The Long Road by MinnieMcG

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 12/07/2004
Last Updated: 12/07/2004
Status: Completed

Harry remembers Hermione's illness. Written for the hphg_fication over on Livejournal. Much
angst...consider yourselves warned.




1. The Long Road
----------------



We didn't think anything of it, at first. Her tiredness, that is. She was a working witch
with two small children and a husband who was always off to work early and home late, of course she
was tired. Not to mention the never-ending research she was doing for that slave driver of hers.
Every chance she got she was in the library, reading glasses low on her nose and usually chewing on
her lip. I was more than willing to let her have a kip after dinner while I played with the kids
and readied them for bed. She deserved the rest. But next she stopped eating, wouldn't even
touch Molly's cooking. Then I knew something was wrong. Hermione loved Molly's casseroles.
For weeks I tried to convince her to go get checked out, but you know Hermione. She was fine, she
said. It was just the flu, she said. After Megan's school play was over, she said. Stubborn, my
Hermione. She was also very smart, though. So when Hermione stated something as fact, it was fact
and there was no argument. Sometimes I think to myself that I should have stood up to her. I'm
the hero of the entire bloody wizarding world and I couldn't even stand up to my own wife. I
just wanted everything to be the same- happy, safe…normal.

It was a full month before she finally consented to go to the healer, and even then only because
she was forced to. I'll never forget the look in her eyes when I came home and found her in the
dark nursery, crying.

"I couldn't pick him up," she whispered, clutching her jumper closer to her and
shivering violently, her face pale and eerie in the moonlit room. It was August. I pulled her onto
my lap and rocked us both in the rocking chair her mum had sent when Charlie was born. She curled
into me, clinging to my robes with the little strength she had. "I couldn't pick up my own
son," she sobbed. What could I say to that? Definitely not "I told you so" or
"You should have listened to me". So I rubbed her back and whispered meaningless words of
comfort into her ear and told her we would figure this out and get her better. And then I flooed
the healer. The entire time I was crouched in front of the fireplace she sat stone still on the
couch where I had placed her, staring at the opposite wall. She looked so small and helpless
wrapped in thick quilts, eyes bright with tears.

I had been in many dangerous and frightening situations in my twenty-eight years, but never had
I been as terrified of anything as I was as we sat in Healer Fopwith's office and heard the
word "leukemia" come out of his mouth. Hermione just nodded along with what he was
saying, taking in the treatment options, side effects, and possible outcomes. She didn't cry or
faint or run away screaming. I know *I* wanted to, no matter how calm I made myself seem,
sitting there silently and holding her hand. I saw how small it was against mine, so tiny and
white. My mind jumped back to being five years old and listening to the Dursley's talk about
little Timmy Fischer down the street who had died from it. It had only taken six months to rob that
young boy of his future. And now my entire family could be robbed of theirs. I barely paid
attention to the healer. My life was crashing down around me. My wife could die, and not because
something evil was after us but because of a measly disease! How could this be happening now, after
we had survived so much already…after we had finally made our life together stable and secure. Why
us?

Later, once we flooed home (she was still too weak to Apparate) and let the babysitter go, I let
myself break down. She went to go check on the kids and I shut myself into the bathroom and sat on
the edge of the tub. I picked up her shampoo and popped it open, inhaling deeply as the tears ran
down my face. I always loved the smell of her hair, the delicate aroma such a contrast to her firm
personality. At night, in bed, I would pull her close and bury myself in her hair, the smell of
lilacs lulling me to sleep. The thought of falling asleep without her or waking up in an empty bed
was more than I could handle. This couldn't be happening; I couldn't be losing another
loved one. How could life be that cruel, even to me?! The anger that I had fought so hard to be
able to contain in my youth began to emerge and I felt my pulse start to race. What was the point
of it all?! My parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Charlie…all around me the people I cared for were taken
away from me. What was the point of such a life? I paced around the small space hearing nothing but
the pounding of the blood in my ears. And then the mirror shattered. Astounded, I sat back down
heavily. I hadn't lost control of my magic since my Hogwarts years. I slumped backwards into
the tub and looked around at everything- the kids' bath toys, Hermione's soaps and lotions.
I could hear the muffled sounds of Hermione singing a lullaby across the hall. *That* was the
point of it all, I realized sitting in the empty tub and looking at the tiled floor littered with
shards of glass. I finally had a family and I finally felt loved. We would survive this. All of
us.

When I finally composed myself and went into our bedroom, she wasn't there. I found her in
Megan's room, Charlie asleep in her arms. She pushed Meg's bushy hair off her small face
gently.

"I was so stupid," she choked out softly. I dropped to my knees in front of her and
took her hand, kissing it lightly.

"Love," I began, but she shook her head violently.

"Don't," she said, still clutching our son to her chest. "Don't try and
tell me it isn't my fault. I'm Hermione Potter, smartest witch of our year at Hogwarts, and
I knew better. I knew something was wrong and was too much of a coward to do anything about it. And
now," she shut her eyes tightly, "now I might lose everything important to me and
everything I have fought for because I was afraid of the truth. Some Gryffindor I am."

With that, her shoulders shook with deep sobs once more. I took the baby from her and put him in
the cot before gathering her up in my arms and bringing her to our bed and holding her close. I
don't know how long we lay there, but I remember watching her sleep, hair spread out across the
pillow, pale cheeks stained with tears. She was always so beautiful like that, without the daily
stresses and worries marring her smooth skin. I always chastised myself for not realizing it
sooner, not seeing how much she really meant to me until after the war. We had had seven years
together since then, but it wasn't enough. No amount of time with her would ever be enough. And
now it might be limited.

At first she wanted to try both Muggle and magical treatments, but as it turned out they were
both very similar and there was no way I was going to let her put more stress on her body then
necessary, so we decided on magical. The hardest part wasn't the treatments, though. I could
have handled the weakness and the hair loss. My beautiful girl would even joke about the latter,
saying how she was finally rid of the rat's nest on top of her head. Ginny brought her
beautiful scarves to wear, made of bright silks from India. Hermione would perch on our bed amongst
the huge pile of pillows and proclaim herself queen, ordering me around with a wicked smirk on her
face. Books poured in from all over, everyone knowing that Hermione hated having nothing to do. The
nausea was even bearable; I had survived two pregnancies after all. No, that was all fairly easy to
adapt to in the first couple of months. The part I couldn't bear was seeing the kids. Megan,
who was four then, was old enough to realize something was wrong. When we told her Mummy was sick
she had nodded sagely and set straight to work on pictures of everyone she knew so that her mum
wouldn't be lonely while she was at school. Every afternoon she would come home and perch
herself on the end of the bed weaving elaborate tales of her day or reading her own books to
Hermione. But Megan couldn't understand why Mummy was getting so thin and wouldn't eat her
food a lot of the time. She didn't understand why Mummy couldn't play with her or watch her
fly her toy broomstick. After a particularly bad day, I found Meg crying in her closet. She looked
up at me with her large brown eyes and asked me why Mummy didn't love her anymore.

"She always cries when I ask her to play. Why do I make her sad, Daddy? How can I make
Mummy happy again? I don't want my Mummy to hate me!" she whimpered, her small chin
trembling. I gathered my daughter into my arms and tried my best to explain that her Mum loved her
just as much as ever and that she was just ill, but Megan still looked unsure. She wanted to run
right in and read Hermione her favorite stories and feed her soup, but it was one of the days
Hermione received her treatments and she slept all afternoon. That night, Megan made me hide her
copy of *Hogwarts, A History* under a pile of clothes in the closet so that she
"wouldn't have bad dreams." I don't think I slept at all the night. Luckily for
me, four year olds rebound easily and Meg looked pleased as punch the next afternoon when Hermione
played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with her. I think even Charlie, still an infant, felt that
something was wrong. He stopped sleeping through the nights, fussing until he was brought to see
his mum. As soon as he was brought to our bed, he would fall right back to sleep, clinging to
Hermione's pyjamas with his chubby little fists. Our daily lives were foreign to us; we all
felt like strangers. I stopped working, living off our savings and my inheritance. Ron would come
by daily, sometimes taking the kids out for ice cream or to visit the Burrow. During those times I
would curl up with Hermione and we would talk, sleep, or just enjoy the comfort of the other's
warmth. On one such day, Hermione turned to me and tried to hand me a roll of parchment.

"My will," she stated bluntly. I refused to take it from her. There was no way I was
going to pretend that she was going to die. It would not and could not happen. If I could save the
world, I could save her. "Oh, Harry, don't be daft!" she fumed. "Take it!"
Knowing Hermione for almost twenty years, I knew I wasn't going to win, so I took it and placed
in the bedside table, refusing to meet her eyes. How could she write a will? Was she giving up? How
could she give up?! She moved closer to me and reached up, pulling my face down to hers and kissing
me lightly. "I had to, Harry, you know I did. I can't pretend I'm not sick…we need to
be prepared in case..."

"In case nothing. You aren't going to die."

"I might Harry, and if I do…"

"You won't!"

"But, Harry…"

I had had enough of that. I pulled her to me roughly and kissed her hard, ignoring how fragile
she felt in my arms. I pulled away after a bit and immediately felt guilty. She was so weak; I
shouldn't have done that. I missed her that way, obviously, but it was no reason to use up the
little energy she had because of my own desires. And just to avoid an argument or facing the fact
that she might not get well! I slunk to my side of the bed, ashamed. I had messed up enough; I
wasn't going to mess anything more up for her. And then she tutted at me, reached over and
pulled me to her, kissing me.

"I'm not going to break, Harry, I need this too. Make love to me." She said it all
in her teasing "you are so daft, but I love you anyway" voice, but I could see in her
eyes that this was as much for her as it was for me. She needed to feel normal…functional. She
needed to feel needed. Only then did I realize how selfish I had been, thinking of how this was
affecting me when she must have been running mad. Hermione always needed to be useful and busy and
now she was bedridden, unable to make her own children breakfast. So I gave her everything I could
with kisses and caresses, holding her for hours afterwards just listening to her breathe. I trailed
my fingers over the sharp angles of her collarbone, watching her chest rise and fall, and prayed to
whatever God there could possibly be that she wouldn't be taken away from us.

The treatments seemed to work as far as they kept the disease from progressing. For seven months
Hermione remained fairly well, just extremely tired and weak. We thought that this was a good sign;
obviously the treatments were fighting the disease. We never imagined that this was actually proof
of something else at work. Once more our past returned to haunt us. The healer, becoming frustrated
with Hermione's unchanged state, decided to run further tests that were more involved and
detailed. Horrified, we listened to the results. Fourteen years after the fact, the hex that she
suffered at the Ministry was impairing her recovery. It had almost disabled her immune system. All
Fopwith could say was that there were still residual effects and that they couldn't do anything
more for her. They recommended continuing with the treatments and waiting it out for a while
longer. Lying in bed that night, I stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. My brain refused to shut
down, all I heard was a chanting of *my fault my fault my fault.* It always came down to that,
didn't it? Everything that happened to those around me was my fault and now my wife was dying
because fourteen years earlier I wouldn't listen to her advice and just stay put. Who was next?
Ron? My children? When would it all finally end? Just when the urge to flee began to turn panicked,
Hermione rolled over and placed a kiss on my temple, twining her fingers with mine.

"Don't, Love. It isn't. You're not. I love you. Go to sleep and then make me
your famous eggs in the morning." Then she settled her head on my chest and fell immediately
back to sleep. I let out the breath I had been holding and focused on her comforting weight and
warmth, finally drifting to sleep.

Four months later, nothing had changed. I watched her at Megan's fifth birthday party,
seated on the loveseat and adorned in full party attire of brightly colored hat and pink feather
boa. She was watching Megan tramp around the room in her mum's high heels with the other girls
and at Charlie toddling around from adult to adult and lifting his arms screaming "Up!
Up!" until the person would snatch him up and throw him into the air a few times before he
would demand "Down!" and would promptly move on to someone else. Hermione was smiling,
but it was a smile I had never seen on her before. Both sad and happy, but with a hint of regret. I
found myself taking a ton of pictures that evening, almost all of them with Hermione in them,
although at the time I had no idea why. Now I think I knew, deep down. When the guests had gone,
the kids were in bed, and I began the tidying up, she called me over to the sofa. Curled into my
side, she stared into the fire for a few minutes before starting.

"I want to stop treatments."

It was exactly what a bludger to the chest feels like, those five words, said so calmly by the
person I loved most in the world.

"What are you talking about? That's mad, Hermione! If you stop treatments…" I
couldn't even say it aloud.

"I'll die," she said. "I know that Harry, but I just can't continue like
this any more. You and the kids deserve a full life and right now you don't have one, always
worried about me and caring for me. I want our children to have happy childhoods, without the
ever-present burden of a sick mother."

"Hermione, we have no life without you! You are our life…you are my life."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, beginning to cry, "I know that this is awful, but
it's the right decision. I know it deep down. Besides, Love, I'm tired. Tired of the
treatments and feeling useless. I can't be the mother my children deserve or the wife you
deserve. We can't do this forever; you know we can't." Hot tears clouded my
vision.

"Why not?! You're doing much better since we started the treatments. Look, why
don't we go on holiday somewhere, us and the kids. We can get away and just be us. When we get
back, you will feel differently, I know it."

"No, Harry, a holiday won't change things, no matter how lovely. And you know I'm
not any better than I was eleven months ago. It's almost been a year, nothing is going to
change. Please know that this is the hardest decision I have ever made, but it's the right
one…for all of us."

I wanted to argue, wanted to fight, but I could see the stubborn look under her tears that meant
only one thing- I wasn't going to win this one. Taking her face in my hands, I wiped away her
tears and rested my forehead against hers. "What will I ever do without you? I don't think
I'll survive."

"You have to survive, Harry. You will keep on going and raise our children. You will send
them off to Hogwarts, teach them Quidditch, and spoil them rotten. You will walk Megan down the
aisle at her wedding and watch Charlie graduate from the Aurors' Academy. You will tell them
everyday how much their Mum loved them and how proud she would be of everything that they have
accomplished. And, perhaps, you will find someone new to love. Someone who knows that you are
ticklish on your lower back and that you don't like tea with lemon. Someone who will love our
children and help you show them how to be good and righteous. You will survive, my love, because
you must. The world needs you and our children need you."

"There will never be anyone else for me, Hermione. You are it. No witch or woman could ever
compare. Please, don't do this. Don't leave me."

"Harry, you know I don't want to, but I just can't do this anymore. Please
understand." She kissed me then, deeply and slowly, tasting of chocolate and pumpkin juice, a
taste I will never forget.

"I can't understand, Hermione. But…I'll try to accept it as best I can. Anything
you want."

"I want you to take me to bed," she breathed, crying once more. So I gathered her into
my arms and did just that.

Once the treatments were stopped, Hermione's health deteriorated quickly. Within two weeks
she was completely bedridden and needed constant care. She could barely lift her head due to the
weakness. She stopped eating, only consenting to a few spoonfuls of soup a few times a day. Ron
moved in to help out with the kids while I focused on Hermione and her parents came to stay as
well, wanting to be there for "the end" as it came to be known. Despite her health,
Hermione was cheerful while awake, and still bossy as ever. She began to dictate lists to me about
everything she wanted done for her funeral and afterwards. No one was to wear black; the music
would be upbeat. She wanted to be buried under her favorite tree at Hogwarts. She said that it was
one of her happiest places on earth, plus, she would be close to the kids once they started school.
Of course the Governors allowed it, she was Hermione Potter neé Granger, one of the illustrious
trio who saved the world. She could have asked to be buried in the library and I doubt even Madam
Pince would have denied her. Finally, the day arrived. Hermione told me so, even though I
didn't notice any change from the day before. I guess she just *knew*. She asked me to
bring in the kids to say goodbye. First was Megan, who climbed carefully onto the bed, making sure
not to jostle her mum too much. And, unsurprisingly, she beat Hermione to open.

"You're going to die, aren't you?" she asked bluntly. "Yes, I am. But you
shouldn't be afraid, ok? I won't be sick anymore where I'm going and I will be able to
look down on you and your brother and your Dad. And I will always be in here," she added,
touching Meg's heart gently. "I love you very much, Megan. Always remember that. And take
care of Charlie, he's going to need someone to teach him important stuff like how to read and
color inside the lines." Megan wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, he is bad at that and he always uses my books to make towers with." She sobered
a bit. "I'm going to miss you very much Mummy, are you sure you have to die?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Bug." Hermione hadn't called Megan that in almost a year,
her nickname for her daughter being deemed "babyish" by the new kindergarten student.
Megan didn't protest this time. "Here, I have something for you," Hermione said,
reaching into her bedside drawer. She pulled out a silver necklace with a small opal pendant on it.
"Your father gave this to me on our first date and aside from you and your brother, it is the
most beautiful thing he has ever given me. I want you to have it, ok? Take good care of it, Bug.
It's very special, just like you."

"I will," Megan promised quietly holding up the necklace gently, watching it sparkle
in the light. "It will remind me of you for always. I'll still miss you very much, though,
but I promise to read to you every day before I go to sleep so that you won't forget how
wonderful books are, ok?"

"That would be brilliant, Megan, I look forward to it." Megan climbed up to the head
of the bed and kissed Hermione, hugging her tightly with her tiny arms.

"I love you, Mummy. Don't forget us."

"Never," Hermione replied, voice choked with tears. She kissed the top of Megan's
head and hugged her once more. "Now scoot, before I drown you with my silly tears."

"They aren't silly," Megan replied seriously. "I'm sad too. It's
ok." And with that she climbed off the bed and left the room, clutching the necklace tightly
in her fist.

Hermione's good-bye with Charlie was less eventful, but no less painful. He might not have
understood what was happening, but he understood that Mum was crying and was entirely confused when
patting her cheeks with his tiny hands and saying “Mummy no cry” just made her cry harder and
clutch him tighter. He saw his mother unhappy and wanted to make it better; she saw a lifetime of
memories and milestones that she would never be witness to. She saw the man he would become and the
weight of her pain was apparent in her voice as she shakily sang him one last lullaby.

When I left to put Charlie in his cot, I told Hermione to rest. She never did listen to me. I
returned to find Ron perched on the edge of the bed, refusing to look her in the eye. Ron never was
one to show very much emotion, especially after the war, and I knew that he must have been trying
very hard to keep it together. I should have left, but I overheard my name and since I never was
one to skip out on eavesdropping I stayed outside the door.

“Ron, before I say goodbye, I need to ask you something. It is the most important thing I will
ever ask you, so please look at me.” There was a slight pause and I heard the springs squeak
slightly. “Ever since first year, you have been my friend. One of my best friends. Together you and
Harry gave me everything I could ever hope for; you two have made me incredibly happy and I am
lucky to have met the two of you. The three of us are a perfect match, but I think we all knew it
couldn't last forever that way…” Hermione took a deep breath. “I need you to watch out for
Harry, Ron. I know what you would say- that you already do, but I also think you know what I mean.
I'm trusting him with you, Ron. You are the only person I could ever ask this of.”

“Of course, Hermione, anything you want. You know I would never let you down, but…who is going
to pick up the pieces of *my* shattered heart when you're gone, huh? The only witch I ever
loved not only runs off with my best mate, but then she goes and leaves me forever?! I'm afraid
I'll never recover.” Ron's last sentence was heavy with emotion and the levity of his
previous statements was gone.

“Oh, Ronald, I do love you, you know. You are so much more to me than just a friend. Of all the
friends in the world, Scarecrow, I'll miss you most of all.”

“Hermione, I know you're dying, but have you gone mental?”

“Oh, honestly, Ron! I should have forced you to take Muggle Studies back when you were still in
love with me! Maybe you would actually have learned something!”

Some things never changed, after all. I found myself smiling slightly as I headed downstairs to
leave them at it, but the smile was gone by the time I reached the landing and realized that was
the last time I would ever hear them bicker.

I was fixing tea when Ron came into the kitchen. For a moment he just stood there staring at me,
eyes bloodshot and cheeks tear-streaked. And then he collapsed into me, becoming a huge mess of
sobbing tears. I held him tightly until he cried himself out and then sat him down with a cup of
tea with a shot of Firewhiskey thrown in for good measure. We just sat there, silently sipping,
until he finally spoke.

“My entire life I have been jealous of you, Harry. You were rich and powerful and people adored
you. But now…well, I wouldn't want to be in your position for anything. Saying goodbye to her
was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.” I studied him for a moment before replying.

“You know, Ron, for months I have walked around here pitying myself also, when I should have
been grateful. Grateful that I was able to know and love Hermione for as long as I did. She has
made all our lives better and saved our arses on many an occasion. For many years you and Hermione
were the best part of I life I was miserable in. But for seven wonderful years I was given the
perfect life. Perfect wife, perfect kids, and perfect friends. Am I bitter at having that life
stolen from me? Yes. Do I want to lash out and break things and lament my poor state? Every damn
day. But upstairs is a woman who deserves nothing but my undying love, support, and care. Because
Hermione taught me how to live, Ron. She taught me how to focus on the good. She *is* the
good. Her love has been the best thing I have ever received and for being allowed that, I consider
myself lucky. Don't pity me for what I…*we*…are losing. I was lucky to have it at
all.”

I spent the remainder of that night in our room while Ron looked after the kids and then, once
they were asleep, sent of the owls to let people know what was happening. Hermione and I never did
have a long, emotional talk about goodbye. I think we both knew no words would ever sufficiently
cover everything. I just held her hand and stroked her cheek and…looked at her. Looked into brown
eyes that I had memorized the exact shade of long ago. Looked at the tiny scar under her lip from
when she fell off her broomstick seventh year and swore off flying for good. And when her breathing
started coming shallower and her eyes began to shut, I leaned down and kissed her and whispered
that I loved her in her ear. Neither of us cried, just watched each other. Finally, I lay down next
to her and gathered her into my arms, feeling her there for the last time. She squeezed my hand
gently and closed her eyes and then, a few minutes later, she was gone. There was no great
explosion. The world didn't end. She was just gone. I continued to hold her as I cried softly
and whispered a final goodbye.

The next few days were a mass of tears and owls and flowers. Aside from the funeral, I kept to
the house and spent the time with the kids and the Weasleys. The Grangers left soon after the
funeral, obviously uncomfortable being around wizards without Hermione as a buffer. The pain never
lessened, exactly, but as time went on, functioning became easier and I learned how to enjoy life
again. I raised my children and watched with pride as they became successful adults. Hermione was
right, however. We could always feel her with us, even when we least expected it. On the fifth
anniversary of her death, I opened the bedside table and found the parchment she had given me. With
a pang of guilt, I unrolled it, expecting to find a long, detailed list of which of her items were
to go where. Instead I found a short letter that read

*Dear Harry,*

*I love you more now than I ever have. I am yours completely and, therefore, I am leaving
everything to you to do with as you please. What? I don't need to be detailed and organized all
the time, honestly! And you better not be laughing or I will come back and haunt you! So, how
long* **did** *it take you to find this?*

*Love from,*

*Your Hermione*

*P.S.- Take good care of the books and make sure the children eat their vegetables, even
though they hate them. Does Megan still only eat peas?*

I laughed and cried and then put the letter right back where it was, knowing I would enjoy it
the next time I found it as well. She might have known everything, but she was never boring, that I
have to give her.

Today is the twentieth anniversary of her death. I still miss her daily, but I am sure that she
would be proud of the life I have made for myself and our children. I never did find another love,
so I had Ron move in instead, once the kids were both at Hogwarts. If there were one thing I
don't think I could deal with, it would be an empty house. Hermione gave me a loving home and I
am intent on keeping it that way, just as she left it. Megan is visiting with her husband and baby
today. Two weeks ago I became a grandfather. Imagine that. Charlie is on tour with the Cannons, who
still manage to lose every game despite his talent, but he manages to visit occasionally. Earlier,
I walked into the library and found Megan reading one of Hermione's old books to Jane. She said
that she named her Jane because it was the perfect representation of Hermione- plain and simple,
but beautiful. Hermione always hated her middle name, but somehow I know she would be incredibly
proud all the same. She was wonderful like that, my Hermione.
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