Chapter 14: Through the eyes of a hippogriff
------------------------
"Harry, I…"
"Don't want to talk about it, Ron."
Harry raised his head slightly, his chin moving away from his chest, and his gaze became lost in the shimmering reflections of the lake. He had ran to this spot as soon as he had left Snape's classroom and, judging by the way the sun was setting behind the mountains, had been sitting under their beech tree for hours, a single thought pulsing in his head.
`There was never any potion… there was never any potion...'
Who could have guess that such a straightforward admission meant that nothing would ever be the same?
"Aren't you going to at least get something to eat?" Ron asked with a sigh.
"I'm not hungry," whispered Harry hoarsely. He wasn't kidding; his stomach was in such a state that he knew no nourishment was capable of staying down.
"Look, Harry," he heard Ginny say, "I think there's something you should know." He frowned, and reluctantly looked to his right. Not so surprisingly, Ron was standing with his co-conspirators just a few feet away from the tree.
"Surprise! If it isn't the Scooby Gang!" said a very sarcastic Harry. He took a deep breath, ignoring the way his lungs ached, before continuing, "If you are here to talk about what happened in Potions, which I'm sure Ron has already told you, don't bother. I already know I got myself in this mess."
"Actually, it looks like you had some help," said Luna, who reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out an old leather-bound book. She carefully opened it, and read out loud from a page somewhere in the middle, "The Ardeo Candor Potion". Seeing she now had Harry's undivided attention, Luna continued reading…
The Ardeo Candor Potion
The Ardeo Candor potion, also known as the "Draught of Ardent Lucidity" is used to bring into the conscious mind the more pressing matters floating in the personal unconscious. That way, the wizard or witch can deal with those matters using a logical and empirical approach.
The Ardeo Candor potion, however, should not be used lightly, for it is not without harmful side effects. A wizard that was once under the potion's spell compared it with "feeling like a man who has lived all his life with a blindfold over his eyes, and suddenly takes it off in the middle of the Summer's Solstice."
The feelings of disorientation, confusion and violent mood swings that are usually caused by this elixir can be so intense that some wizards have permanently lost their minds, while others have committed suicide in order to avoid having to confront that which they had buried in their unconscious. Disturbing dreams and hallucinations are also not uncommon when you are under the draught's influence.
As tempting as it seems to use this potion in order to get a better understanding of your psyche, be careful.
There may be things you are not ready to know about yourself.
The ingredients and the instructions to brew this powerful elixir are the following…
Harry's face was ashen white by the time Luna was midway through the directions, and he found it difficult to breathe.
The only difference between the Philltrum Casses Amator and this Draught of Ardent Lucidity seemed to be 200mg more of lily dust.
The Ardeo Candor potion has no antidote, and no counter spell has been able to cure the subject of its effects. However, the potion ceases to have any influence when the witch or wizard in question acknowledges and understands the now conscious notion.
Luna closed the book and set it back inside her cloak. "We found that in the library," Neville piped in.
"And we checked Ron's supply of potion ingredients," Ginny added, reaching for Neville's hand.
Ron crouched next to Harry before saying, "There is a bit over 200mg missing from my supply of lily powder." Picking a pebble from the ground and throwing it into the water, he mumbled, "I'm sorry, mate."
"It's… it's not your fault," Harry muttered, his nails unconsciously digging into the muscles of his thighs.
What Luna just read explained everything… his sudden joy and unexpected anger, the burning jealousy when he thought Roger… the sensation of intense loss when she had refused his advances… the torturing thoughts that plagued him when he thought of Hermione with another man. Even the nightmares could be explained!
His sanity had gone down the drain… and it was a simple "faux pas".
"I don't know about you, but I don't think knowing the truth is such a bad thing," Luna said calmly.
"Have you been dipping in Ron's firewhiskey? It said there that I would continue feeling like shit until I acknowledge and understand the now conscious notion! How the hell am I going to do that?" snorted Harry, annoyed that she could be so calm when he was feeling like a rat caught in a maze.
"How about actually doing something about it instead of just talking about it?" Ron suggested very matter-of-factly. Harry gave him a look that would have made others run for cover.
Not liking where this was going, Ginny tried for a more soothing approach. Crouching on Harry's other side and laying her hand on his shoulder, she said, "Harry, being in love with Hermione is not going to be like falling for Cho."
"Great. Thanks for reminding me about how bad that was," Harry mumbled, focusing his eyes once more on the lake, hoping that his friends would take the hint that their presence at the moment was neither required nor desired.
"Well, if you aren't thinking about Cho, what's the big deal?" asked Neville with surprising certainty.
Harry stood up slowly, holding back the desire to scream. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the fact that these were his friends, and that they only wanted what's best for him.
Opening his eyes, he looked at each of them before speaking in a clear voice, "I've tried to explain to you. Hermione is my friend. My.Best.Friend. Being IN LOVE with her changes everything! We will no longer be Harry and Hermione, mates, buddies, and faithful companions! We will be the Boy-Hopelessly-In-Love-With-His-Best-Friend and the Girl-That-Is-Clueless-About-It! It's a recipe for disaster!"
"For facing You-Know-Who so many times, you are a bigger coward than Gilderoy Lockhart!" Ron said without any trace of humor. It caught everybody off-guard, including Harry.
"What are you talking about?" Harry hissed.
"That you are scared shitless," Ron continued, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes boring into his best friend.
"I am not a coward!" replied the green-eyed boy.
"Yes, you are!" answered Ron with absolute certainty. With a calmness that Harry found quite annoying, the redhead continued, "I recognize this because I felt the same way. You know Hermione so well that you think you know everything there is to know about her and everything there is to know about you with her… That's what love changes." He took a few steps toward Harry before adding, "You aren't scared of hurting her because you know you would never hurt her… You are scared that she might hurt you!"
"She's already hurting me," muttered Harry defensively.
"And that's your own bloody fault!" Ron said with conviction.
His hands curling into fists, Harry said between clenched teeth, "Why? Why is it my bloody fault?"
"Because you refuse to acknowledge what everybody knows," Ron said, shaking his head softly.
"And what, pray tell, does everybody know?" Harry asked rather sarcastically, his eyes drifting toward the lake once again.
"That you and Hermione belong together."
His head snapped back into place instantly. This was the second time in less than five minutes that Ron had managed to surprise him.
"Guys, can you give us a bit of privacy? I'll meet you inside," Ron nodded to his girlfriend, sister and good friend. Luna kissed him on the cheek goodbye, and reluctantly she, Neville and Ginny started walking back to the castle.
Ron watched them for a few moments before turning his attention back to Harry. The green-eyed boy was still looking at Ron as if the redhead had just bitch-slap him. "W-w-w just what are you talking about?" Harry stuttered.
Ron took another step toward his friend and placed his hand on his shoulder, "I'm talking about what everybody's been talking about for years, Harry. Why do you think Cho dumped you as if you had a bad case of leprosy? Why do you think Viktor Krum was jealous of you and not me? Why do you think Rita Skeeter wrote about her as your girlfriend and everybody believed it? Why do you think Ginny stopped crushing after you when she became Hermione's good friend? …
Why do you think I stopped crushing after Hermione?"
"Huh?" Harry stared at his friend, completely dumbfounded.
Ron snorted and shook his head while saying, "Bloody hell, Harry! Sometimes a flobberworm uses more brain cells than you!"
Harry took a step back, running his head through his messy hair. He couldn't believe what Ron was saying! How could he have not known this? He walked toward the edge of the lake until he could see his reflection on the darkened water.
"You… were in love with Hermione?" Harry said, finally finding his voice.
"I… don't know if it was love. But I liked her. I liked her very, very much. Maybe it was love… it's too late to know the answer to that one," Ron answered truthfully.
"Did you… did you tell her?" whispered Harry.
"I didn't bother," Ron shrugged, thrusting his hands inside his pockets. The redhead raised his head, and looking at the fading horizon, asked, "You want to know why I didn't bother?" Harry nodded absently.
Ron walked toward the lake until he was standing next to his best friend before saying, "Because somewhere deep inside of me, I knew she would never return my affections… cause I believed she was in love with you, mate."
"W-w-why… why would you think that?"
Ron exhaled loudly and waited a few moments before answering, "The way she looks at you… The way she puts her hand on your arm when she speaks to you… How she's ready to forgive you when you act like an idiot… How she always stands by your side, no matter what… The smiles she reserves only for you. The way she goes absolutely spare with worry over your well being." A smile tugged at the corner of Ron's lips before he added, "Do you want me to go on?"
Harry's mind had gone blank.
`She's… she's in love with me?'
"No… no…she's not. Yes, she cares about me… a lot… because she's my friend… and friends care about each other. That's all there is," babbled Harry.
"You are delusional," Ron said with an impatient shake of his head.
Harry's hands shook slightly as he continued rambling, "And… and… and… how do I really now I'm in love with her? Maybe I'm just confused… maybe because she's my best friend and I… I depend so much in her emotionally… well, maybe I'm mixing the fact that I love her as a friend with the fantasy of being in love with her. Luna did say the potion caused confusion."
Ron spoke in clear voice, "Let me ask you some questions, mate… when you look into Hermione's eyes… do you feel like you know everything about her? Every dream? Every thought? Every desire? And yet, at the same time, the whole lot of her is a mystery… something you want to know… to explore… a treasure to be discovered?"
"Yes," whispered Harry, feeling as a shudder went through his body.
"When she holds your hand, do you feel like you've found the one that will stand by your side for the rest of your life? The one that will never let you fall? The one that gives you the strength to go on no matter how crazy and unfair life becomes?" Ron quizzed.
"Yes," Harry croaked.
"Does she make you laugh? Does she make you cry? Do you want to hold her in your arms and never let her go?"
"Yes… yes… and yes," whispered Harry breathlessly as he watched the last ray of light disappear behind the mountains.
Ron grinned and, patting Harry's shoulder, stated, "Then, I got news for you, my friend." He waited until Harry turned his head to look at him before he continued.
"You are truly… madly… deeply… in love with Hermione."
Harry sighed, his head dropping of its own accord until his chin rested on his chest. There was no way to avoid the fact.
`I am in love with Hermione… I am in love with Hermione… I am in love…'
"Harry, listen to me, " pleaded Ron. Harry raised his head to see that Ron was not smiling anymore, but rather an expression that said Ron was wearing his heart on his sleeve.
"I am very happy with Luna, and being in love with her taught me that I was never really in love with Hermione… But I've always wondered… what if? What if Hermione had been in love with me? What if she was the one I was meant to be with?"
Placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, Ron said, "You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering, Harry."
They both looked away at that moment, their gazes lost in what little they could see of the moon on the surface of the lake. No more words were needed. Ron had played his part, and it was now Harry's turn to take the next step.
After a few minutes of silence, Ron patted Harry's shoulder one last time and said, "I got to go. Got to put that blasted costume on. Will you be joining us later?"
"I'm not sure,' whispered Harry truthfully, watching the reflection of a hummingbird that was flying over the water.
"Well, I'll see you later," Ron said, his voice tinted with sadness as he turned around and started walking back toward the castle. He had taken a good twenty steps when he heard Harry's voice.
"DO YOU REALLY THINK HERMIONE IS IN LOVE WITH ME?"
Ron grinned and, turning around, replied in a booming voice, "SHE GAVE YOU A BROOM SERVICING KIT, HARRY! IF THAT'S NOT LOVE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!"
Harry gave him a small, but genuine smile, his glasses momentarily flashing with the moonlight. "Thank you, Ron… for everything," he said.
Giving him a dramatic curtsy, Ron said, "It's my duty, mate." He gave Harry a last nod, turned around and resumed his walk back to the castle.
Under the light of the full moon, Harry wandered the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his thoughts lost on the potion, the events of the last week, and the conversation with Ron.
Could his best friend be right? Should he tell Hermione how he felt? Could we have a chance with her after all?
Could she really be in love with him too?
It wasn't until he found himself standing behind Hagrid's hut that he realized his legs had taken him to Buckbeak's enclosure, the place the hippogriff had called home since the beginning of Harry's sixth year.
The massive beast was walking around the pen, flapping his wings occasionally, and trying to catch the little birds that flew near him as if to taunt him. He was alone; he had gotten so used to the contact of human beings that he wasn't fit anymore to live with others like him.
"Hello, Buckbeak," Harry called softly. Buckbeak turned his head and fixed his yellow eyes on Harry. The hippogriff started walking toward him. In an impulsive reaction, Harry jumped over the wooden fence and met the creature halfway.
He bowed to the beast, and waited until Buckbeak lowered his head in return. Harry then straightened and closed the distance between them, patting the feathers on the side of his neck. For a moment, he forgot about his own troubles as those yellow eyes fell on him.
He couldn't quite put his fingers on it, but whenever he locked eyes with Buckbeak, he felt at calm, safe, at peace, as if the creature had been sent by someone to watch over him. He often imagined Sirius had felt the same when he had looked into Buckbeak's eyes, and that thought alone was enough to make him smile.
"How are you, my friend? Hagrid treating you well?" asked Harry very softly. Talking with Buckbeak was a habit he had picked from Hermione. He wasn't sure if the creature understood or not, but that didn't really matter.
The hippogriff nodded softly and flapped his wings once. Harry was about to open his mouth to say goodbye, when something strange stopped him.
A cherished image.
A forgotten memory.
Triggered by the sight of Buckbeak's remarkable eyes.
It was the summer after his fifth year. He had spent only three weeks at the Dursley's, where he had been submitted to a new level of abuse. And this time, Harry hadn't fought back. It was Petunia Dursley herself that had contacted the members of the Order, and had told them that Harry refused to come out of his room, and that she actually worried that he might not survive. He didn't know if she was doing this because she in fact cared about him or simply because she was afraid of retaliation, but whatever it was, it had worked.
Lupin had taken Harry to Grimmauld's Place. Harry had inherited the house from Sirius, but Lupin was in charge of the place until Harry was of age.
It had only made matters worse.
Harry had taken refuge in the room that used to belong to Sirius' mother, and now was Buckbeak's abode. The hippogriff, who was still nursing the wing wounded by Kreacher, didn't seem to mind the company; Harry thought he benefited from being in a place where no one was constantly trying to get him to talk about what had had happened that night at the Ministry of Magic.
The problem was… once he was in… he refused to come out.
And the hours turn to days… and his surroundings faded to black… and he fell into a waking sleep.
Twelve Grimmauld's Place
Summer after Fifth Year
"Alohamora"
The door to Buckbeak's room opened, flooding the darkened and dusty area with uninvited light. The hippogriff raised his head, made a low, desolate sound, before setting himself back on the floor.
Sitting on the corner while resting with his back against the wall, Harry shut his eyes, temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness. As if the voice weren't enough to give away the identity of the intruder, the smell of lavender and vanilla that accompanied her pierced the stale stench of his inner sanctum.
"Hermione," whispered Harry hoarsely. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, thick and gruff from not using his vocal chords for only-God-knows how long. He heard her delicate steps as she drew nearer and stood in front of him.
"Hello Harry," was the first thing Hermione spoke that day. She sounded weak and tired, and not at all unlike he felt. It wasn't much consolation.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Tuscany with your parents," he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. The less he saw of her, the better.
"I came to see you," was her rather straightforward answer.
He chuckled without an ounce of humor, "Well, you've seen me. You can go now. Enjoy your summer."
"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," replied Hermione, her tone of voice indicating clearly that she was being very serious. He felt rather than saw her crouch in front of him, her knee bumping against his.
"I take it you've been speaking to Lupin," Harry growled, the annoyance at the older man's intervention plainly shown.
"So, what if I have?" quietly answered his friend. He was growing rather annoyed at her too. Why can't they just leave him alone?
"For being a quiet man, Lupin seems to have a big mouth… better to eat you with, I suppose" Harry answered, trying to hide behind a cynical smile. His eyes twitched under his eyelids; he wanted to see her, to make sure she was getting better, and at the same time, he never wanted to lay eyes on her again.
"He's worried about you… so is Dumbledore and Ron and the Weasley's… and so am I," Hermione whispered in a frustratingly patient voice. He heard her shift, and the next moment, he felt her hand on his bare arm.
It burned like liquid ice.
He immediately wriggle his arm free of her hold. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, but didn't try to touch him again.
"There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine," he murmured dully, his head dropping until his chin touched his chest. He was so weak… so damn tired. He just wanted to sleep… and never wake up.
"Really? Last I heard, you have hardly eaten or slept since you came here. You refuse to talk to Remus. And you haven't left this room for four days… So, forgive me for not agreeing when I say that there's plenty to worry about."
Harry opened his eyes for the first time since she had stepped into Buckbeak's room. A knot formed in his throat at the sight. Even when she was wearing a rather casual green jumper and black jeans, there was nothing relaxed about her posture. She looked thinner than she had been when they had said goodbye at King's Cross, and the brown curls that framed her face did nothing to soften the dark circles under her eyes… those sweet caramel eyes that were now red with too many sleepless nights, and shiny with unshed tears.
It never crossed Harry's mind that he looked ten times worst.
"Leave me alone, Hermione. Please," Harry whispered, speaking honestly for the first time. Green eyes locked with hers, and, for a moment, he thought she was going to grant him his wish.
"You know I won't," she replied. Harry took a deep breath and looked down, trying to rein his temper under control. What could he do to make them understand that he just wanted to be left alone?
A heavy silence followed, were the only noise that was heard was the sounds of their breathings and the loud snoring that came from Buckbeak. Hermione finally broke the silence with a soft, "Harry, we need to talk."
"If it's about homework, don't bother," Harry whispered weakly. He seemed to be more interested on the grime on his white shirt than in the presence of his friend. It was a lie of course; her visit was like a pebble thrown in a pond. It had started a chain reaction in him of feelings he'd rather keep quiet.
"It's not about homework. To tell you the truth, I haven't felt like doing much this summer," she sighed.
"There's a first time for everything," he deadpanned.
"I want to talk to you about what happened at the Department of Mysteries… I want to talk to you about Sirius," Hermione spoke.
"Don't waste your breath, Hermione. I'm sure I've already heard what you've got to say," Harry whispered, his rising anger evident in his voice.
"It's not your choice anymore, Harry," Hermione replied tiredly.
He raised his head slightly, and, arching an eyebrow at her, asked, "You going to take that away from me too?"
Hermione shook her head, her jaw set in resolve, "No. You did that yourself, Harry. Do you think this is what Sirius wanted for you?"
Harry smirked at her as he closed his eyes. Resting his head back against the wall, he replied, "Well, he's welcome to come and tell me that himself."
His head snapped to his side rather forcefully as a smacking sound echoed in the room. His cheek burned, feeling as if hundreds of tiny needles were stinging him. Only when he opened his eyes did Harry realize what had happened.
Hermione had just slapped him.
His eyes blazed as he hissed at her, "Why the fuck did you do that for?"
Her eyes showed equal fierceness as she finally lowered her reddened hand, "To see if I could knock some sense into you! To finally get a reaction worthy of someone alive!"
He pushed himself from the wall until he was sitting on his knees, his body almost colliding into hers. His face was merely an inch away from Hermione when he spat, "You want a reaction from me? Fine."
Harry stood up and violently grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up with him. Hermione winced before biting her lip; he had an iron grip on her arm and he didn't show any signs of easing up.
He started walking toward the still opened door, dragging her with him. She resisted him by trying to sit down, but Harry used his free hand to grab her by the waist and raise her from the floor as she vainly tried to kick herself free.
Buckbeak screeched loudly, standing up from the floor on his two hind legs. The beast towered over them, a sight to behold as it flapped its massive wings.
The hippogriff's outburst effectively distracted Harry, who failed to notice Hermione was reaching into her back pocket until it was too late. Immediately, he heard her whisper the spell that caused the door to the room shut with a squelching sound just before they reached it, bathing the room in shadows. He let go of her waist and tried the doorknob; the door did not budge.
He gritted his teeth when he remembered his wand was still locked up in his trunk… in his living room.
His eyes locked on the door as if he were trying to open it by the sheer force of his will, Harry spoke in a hoarse whisper, "Open the door, Hermione."
"Not unless you leave with me," she replied breathlessly, her wand still safely clutched in her hand. She tried to wriggle her arm free, but he refused to let her go.
Harry turned his head to look at her, and a small gasp escaped her parted lips. She had never seen him so menacing, not even when they fought about going to the Ministry that fateful night. Between clenched teeth, she heard him command, "Open the FUCKING DOOR!"
"I WON'T! NOT UNTIL YOU PROMISE YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE WITH ME!" Hermione screamed in return. She almost gave in when he raised his hand over his head as if to strike her, but the blow never came. Instead, his hand curled into a fist before he punched the door, enraged. He barely noticed the wooden chips that pierced the skin of his knuckles.
Harry's eyes locked with Hermione's as they stood by the door. His face and his eyes were red with anger, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't let go of her. Tears were threatening to break out from her eyes, and she bit her lip impulsively. "Harry, please…" she managed to whisper, reaching up with her hand to caress his cheek before he finally reacted, letting go of her arm and shoving her hard against the door.
Buckbeak let out another loud screech, and tapped his left talon against the floor menacingly. Ignoring the hippogriff's outburst, Harry turned away from Hermione and walked toward the other side of the room, sitting with his back to the wall next to Beaky's stack of hay. Through half-lidded eyes, he looked at the girl on the other side of the room, searching his weary brain for a way to get her out of his haven.
"I'm not leaving, Harry," said Hermione, guessing his train of thought, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her, her eyes shiny in the darkness. He believed her; he had seen that look on her face before. She wasn't backing out of this one.
Neither was he.
"Fine," he said in a low whisper that carried all the way to the other side of the room, "You want to stay here, be my guest! But I am NOT going to talk about… about what happened. Got it?"
Hermione continued to nurse her wounded arm, her jaw set in resolve. Finally, she nodded. Harry watched as Hermione tucked her wand back in her pocket and leaned against the door. She slowly slid to the floor, crossing her outstretched legs in front of her.
Only then did Buckbeak sat back down between them, crossing his talons in front of him and resting his head on his knees.
Harry surprised himself when he realized he felt a rather perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he had hurt her when he had grabbed her so forcibly. Why? He had never been that type of person.
He found a reason why: he wanted to knock some sense into her, make her see one way or the other that she needs to stay away from him… for her own good. How can such a bright woman not realize that simple truth?
He closed his eyes and took another trembling breath. Slowly, but surely, he blocked out the smell, her sound, her presence, and he slipped into that wonderful state he had discovered weeks ago, a place that existed between sleep and wakefulness, where time and space had no meaning, where he couldn't know the difference between night and day… and right and wrong… and life and death.
It was nirvana.
It was oblivion.
It was what he craved.
When Harry next opened his eyes, he instinctively knew many hours had passed. He couldn't hear Hermione, and he vainly hoped that she had finally grown tired of him and left him alone. But when he looked up, a very unexpected sight awaited him.
Hermione was kneeling in front of Buckbeak, and she was reaching with her hand to stroke his gray feathers. She kept caressing the creature with unimaginable tenderness, until the wounded hippogriff raised his head and released a mournful cry.
Harry watched amazed as Buckbeak leaned his face into her hand, his yellow eyes looking intently at her. Hermione seemed to have been caught in a spell, leaning even closer to the deadly creature, and wrapping her arms around his thick neck, rested her forehead against his soft feathers.
He discovered that her mouth was moving. The words were unintelligible to him, barely reaching a whisper, but amazingly, Buckbeak seemed to understand, judging by the soft sounds he was making.
Tears were now running freely down her cheeks even as she continued speaking to the massive creature in the room. Hermione had not realized Harry was looking at her until he spoke.
"'What are you doing?" he whispered brusquely. He licked his dried lips, but it didn't help much. He didn't remember when was the last time he had water.
Hermione raised her head and leaned back on her legs, surprised that he had decided to speak to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes again and fixing them on him, she answered plainly, "I'm speaking to him."
"Why?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.
"Because you are not the only one who's lost someone they love," Hermione coolly answered. She wiped her cheeks with the cuff of her jumper, and by the time she looked again at him, Harry had turned away, his gaze now hovering somewhere along the empty wall.
A grumble echoed in the room, and Harry recognized that it came from Hermione's stomach. He tried to force himself to not care, thinking that it was her own damn fault for being so bloody stubborn, but the truth was he did care. He was used to get by for days without nourishment; after 15 years with the Dursleys you had no other choice. But he knew she wasn't, and it hurt him to think she might be suffering.
"It's late," said Harry, still avoiding looking at her, "You must be hungry."
"I am. Very much," she answered with honesty.
"There's food downstairs," he offered.
"Are you going to go with me?" asked Hermione very softly. He shook his head in answer.
"Then I'm not moving," she replied, her hand stroking under the hippogriff's beak.
He curled his hand into a fist. She was going to make this more difficult than it had to be. "Then at least get your wand and summon something from the kitchen," Harry suggested.
"Will you eat with me?" Hermione prodded in a gentle voice.
"I am not hungry, Hermione," he answered automatically.
"If you won't eat, I won't either," Hermione replied, turning her attention to the wounded hippogriff in her arms.
Harry had had enough. Turning to look at her, he jeered, "For Merlin's sake, Hermione! Stop being so stubborn and get the fuck out of here!"
To his dismay, she just arched her eyebrow and gave him a very wry smile, "Stubborn? There's a case of the pot calling the kettle black."
He bit his tongue before he could release all the expletives in the English language. Doing his best to control his irritability, he tried to make her understand, "Look, you are still weak from Dolohov's curse! You need to keep your strength up, and you need to rest. Please, Hermione, I beg you! Leave me alone! Go home and stay away! You'll only suffer more if you stay here."
"Do you really care about my well being, Harry?"
The question caught him by surprise. How could she doubt that? He'd died for her. He was dying for her… for all of them.
"You know the answer to that question."
He almost couldn't see her dark chocolate eyes, but he felt the weight of her gaze in every fiber of his being, penetrating to his very core. The intensity of her gaze contrasted sharply with her quiet answer, "Then, think for a second… If I were behaving like you are doing now… if I were hiding in a dark room, wallowing in my grief, shutting everybody out while wasting away… would you let me?"
"Hermione…"
"Would you let me?"
For the first time since her arrival, Harry had no smartass reply to give her.
"I didn't think so," Hermione said quietly. Buckbeak gave another somber howl. She leaned closer to the creature and, to Harry's amazement, dropped a kiss on the top of his feathery head. She finally stood up and walked back to the door as Buckbeak laid his head back on the floor, oddly looking as if he were finally in harmony.
Hermione took her jumper off before leaning back against the door and sliding back to the floor. She was wearing only a white sleeveless t-shirt that now revealed on her upper arm the red mark made by Harry's hand.
"I'm sorry…"
She looked at him, tilting her head to the side in confusion.
"… for grabbing you so hard. I didn't mean… I didn't mean to hurt you," Harry finished, his voice barely audible across the room.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione nodded at him, signaling he was forgiven. They spend a few more minutes in the now familiar silence accompanied by the snoring of the creature now sleeping serenely in the middle of the room. Suddenly, Hermione stretched her arms upwards, yawning loudly, which caused the edge of her shirt to ride up. Harry became consciously aware that his best friend had indeed lost a lot of weight. His stomach tightened; it was his fault.
"You can take the bed," Harry offered, nodding to the dirty mattress on the opposite corner. It wasn't much, but it was the only furniture in the room remotely comfortable.
Hermione shook her head tiredly, "It's okay, Harry. You take the bed."
To her surprise, Harry used his hands to push himself from the floor. He wobbled a bit once he had stood up, obviously dizzy from lack of food and water and rest. He used the wall to steady himself, and once the room had stopped moving, he walked purposely toward her.
He was standing in front of Hermione when he extended his hand toward her and spoke a simple command, "Come to bed."
She remained silent, looking up at him through the curtain of her long eyelashes.
"Please… for me," pleaded Harry. Hermione finally reached up and took a hold of his hand. He helped her from the floor, and had to hug her against his body for a split second to steady her. But that was enough to make him realize how much he'd missed her. Breathing in her scent as his nose pressed against her hair, he felt warm and safe for the first time that summer. Taking a step back and shaking his head to push such thoughts out of his head, Harry gently pulled Hermione toward the mattress.
When they reached the bed, Harry pushed her kindly until she was sitting on the edge. Without any words, he knelt in front of Hermione, finally breaking eye contact as he looked down at her feet, slowly unlacing her shoes. He took them off her feet and placed them next to the bed.
He didn't look up when he felt Hermione's hand press against his cheek, the same cheek she had slapped many, many hours ago. It felt warm and cool and soft and delicate over his skin, and as soothing as murtlap essence.
"You are such a good person, Harry," whispered Hermione, stroking his cheek with tenderness. He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand, reveling in the foreign feeling of security her touch provoked in him. Leaning closer to him, her eyes bright, she softly said, "Do you realize how much we care about you? How much we love you? How much we hurt to see you like this?"
That woke him up; to love him was to be sentenced to death. He won't let any more of them fall to the eternal darkness for his sake.
Harry grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her hand away, because what had once been such a comforting touch now stung him. "Good night, Hermione," he mumbled, standing up from the floor, turning around and walking toward his spot next to the hippogriff.
"Good night, Harry," she sighed, her voice thick with exhaustion and heartache. She laid herself on the dirty bed and closed her eyes as Harry sat back on the floor.
He spent what seemed an eternity trapped in a single point in time watching Hermione's sleeping figure, mentally capturing the way her hair fell over her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath she took, and the sound of her soft snoring.
He wanted to go to the bed and rest his head on her chest so badly, to hear her heart beating against his ear, to make sure she was alive and well and to believe, even for just one second, that what had happened at the Department of Mysteries had been nothing but a nightmare, and that tomorrow morning, he would join a healthy Hermione downstairs for breakfast with Sirius.
Harry closed his eyes, his head dropping of its own accord. Again, Harry fell willingly into the abyss, and endless void where nothing existed. The place he had called home for the last month.
A whimper. A cry.
Unaware of how much time had passed, Harry opened his eyes and looked toward the bed, only to find Hermione curled up into a fetal position, holding her hands over her stomach, whimpering almost imperceptibly as silent tears came down her cheeks.
Panic seized him immediately. "Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked as he stood up, almost falling back to floor from weakness. He wobbled towards her, using the wall for support, until he finally collapsed on his knees in front of her. Harry smoothed her hair back from her now sweaty forehead, and looked down at her body to find her clutching her belly as if she were trying to reach inside and rip something out of her.
The realization of what was wrong with his friend suddenly struck him. It was the curse… it was Antonin Dolohov's spell.
Hermione opened her eyes, but seemed unable to focus them on the boy kneeling next to her bed. "It's okay, Harry… Madam… ugh… Madam Pomfrey said it would happen… from… aw… time to time," she whispered in a strained voice.
"What can I do?" Harry implored.
"Come here," Hermione whimpered, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward her. He jumped over her body and lay on the bed on his side behind her, his front to her back. Harry propped his head on his left hand, as she moved his other hand to her lower back and left it there. "Apply pressure with your fist; it eases up the cramps."
Her hands went back to her stomach as he used his fist to knead the flesh on her lower back. Aside from the occasional whimper, Hermione remained silent, and if it weren't for the brightness of the tears in her face, he wouldn't realize she was crying.
Harry wanted to cry himself. He wanted to cry so badly that he bit his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
She was in so much pain… and it was his fault.
Slowly, Hermione's cries subsided, and she finally released a shaky breath and lay on her back, signaling the crisis had passed. Their eyes locked for a moment, before his eyes traveled down her body and settled over her stomach. He remembered that purple light that had flashed through her just before she collapsed, and he shivered as his right hand settled over her tummy. He was distressed beyond measure when he felt her insides move against his hand, like a giant snake looking for release by breaking through her flesh.
How acutely he wished he could have died before ever taking her with him that night.
"I'm so, so sorry, Hermione. More than words can say," whispered Harry in a strangled voice.
"For what?" Hermione softly asked, her hand settling over his on her stomach.
"For not listening to you… dragging you to the Department of Mysteries… getting you hit with a curse… getting Sirius to fall through the veil…"
"You are not to blame for that," Hermione quickly interrupted, reaching up with her free hand and smoothing back the hair that stubbornly stuck to his sweaty forehead.
"Why not? If I had listened to you, none of that would have happened! You would be healthy! Sirius would be alive!" Harry said between clenched teeth, refusing to give in to the urge to break down and cry.
"Harry, you can't…" whispered Hermione in a shaky breath, tightening her hold on his hand.
"You want to know why I can't sleep? … Because whenever I sleep, I see Sirius falling… I keep hoping to see him on the other side of the veil… but he never comes… he never comes…" Harry interrupted, his voice breaking.
Hermione couldn't keep her emotions in check any longer, and she sobbed against him, momentarily unable to find the words to tell him all the things she wanted to say. The hand that was resting on her stomach started moving gently over her skin absently, for she knew that even when he was looking at her, he was not seeing her.
"Bellatrix's laughter rings in my ears as I call to him… and I call and call… but he doesn't answer," he continued absently. Hermione still couldn't find her voice, but she caressed his hair and what she could reach of his back, encouraging him to finally get what plagued him out of his chest.
"And I watch as the purple light passes through you," he whispered shakily, sliding down on the bed until he rested his head on top of her belly. He felt her insides spasm against his cheek, and he closed his eyes to shut out the tears.
He took a deep breath before he continued, "And I see you crumpling to the ground… like a broken doll… I keep hearing my own voice in my head telling me that… that you are dead, that… that I killed you."
A tear escaped through the corner of his eye, and more followed, until the Boy-Who-Lived found himself sobbing achingly, his body rocking against hers, his tears staining her white shirt.
Hermione hugged him tightly to her, her hands soothingly moving down his neck to his shoulders and down his arms. Her body shook with his as he finally gave in to the tears he had refused to shed since his godfather died.
"And… when I wake up… I pray to whoever is up there… to let me die… I want to die, Mione… before the nightmare becomes reality," whispered Harry.
"Harry, listen to me…" Hermione tried to interrupt.
"Because I can't take this anymore…"
"Harry!"
"My parents, Sirius, you… I can't keep watching the people I love die because of me. It is better for me to die before I keep taking people with me," he finished, planting a kiss on her wet abdomen, tasting the saltiness of his tears on her skin.
""Harry, look at me… please, look at me…" Hermione said, tightening her grip on his hair, and gently pulling until he raised his head. He continued moving until they were laying on their sides at eye level, their faces barely an inch away from each other. She let go of his hair and let her hand traveled down the side of his face. She took off his eyeglasses, leaving his soul naked for her to see. Her delicate hands continued their exploration of his tired face, feeling the wetness of his tears when she cupped his cheek.
Her tender gestures helped him to slowly calm down. Finally, Hermione spoke, "What happened to your parents is not your fault, nor what happened to Sirius… least of all, what happened to me. You want to blame someone? Blame Voldemort, Harry. Blame Bellatrix and Kreacher, and Malfoy and Dolohov. But not yourself, Harry. Stop punishing yourself."
"But it was my fault, Hermione… it was because of me that you two were at the Ministry. I was the one that refused to listen to reason," Harry murmured weakly, the hand that had been resting on her stomach now on her hip.
"You made a mistake, Harry. You are human after all," Hermione softly replied.
"My mistake got my godfather killed. And it almost got you killed," breathed Harry, lost in the golden brown orbs she called eyes. To think he almost lost the chance to look into those eyes again…
Hermione shook her head delicately, "You didn't make me follow you, Harry. I chose to follow you that night. Sirius chose to go after you." Cupping both of his cheeks now, feeling the light stubble on his not-so-young-anymore face, Hermione added, "Our choices… our consequences to bear."
"I thought I had lost you, Hermione… I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe…" Harry confessed.
Once again, Hermione shook her head, and giving him a reassuring smile, she replied, "You haven't lost me. I'm alive, Harry. Alive… and I need you. I NEED YOU! Ron needs you. Remus needs you."
"It would be better for all of you if I were to die. Don't you get it? You are a target as long as you stand by my side."
She moved closer until the tip of her nose touched his, and making sure he could see the honesty in her eyes, Hermione hushed, "Harry, try and get this through your thick skull… I can't be without you. Not anymore. You are too… too much a part of me. There is no me without you, Harry. It is not a matter of choice."
Harry had no words with which he could reply, and the only thing he could do was lean into her hand in a tender gesture. Hermione smiled at him through her tears as she said, "I'd die without you."
They remained like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes, tears falling into the mattress in silence, sharing the pain and the helplessness and the suffering and the doubt that the last few months had brought in.
It finally hit him. Harry wanted to laugh at how ridiculous his wish had been… no matter how much he pushed them away, Hermione, Ron and Remus were never going to leave him.
But, how was he supposed to let them stay by his side when the only thing he wanted was to keep them safe?
"I miss him so much, Hermione… and it's only been two months. Please tell me how am I supposed to go on without him… tell me how am I supposed to go on when everyone I love is in constant danger," he said with honesty.
Hermione sighed softly, letting her hands roam his face soothingly, and she said, "Harry, I don't have all the answers. But we'll find a way… together."
He surprised her by giving her a small smile. Somehow, he believed it… When she said it, he truly believed it. She wiped the tears from his face, and smiled back
Hours ago, Harry had wished he could lay his head on her chest, that he could feel her beating heart against his cheek. At any other time, that action would have been inappropriate, it would have meant crossing a line he was not ready to acknowledge, much less defy. But at this moment, and at this time, Harry found no reason not to indulge in his wish.
His eyes seeking permission, Harry slid down the bed until she settled on her back and he laid his head on her chest, his arm draped over her waist. Ah, there it was, beating against his ear, strong and steady. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips grew a bit wider as he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.
Yes… his best friend was here… his best friend was alive.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly against her body, one hand softly caressing his shoulders, the other weaving into his dirty hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp. When she heard him release a tired sigh, she whispered, "It's time to sleep, Harry. And when you wake up, we'll get out of this room… you'll take a bath while I make some pancakes. You want pancakes?"
He nodded against her, feeling as the tension started easing from his body as her hand traveled up and down his back and her heartbeat thundered under him. Her voice was like a lullaby, and it was coaxing him toward the loving arms of the Sandman.
"And if you think is the right thing, maybe we can talk to Dumbledore about letting Buckbeak fly for just one night. He's been cooped up here for too long," Hermione whispered, her own exhaustion showing in her voice.
"I'd like that," Harry mumbled. A surprising sensation of calmness was flowing all over his body, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he finally gets some rest.
A question suddenly popped into his muddled brain, and he knew he had to ask it before going to sleep. "Hermione," he muttered against her skin.
"What is it, Harry?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Harry could hardly form the words. Her hand on his hair felt absolutely wonderful, and this promised to be the first time in a long time he would sleep without nightmares. And it was all because of her.
"Why are you here. Why not Dumbledore? Or Remus? Or even Ron? Why did you give up the vacation of a lifetime, the only time you have to be with your parents, to lock yourself in a room with a stinky hippogriff and an even smellier friend?" Harry asked with an almost imperceptible smile.
Hermione chuckled dryly, "Honestly, Harry! If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer. Someday, I'll tell you. But not now. Be assured that I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else."
She raised her head and drop a kiss on his unruly black mop before whispering, "Now sleep. Tomorrow is a brand new day."
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Promise me you'll be here when I wake up."
"I promise… tomorrow, and forever"
The two teenagers soon fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, unaware that the yellow eyes of the hippogriff were watching over them.
Present Day
And she had kept her promise.
That morning, no words were exchanged as they fed Buckbeak before leaving the room. Harry took a shower and washed the dirt and grime from his body, and by the time he came downstairs, Hermione had already made breakfast and was sitting at the table with a very-relieved Remus waiting for him.
Hermione stayed at Twelve Grimmauld's Place until the middle of August, when her parents had returned from Tuscany. They were only apart for two weeks, and yet Harry missed her terribly. He had gotten used to their late night talks next to Sirius' fireplace, where they talk about everything and anything, from his parents and his upbringing to her childhood, from his plans for the future to her dreams and desires, from the threat of Voldemort to their favorite movies, from what they wanted to buy in his next Hogsmeade trip to what lady could they hook up Remus with.
Sometimes, they sat on the couch and held each other's hands as the tears flowed down their cheeks, and sometimes, they laughed out loud while playing Exploding Snaps, or wizard's chess (Hermione was really terrible), or just sat in comfortable silence in front of the flickering flames of the fire. Sometimes Remus joined them, and sometimes, the older man seemed to know the kids needed to be alone.
Remus never asked what had happened in Buckbeak's room the day Hermione arrived, and they never told him. In fact, Harry and Hermione never spoke about it either, not even to Ron, not even between them. It had faded from his memory, like a wonderful dream.
But their relationship had changed that day.
And now, two years later, when the boy was no longer a boy, but a young man bathed by the light of the full moon, Hermione's words from that night echoed in his head.
"If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer."
It was an epiphany… a revelation.
What Harry was experiencing at the moment could be compared with standing in a field on a sunshiny day and being struck by lightning.
For as he stared into Buckbeak's eyes, Harry dared to think Ron might have been right.
He dared to believe that Hermione might be in love with him too.
Well, this is the longest chapter I've written, and I hope you could bear to read it all the way to the end. The scene in Buckbeak's room was a pleasure to write, and served as a medium for healing not only for Harry, but for me too.
Liked it? Hated it? LET ME KNOW!
I want to address something a reader in FF.net mentioned. He said that the story was "boring to no end." There is a reason for the cyclic nature of the scenes: the timeline of the story is quite short (five days) and Harry IS stuck in a rut (or "caught in a web" -wink-) and that he will stay in that vicious cycle if not for a cathartic event. During the summer of his fifth year, the catharsis came from what happened in Buckbeak's room with Hermione. In the present, the catharsis came from his acknowledgement that he is indeed in love with his best friend, the conversation with Ron, and the possible meaning behind Hermione's words.
And I apologize for not having the time to answer every reviewer personally, but I am very, VERY grateful that you took the time to let me know what you thought about last chapter. THANK YOU!
Please review!
Peace,
Anasazi
PS. This chapter goes out to Lidia and Elena, whose voices echoed in Ron's words. Un beso y un abrazo. ¡Las quiero!
PPS. For those who like facts, Hermione arrived at Sirius house on July 13. They spent a little more than 33 hours locked in Buckbeak's room.
-->