was promising that Ginny had eaten everything on her plate, and even went back for seconds. Maybe things were beginning to improve.
But then Ginny excused herself hurriedly, rushing out of the living room and onto the porch. Hermione frowned. It was snowing outside, and Ginny was barefoot. Rising to her feet and pulling the blanket off her sleeping husband, Hermione made her way outside, wrapping the thick fabric around her friend's thin form.
Ginny had her face in her hands, and she was sobbing loudly. Hermione felt her heart breaking. Something was very wrong with her friend, and she felt powerless against it.
"Ginny," she whispered soothingly, drawing the young woman into a hug. She fought back tears of her own. "Please talk about it," she pleaded, aware of the fact that their time was drawing to a close.
Ginny shook her head lightly, but Hermione could tell her resolve was weakening. She rubbed a hand through Ginny's damp hair, whispering softly.
"You'll feel better once you talk about it." Her voice was calm, controlled, all the while inwardly she was pleading for Ginny to trust her enough to allow help.
Ginny sniffled, her gaze drifting over the snow-coated rooftops. For a second, her gaze seemed to harden, as if she were gathering the strength to talk.
"I did it." Her voice barely registered in Hermione's ears.
Hermione frowned, rubbing her friend's back, drawing the thick blanket over her shoulders. What did she do?
"I...I..."
In a voice that was scarcely above a whisper, Hermione encouraged her. "Did what?"
"I-I ki-killed Ron."