Saving Harry

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author’s Notes: Part one starts near the beginning of third year.

I also want to note that this story has been edited slightly since it first appeared on FA, and I have added a brand new scene to part one. See further notes on boggarts and JKR’s website at the very end of this story. Many thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and review!

***

Part 1 – Hermione’s Greatest Fear

"Broken wrist," Madam Pomfrey told him. "I’m afraid you may miss supper, Mr. Potter."

Harry grimaced at her. After losing all the bones in his arm the previous year, and having to spend the night in the hospital wing so they could grow back, this was nothing.

Of course, it hadn’t exactly been his own fault that he’d lost his bones, but he did not have a git of a professor to blame in this case.

"Oh, it’s all my fault," wailed Hermione at his bedside.

"I’m the one who tripped," he told her through gritted teeth as Madam Pomfrey continued to administer to his wrist.

"If I hadn’t left that pile of books where I did, none of this would have happened," she moaned.

"It’s all right, Hermione," said Ron, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Though I did tell you taking that many subjects would be dangerous."

Hermione shot him one of her "looks," the one that was most frequently aimed in Ron’s direction, while he rolled his eyes innocently away from her, the corners of his mouth quirking upward just slightly.

"Ron," Harry cut in, breaking the tension of the moment, "It’s not Hermione’s fault. If I’d been watching where I was walking properly –"

"If I hadn’t distracted you with that fake bludger of Fred’s –" inserted Ron guiltily.

"Enough with the ‘what ifs,’" came a voice in the doorway.

It was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin.

"Now, if you’re through blaming yourselves when it was clearly a simple accident, I’d like to talk to Madam Pomfrey for a moment or two."

She nodded, telling Harry, "You should be good as new in a few hours, Mr. Potter. What you need now is rest."

Ron and Hermione acted like they hadn’t heard her stress the word "rest" in their direction, while Harry nodded and tried to smile at her. The pain in his arm had already lessened somewhat.

After Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lupin moved across the room to talk in whispers, Ron asked, "Wonder what he’s doing here?"

"I don’t know, but he could use something from Madam Pomfrey. He doesn’t look any better now than he did on the train," Hermione commented in a low voice.

It was true. Professor Lupin looked extremely tired and ill, not to mention he was still attired in tatty, worn-out looking old robes.

"If you ask me, he just needs a good meal or two," said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "All you ever think about is food."

"Speaking of which –" said Harry, cutting in again before the teasing between them turned to arguing.

"Do you want us to bring you something from dinner?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, that would be great. Thanks," said Harry gratefully.

"If Miss-Don’t-You-Dare-Disturb-My-Patients lets us back in," Ron jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to where the two adults were still chatting quietly.

"There’s always the invisibility cloak," said Hermione.

Ron stared at her in mock surprise, as though shocked she would even suggest they "break the rules."

"As long as Harry doesn’t mind if we borrow it, that is?" Hermione added quickly.

"If it saves me from starvation, you’re welcome to it," he told them both.

Hermione turned concerned eyes to Harry, her face all seriousness now.

"I still feel like this is my fault, Harry," she said quietly. "You know my worst fear is something terrible happening to you, and not being able to –"

She broke off suddenly, shaking her head.

"Well – what do I do, but put you in the hospital wing myself. As if you haven’t spent enough time here already."

Don’t I know it? thought Harry, but he didn’t say this aloud. He knew Hermione felt bad enough already.

"He forgives you, all right?" said Ron, exasperated. "Now, Harry, what do you want us to bring you? I think I still have a stash of Chocolate Frogs under my bed."

***

Later that evening, it was Hermione who returned to the hospital wing alone. (Ron had had an unfortunate run-in with Peeves and was now in Filch’s office trying to explain that he was not responsible for toppling over that bust of Paracelsus onto the head of a second year, while Filch, of course, had been more concerned about the cleanly status of the second floor corridor than about the girl who had nearly been knocked out in the fray. Never mind that dropping statues of famous alchemists onto the heads of students was something Peeves was famous for!)

As she crept past Madam Pomfrey’s office, the invisibility cloak swirling lightly around her feet, Hermione noted that Professor Lupin was still in deep talk with the elderly witch. Though she found this a bit odd, Hermione’s thoughts did not linger there as she quickly made her way over to Harry’s bedside.

He was sleeping, leaning heavily against his left side, while his broken wrist was lying limply upon the sheets that had been pulled loosely around his waist.

Not wanting to disturb him – though she wondered how he could sleep through the storm that was waging its war outside the castle, complete with pelting rain and whip-crack bolts of lightning – she set the dinner she had brought for him on a nearby table and quietly turned to leave.

"Don’t go," said Harry, and Hermione froze, barely catching his soft words above the booming thunder overhead.

Harry caught the edge of the cloak and tugged on it gently. It slipped soundlessly from Hermione’s head and pooled to the floor at her feet.

Hermione smoothed down her hair, trying to hide her surprise as she said, "How did you know it was me?"

Harry gave her a smile that was almost a smirk, but didn’t reply. Instead he shifted onto his back, cradling his wrist against his chest.

Hermione pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, reaching for Harry’s glasses on the bedside table and handing them to him as he propped a pillow behind his shoulders.

"Thanks," he muttered, resting those familiar round lenses on the bridge of his nose.

"I didn’t mean to wake you," said Hermione after a moment.

"You didn’t," said Harry, glancing at the food parcel she had left on the table. "That smells really good. I’m so hungry I could –"

"Eat a hippogriff?"

"No, that’s Ron," said Harry, and they both laughed.

After explaining the absence of their mutual best friend, Hermione chattered in low tones about schoolwork and classes while Harry feasted on all the goodies she had scoffed from the supper table (which certainly beat all the potions Madam Pomfrey had been feeding him all night). As it was the very beginning of term, the rest of the beds in the hospital wing were empty – and surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey did not come to check on Harry once while Hermione was there.

It was a few minutes after Harry had finished his pumpkin pie that silence fell between them, and a couple more before Harry realized Hermione was staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at her curiously.

"Why are you looking at me as though I’m some essay you got a D on?" he asked, breaking the stillness at last.

The storm outside had lessened considerably, for it was a light rain that was pattering against the sides of the castle now, tapping a tune as the drops hit the windowpanes with a small splutter.

Hermione sighed deeply and shook her head, not knowing – for once – what she wanted to say to him.

Guessing at what was bothering her, Harry said, "You don’t need to feel responsible for me, you know?"

She shook her head again.

"I can’t help it," she replied quietly, her eyes falling away from his gaze.

She was twisting the invisibility cloak around her fingers as it lay across her lap. And suddenly Harry’s free hand fell on top of hers, stilling her restlessness with his touch.

"Would you mind not putting a hole in that?" asked Harry, amused.

Hermione raised her eyes to meet his again and smiled apologetically, but Harry merely squeezed her hand lightly with his own.

And Hermione knew in that instant – despite his teasing – that Harry had understood why she had really come to see him that night.

"I think the rain is letting up," she said at last, squeezing his hand in return.

"I think you’re right," agreed Harry, though his gaze did not turn once toward the windows.

And in a darkened doorway a few feet away, hidden among the shadows so as not to intrude, there was someone else who made a similar realization, someone who saw – though quite unintentionally – that it was a very long moment before Harry’s hand withdrew from the girl’s at his side to rest once more on his bed.

***

Two days later, Hermione stood before Professor Lupin sitting at his desk in his office.

"How’s your friend, Harry?" he asked before she could speak. "He seemed well enough in class, but then boys don’t often admit when something is bothering them, do they?"

He eyed her rather sharply, which startled her a bit, but Hermione merely smiled back at him, taking his question at face value.

"He’s feeling much better. Thank you."

Lupin nodded in return, shuffling some papers around on his desk before asking her kindly, "So what can I help you with, Miss Granger?"

"Professor," she started slowly. "I was wondering why you didn’t allow me to fight the boggart in class yesterday."

Lupin looked at her in surprise, clasping his hands in front of him before resting his chin on them.

"You had already participated earlier in class when you answered one of my questions," he said, but it was apparent before she spoke next that Hermione was not satisfied with this response.

"You allowed everyone else to tackle the boggart. Everyone but Harry and me. I think it’s quite obvious why you didn’t want Harry to do it. But my boggart wouldn’t have been more frightening than anybody else’s."

Lupin eyed her curiously. "You’re a shrewd young lady, Miss Granger. However, do you know what shape your boggart would have taken on?"

Hermione thought about this for a moment.

"No, not really," she said honestly. "Ron joked that it would be an imperfect piece of homework."

Lupin laughed at this.

"From what I’ve heard, Miss Granger," he said, "that would be quite impossible."

She reddened considerably at that statement.

"I did not mean to exclude you," he assured her. "I did, however, feel that you might not be prepared to face your boggart."

"You didn’t think I could do it?" she asked, fighting to control her voice.

Hermione was truly astonished, but she was not about to lose her calm with a teacher. Still, she was not used to being second-guessed. Not even Snape, though he was quick to belittle or even ignore her, had ever questioned whether she could perform a task properly or not.

Lupin raised both of his hands in a deprecating gesture.

"I did not say that. I merely felt you were not ready to face your fear," he explained.

Hermione shook her head at him, her bushy hair swishing over her shoulders rapidly.

"I don’t understand, Professor," she said. "And I beg your pardon, but isn’t it your job to prepare the students for defending ourselves against such things? How can you know if I’m ready if you won’t even let me try?"

"You’re right, of course," said Lupin. "I can’t know for sure. And it is my job to help you prepare for such things. I’m sorry if you disagreed with my decision. I made a judgment call. I had no idea you would be so offended by it. Next time, I will be more sensitive, Miss Granger."

She seemed satisfied with this and turned to go, but stopped in the doorway.

"Professor?"

Lupin looked up from his pile of papers at her.

"Do you know what shape my boggart might have been?"

He sighed and didn’t answer for a long moment.

"I want you to think hard on that question," he said finally, "and ask me again later."

Puzzled, Hermione simply nodded and left the office.

***

It was several weeks later when Professor Lupin asked to speak to Hermione after class one afternoon.

"What is it, Professor?" she asked anxiously. "If it’s about that last essay, I swear next time it will be at least two scrolls longer. I just didn’t have time to perfect it the way I normally –"

Lupin held up his hand to stop her rambling.

"Your essay was fine, Miss Granger. Terrific work, as usual."

She beamed at him.

"That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "You know I’ve been helping Harry with anti-dementor lessons? Of course, we don’t have a real dementor to practice on. We have been using a boggart I captured in a suitcase. Did Harry tell you?"

She nodded, wondering what any of this had to do with her.

"Well, I thought, Miss Granger," Lupin continued, "if you wanted extra help with your boggart, now would be the perfect opportunity. I know you weren’t particularly pleased with me about the whole thing last term. And now that I’m feeling better..."

She shot him a strange look, eyebrows raised.

"I have more time on my hands to devote to my students," he finished. "That is, if you’re up to it?"

Hermione was never one to shirk a challenge.

"When do we start, Professor?"

Author’s Note: Part two continues in third year.

***

Part 2 – Hermione’s Boggart

"Ready, Hermione? One, two, three…"

"Riddikulus!" she shouted.

"Excellent! Good job," Professor Lupin praised.

Hermione merely frowned and dropped her wand arm with a sigh.

They were using the large History of Magic classroom which was just as stuffy empty as it was had Professor Binns been there droning on about goblin rebellions. (Not that Hermione would ever admit – and certainly not to Harry and Ron – that she thought Professor Binns "droned.")

"Do I get to try my spell on a real boggart now?" she asked.

Professor Lupin had not opened the suitcase with the boggart in it yet, and – truth be told – Hermione was feeling downright exasperated. So far she’d been casting her spell into mid-air, aiming at nothing more substantial than a speck of dust. How was she to know if it was working properly or not?

"Hermione," said Lupin. "Your form is very good. With any luck, you should dispel your boggart within a minute or two."

A minute or two? That couldn’t possibly be right! Hermione was certain that even Neville had worked his spell in less than thirty seconds.

"Why do I need luck? I thought you said I was doing well," said Hermione, trying very hard not sound as impatient and irritated as she was feeling.

Lupin paused and looked at her, frowning for the first time all evening.

"I asked you before to think hard about what form your boggart might take on. Have you decided yet what it will be?"

Actually, she had thought on this for a long time and could come up with nothing worse than her fear of flying. Well – she was not afraid of flying itself exactly; she just wasn’t very good at it. And if there was one thing that scared Hermione more than not being able to excel at something she tried, she certainly didn’t know what it was…

But what sort of physical form that idea might take on, she didn’t know.

Just as she was about to voice her opinion aloud, Lupin spoke up again, "We’re going to take this very slowly. Okay? If I feel you’re becoming more distressed than I would like, I will immediately intervene."

Hermione was thoroughly perplexed now. Professor Lupin was making absolutely no sense, and again she had the feeling he knew exactly what her boggart was going to be. Instead of unnerving her, however, this only made her more determined than ever to show him that she could do this.

"All right, then?"

She nodded.

Lupin released the lever on the suitcase and it snapped open with a loud click. Hermione held her breath in anticipation, poised and ready to work her spell – and confident that whatever emerged in front of her, she could handle it with all the strength she had in her.

That’s why she was shocked when Harry’s smiling face rose from within the suitcase, his head bobbing, his emerald eyes twinkling at her. As the rest of his body emerged, she saw that he was on his broomstick. He hovered above the table and then lapped the room twice, waving at her all the while, a grin never leaving his face.

Hermione looked at Lupin wondering if the whole thing was a joke, but his expression was very serious indeed.

As Harry swooped closer to her, his head still turned her way, Hermione gasped aloud. A bludger came winging behind him so fast; there was no time for him to react. Hermione tried to call out and warn him, but it was too late. The bludger slammed hard into his side, pitching him over his broom – and Harry was falling…

Hermione screamed as he hit the cold classroom floor with a loud thud.

Forgetting all about Lupin and the lesson, Hermione rushed to where Harry’s body lay bent and twisted, his glasses lying broken next to him in a pool of blood that was steadily trickling from one corner of his mouth.

Gasping, Hermione’s hands rose to her face in fright, her fingernails digging sharply where they contacted delicate skin.

He was bleeding so much! They had to get help!

"Hermione! Hermione, move!"

Lupin grabbed her by the shoulder. She tried to protest, not wanting to leave Harry’s side, but Lupin pulled her away from him. Horror-struck, Hermione watched as Harry disappeared the moment Lupin stepped in front of her.

Crack!

A bright white orb took Harry’s place, hanging in mid-air above the very spot where he had lain hurt, lain dying – Hermione thought in despair – just a moment ago.

"Riddikulus!"

The orb fell to the floor as a rat and scurried into the shadows.

Lupin waved his wand again and the rat flew into the suitcase, trapped once more within its leathery confines.

"We need him if we’re going to continue this lesson," he said hastily, latching the suitcase closed and giving Hermione a moment to compose herself.

Shakily, she raised one hand to her head, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"I don’t understand," she muttered numbly. "My boggart was Harry?"

Harry hurt… Harry dying…

Hermione rounded on Lupin.

"You knew! You knew all along!"

Lupin eyed her warily.

"I guessed," he admitted.

Hermione shook her head, still trying to comprehend everything.

"But how?"

How could Lupin possibly have known something she herself had not realized until she had seen it with her own eyes? How could he have guessed something so… so personal?

"Because you told me," replied Lupin. "Or rather – you told Harry. That day in the hospital wing."

Hermione thought back and realized it was true. She had felt so terrible, so guilty about Harry’s broken wrist. She had blamed herself for hurting him, for the whole stupid accident, when the truth was that she would do anything to keep him from being hurt.

She would stand by his side, fight You-Know-Who if need be…

Anything... to help him… to save him!

And not because the world needed him. Not because he was "the Boy Who Lived."

But because… she needed him! Because he was her best friend… Because…

She loved him!

Hermione looked up at Lupin, wide-eyed and startled at her realization.

He smiled down at her.

"I think we should continue this lesson another day," he said softly.

And when Hermione left the classroom, the first thing she did – upon finding Harry in the Gryffindor common room – was to give him a big hug.

***

"What was that for?"

Harry was looking at Hermione as though she’d lost her senses completely.

"Just because…"

She smiled at him, her arms resting lightly around his waist.

Her lessons had been going well the past few weeks and Professor Lupin had nothing but high praise for her defense skills. After that first dismal lesson, enlightening as it had been, Hermione had successfully learned to cope with her boggart – though she’d seen Harry hurt in more ways than she ever hoped to in reality – and had finally learned to control her fear.

If Harry were falling off his broom, he would now land in a pile of feathers or a large, wispy cloud; if he were being attacked by something – often a bludger and once a dragon – she would give him protective armor, though it came in odd forms: fluffy, pluming feathers, tough scales, and once – funnily enough – a cloak of marshmallows.

"Marshmallows?" Lupin had asked, quirking his eyebrows at her.

She had grinned and admitted that she had shared a cup of hot cocoa with Harry the previous evening and it was all she could think of at the time.

Harry was staring at her a bit uneasily now as her thoughts broke apart and she released him completely from her hug.

"You’ve been doing that a lot lately," he muttered, and Hermione thought for just a second that he was blushing.

"Let’s just call it payback," she replied, "for all the weeks of silence from you and Ron."

Harry eyed her mysteriously.

"I haven’t seen you pummeling him at every given opportunity."

Hermione gave him a teasing grin. "Oh, come on. You know you like it."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but smiled back at her, his green eyes shining just the tiniest bit, and it was enough for Hermione to grab him by the hand.

"Let’s go for a walk," she said, tugging on his arm playfully.

"What has gotten into you lately?" asked Harry, but he allowed Hermione to pull him along the school grounds towards the lake.

When they reached the shoreline, Hermione stopped under an old beech tree and gazed out across the water. The Giant Squid was lazing in the sun, its long tentacles stretched out, trying to capture the rays falling down from the nearly cloudless sky.

Hermione turned and looked at Harry, noticing how bright his eyes appeared in the sunlight, how his glasses slipped down his nose every so often from the heat of the day, and how he had to push them up until they rested back in their proper place. His hands looked so strong and sure. His hair was gleaming and not as dark in the broad daylight as it was in the dimness of the common room or in the candlelit confines of the castle. It was blowing lightly in the breeze, revealing the scar on his forehead every now and then when the wind caught the black locks just right. It looked soft, as did his cheeks, which were slightly pink from their walk (or maybe it was because she was staring at him so unabashedly). His gaze was flitting back and forth between the lake and her eyes, and he was shuffling his feet a bit, too. She could see his chest rising and falling, steadily and evenly. He was solid and real standing before her. Everything about him breathed to her of life.

He was alive.

And Hermione had the sudden thought that she would do everything in her power to make sure he remained that way.

"I want you to promise me something," she said very seriously

"What’s that?" asked Harry, eyeing her curiously.

She took a step closer to him.

"I want you to promise, no matter what happens, that you will always let me be by your side."

Harry didn’t seem to understand what she was asking him.

"Hermione, you’re my best friend. You and Ron –"

She held up a hand to hush his words.

"Yes – you and Ron are my best friends, but I’m not talking about that," she replied. "I’m talking about you letting me fight by your side, letting me be there even if you don’t want me there."

"What are you talking about? I don’t expect --"

"You would never ask this of me, I know," Hermione cut him off. "You have too much pride. And you care too much. I know you do. But Harry, I want to be there for you. I’m asking you."

He stared at her silently for a moment.

"I don’t understand where is this coming from," said Harry at last, very quietly.

Hermione turned away from him and looked out across the lake again.

"Last year, I wasn’t there," she said, thinking about how he’d had to fight the basilisk on his own, how he’d barely defeated the memory of Tom Riddle and saved Ginny from certain death. "I should have been there."

"But that wasn’t your fault. Do I have to remind you where you were?" asked Harry.

Hermione conceded that it wasn’t her fault for being laid up in the hospital wing, Petrified and useless.

Harry seemed to be following her train of thoughts, for he said, "Even though you weren’t physically there, you were with me… er… us…"

His voice faltered for a moment.

"Hermione, you were still there. Ron and I never would have solved any of it without you. You know that, don’t you?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, but his words touched a place deep within her – and she smiled.

"Harry," she continued after a moment, "I want to do more than that. There are circumstances we can’t control – like what happened last year. I realize that. But I don’t want you to ever think that you are alone in this. If there’s any possible way on this earth for me to be by your side, then I want to be there. That’s why I want you to promise me – no matter what – that you will allow me to stand by you. That you will let me do this for you."

Hermione held her breath, her brown eyes locked with his deep green ones.

He seemed to be weighing something heavily in mind, but finally he nodded.

"All right."

Harry nodded again.

"I promise," he said, and Hermione threw her arms around him again.

"As long as you promise to stop doing that all the time," said Harry, as soon as she pulled away from him.

Hermione grinned at him sheepishly.

Someday you’ll feel differently, she thought, as they walked back toward the castle. But for now…

***

Hermione had just said her good-byes to Harry and Ron and was about to enter her Muggle Studies classroom for her very last exam of the year when Professor Lupin came charging up the marble staircase and stopped her by the doorway.

She didn’t have to ask why he was cornering her. It was written all over his face.

Hermione sighed, her distress returning almost immediately along with the sense that she had just failed her teacher miserably.

Lupin ushered her away from the students milling the hallway and looked down at her with a frown.

"Now that Harry and Ron aren’t around," he began quietly, "you can tell me what happened."

She thought back to her Defense Against the Dark Arts final exam, not wanting to relive it even for her professor, but she remembered the startled look on his face when she’d emerged screaming from the trunk with the boggart inside it and decided – after all the work he’d done in trying to help her – he deserved to know the truth.

"You did everything perfectly until the end," he prompted. "Our last few lessons went so well, I didn’t think you’d have any problems with your boggart at all."

"I didn’t think so either," she admitted sadly.

But then, all the other times, she’d been able to save Harry. This time…

She thought back to those horrible moments inside the trunk. She had expected to see Harry hurt as usual, but when she entered the final task of her exam, the boggart took on a form she had not expected.

Hermione looked up at Lupin, her eyes filling with tears.

"He was already dead," she choked softly, grateful that the hallway was nearly empty now so that the other students wouldn’t see her crying.

The sight of Harry lying there lifeless had rocked her to the core. His skin had been so pale, his usually radiant hair dull. But worse than that… His eyes had been hollow and empty. The heart and soul of her friend, the laughing, smiling, living, breathing Harry had been gone.

"There was nothing I could do. It was too late."

She brushed a tear from her cheek, ashamed at both her failure to overcome the boggart Harry and her unusually weak display of emotion.

Lupin gazed at her in sympathy.

"I was afraid of something like this," he said. "I had a feeling more had scared you than Professor McGonagall."

Hermione managed a sheepish smile. She had not wanted to lie to him – or to Harry and Ron, for that matter. When she had come running from the trunk, the first person she had seen was Harry. (Harry – alive and breathing – thank Merlin!) She couldn’t very well blurt out, "Poor Harry," as she had desperately wanted to say. Instead, she had stuttered at him the first thing that she could think of, recalling how Ron had said she was afraid of failure, of not being perfect.

Well, he hadn’t been too far off, had he? But failing all of her classes and letting down her best friend were entirely different matters – and sadly, Hermione knew just which one would cause her more heartache.

"I didn’t see this coming," said Lupin apologetically. "It had not happened before now, though I knew it was a possibility. I really did not expect it to come up on your exam."

"Why the change?" Hermione wondered aloud. "Why did my boggart suddenly alter its form? After all the other times? Why now?"

Lupin paused for moment, considering her question.

"Boggarts prey on people’s fears. Your fear of something bad happening to Harry is a bit more complex than say – Ron’s fear of spiders. The boggart will manifest itself to whatever it deems will scare its victim most. Turning into a spider is easy for a boggart. Turning into somebody dying is not so simple. That’s why your boggart was, more often than not, a scene out of your head, a complex image of something bad you had already imagined happening to Harry. But perhaps, until now, you had only worried about Harry dying. Perhaps you had not followed your thoughts through to the point where you could actually picture him dead. But your fears – your thoughts in that trunk – must have been acute for the boggart to pick up on such a singular image."

Hermione considered his words – shuddering as she remembered the image of Harry’s corpse – and frowned at the idea that somewhere in the past few weeks, her fears had obviously grown.

She thought back to the night Sirius Black had entered Gryffindor Tower. Had it been that night, she wondered, when her dreams had started – the ones where Harry was lying in bed, a man with a knife poised perilously above him, slicing his bed-hangings to shreds. She recalled sitting in a corner that night in the common room, not sleeping for fear of that man returning for Harry, remembered visiting Hagrid the next day, crying as she told him how scared she was for her friend and how she would never forgive herself for the weeks of silence between them had something terrible happened to him.

"I’m very sorry, Hermione," Lupin’s voice cut into her thoughts. "I should have better prepared you."

"No," said Hermione, gazing up at her teacher and trying to shake those old memories from her head. It would do no good for her to dwell on them now.

"You have done nothing but try to help me. And I’m grateful for that. And so is Harry," she continued sincerely. "He can do a corporeal Patronus because of you. I saw it at the Quidditch match. It was amazing! And you were one of his parents’ best friends. I know he appreciates just knowing you."

Lupin smiled down at her.

"Well, you’d better go or you’ll be late for your next exam," he said, motioning toward her classroom. "And don’t worry about your grade. It will still be higher than almost everyone else’s in the class."

"Except Harry’s?" she guessed.

He nodded, asking, "Do you think you can settle for less than perfect? Nine out of ten, perhaps?"

"I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?" replied Hermione, amused at his joke.

And after all, she thought seriously, it was certainly better than the alternative.

Hermione had set one foot inside her Muggle Studies classroom when Lupin added, "Harry is very lucky, you know – to have a friend like you. And one day, he’ll see it. It took James over four years to notice Lily, and two more for him to catch her. Harry will realize one day that he has someone extraordinary in you, Hermione. I know he will."

Hermione was too young to understand everything Lupin was saying to her – and too embarrassed (and in denial) to admit that what he was implying was true – but her mood was considerably lightened and something close to a feeling of hope rose within her as she watched him walk away.

Smiling, Hermione entered her last exam, buoyed by her teacher’s words, and quite certain that she was going to ace this one with flying colors.

Author’s Note: Part three takes place during fifth year and beyond…

***

Part 3 – Promises Broken, Promises Kept

Hermione stood behind Harry watching the scene through the open doorway in disbelief. Shockingly enough, all her worst nightmares were being played out before her for everyone to see – except that she was not the one having these horrible visions.

These fears belonged to Mrs. Weasley.

It was as if someone had plucked the image of Harry lying dead out of her mind, for this scenario echoed exactly what Hermione had seen over a year ago during her end of term exam for Professor Lupin. This boggart Harry – for it had to be a boggart, as the real Harry was standing a few paces in front of her, just inside the doorway – was lying in a patch of moonlight that was shining through the window on the dusty, worn-out carpet of the drawing-room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but he had the same blank expression in his eyes, the same broken glasses resting askew on his head, and the same twisted body that could never exist to someone who was alive.

And there was Mrs. Weasley cowering against the opposite wall, sobbing as Harry yelled at her to leave the room.

Alarmed, Hermione stepped forward to offer her assistance, but someone suddenly pushed her aside. It was Remus Lupin, followed closely by Sirius Black and Mad-Eye Moody.

Hermione was not surprised when Lupin quickly dispelled the boggart, or when he immediately comforted Mrs. Weasley as soon as it was nothing but a wisp of smoke.

For he had seen this image before, had he not? With her…

As Mrs. Weasley was crying on his shoulder, Lupin looked up for an instant and caught Hermione’s eye; and when he did, she was sure Harry would notice her standing behind him, but he did not. Hermione watched and listened as Mrs. Weasley groaned and apologized and sobbed some more, while Lupin tried to reason with her that her whole family – including Harry – was not going to die.

But Hermione knew how Mrs. Weasley felt. She understood that terror all too well.

And when Harry finally turned and stepped out of the room, a pale, weary expression on his face, Hermione had tears streaming down her cheeks, too.

"Hermione? What are doing here?"

His voice sounded heavy and burdened, and she knew that he’d been through too much for one evening. It was all too much for a fifteen-year-old. And this reminded Hermione why she had come upstairs in the first place.

"I was worried about you," she admitted softly, wiping the tears from her eyes with her palms. "I came to check on you."

The truth was she’d been concerned about him all day, from the time the prefect badges had arrived (excluding him from those duties) to the moment he thought he’d slipped out of the kitchen after supper unseen, away from the celebratory chatter surrounding Ron and herself, and away from Mad-Eye Moody, who had cornered Harry with his sad, old memories and tatty Wizarding photographs. She had not missed how Harry had avoided her eyes when he’d congratulated her on becoming a prefect, had not overlooked his grumpy mood when he’d seen the scarlet banner Mrs. Weasley had hung over the dinner table toasting her and Ron for the honor. Not long after he had left the kitchen, she had followed him because she couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone, angry and upset.

But she had never expected to see what she did…

Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment.

"You saw."

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded in return.

"Maybe you and Mrs. Weasley could start a new club," he said blandly, and Hermione looked at him in alarm.

He couldn’t possibly know about her boggart!

But Harry continued darkly, "For worrying too much, I mean. You could invite Professor Trelawney to join in. I’m sure she’d be happy to join the pity-party for poor Knocking-On-Death’s-Door Harry."

"That’s not funny," said Hermione, frowning at him – but she already knew that he agreed with her; there had been no humor in his voice whatsoever.

"You can’t blame her for worrying. You can’t blame any of us," she continued sharply, rubbing more tears away from her face. "You’re family to her, Harry. You might as well be one of her own sons."

From his expression, she had the feeling Harry didn’t find this thought very comforting at the moment.

"So you checked on me. I’m fine," he stated flatly.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously.

"No, you’re not."

She could see it in his eyes. The images he had seen were haunting him, just like her boggart Harry still haunted her.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" he asked, his voice rising just a bit (but not loud enough to rouse Sirius’s mother, thank Merlin).

Hermione shook her head sadly.

"There’s nothing to be done. We can only do what we can," she said. "We can be there for each other. Help each other. Protect each other."

She paused and noticed suddenly how very bright Harry’s eyes looked in the dimness of the hallway.

"Love each other?" added Harry in a whisper.

Startling her, he rose one hand and brushed a tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering – warm and soft – against her skin for just an instant. The moment was brief, but also intimate and filled with promise just the same.

Less than ten minutes later, Hermione returned to her room and echoed Harry’s words softly in the darkness.

"Yes… We will love each other, Harry. We will…"

***

It was ten months later, and two days before the end of term, when Hermione walked with Harry near the lake by Hogwarts castle.

He was in a very quiet mood – not that she blamed him for it – and she was trying hard not to chatter at him too much. It had taken quite a lot of convincing on her part to get him to go with her, and since they were, at present, strolling in fairly comfortable silence, she feared any topic she could choose to talk about would sound insignificant compared to whatever grievous thoughts Harry might be lamenting inside his head.

She had tried bringing up the subject of Sirius with him a few times the previous day, but Harry had given her the impression that he was not yet ready to talk about his godfather. (And Ron – who was indoors packing – had not helped matters any by trying to hush her every time she said Sirius’s name.) So she had given up on that for now and was trying to be content in the fact that maybe she was helping Harry just by being with him.

"How are you feeling?" asked Harry after they had circled the lake twice.

The question sounded odd coming from him, when Hermione felt she should be inquiring that of him instead.

"Fine," she said.

She was fibbing to him just the tiniest bit, but didn’t want him to know that Madam Pomfrey had admitted to her that the wound near her ribs, the one Dolohov had given her in the Department of Mysteries, may never heal altogether. She had taken the news calmly, had accepted that she may carry that pain with her forever.

She looked over at Harry’s grim face.

Some wounds never heal, she thought sadly.

Though she had been hoping Harry would open up to her about Sirius’s death – and perhaps tell her what had happened in Dumbledore’s office – there was another reason she had asked him to take a walk with her. There was something she felt she had to do, and since Harry had finally broken the silence between them, she thought now was as good a time as any.

"Harry," she said, stopping underneath a familiar beech tree, "I owe you an apology."

His eyes turned to hers in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember two years ago…?" Under this very same tree, she thought absently, before continuing, "I made you promise that you would always allow me to fight by your side."

"And you did," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips mixed with something else in his eyes – something that, oddly enough, looked like pain.

She shook her head after a moment and tried not to think about how she would have felt if it had been Harry who had died instead of Sirius – because she had not been there as she had always promised herself she would be.

"I failed you," she whispered, and the rest of her words spilled out as the guilt threatened to overwhelm her, "I did. I wasn’t strong enough. I was foolish and blind…"

And distracted, she thought, remembering how she and Harry, amidst the chaotic battle at the Ministry of Magic, had played off one another rather well until she had paused to praise him on a particularly successful full Body-Bind. She had been so singularly focused on protecting Harry at that moment that she had forgotten all about protecting herself.

I was certainly no good to him after that, was I? Her mind questioned her miserably.

"No!" Harry protested immediately, as if reading her thoughts. "You stood by me just like you always do. Even when you thought you were right and I was wrong, you were there. You went to Umbridge’s office with me! You saved me from the Cruciatus curse! You traveled all that way to the stupid Department of Mysteries, and for what? You could have died because of me!"

Hermione shook her head throughout his entire speech, desperately wanting him to take back all of his words.

Harry put his hands on her shoulders.

"I tried to make you stay behind. You wouldn’t listen to me! You were furious with me for even suggesting it."

"Well, can you blame me?" asked Hermione, thinking back to when Harry had proposed his "bright idea" in the forest of her staying behind to attract more thestrals. That had merely been an excuse for her – and Neville and Ginny and Luna – not to go with him. As it was, that hadn’t been necessary – for luckily enough, more thestrals had arrived for all of them – but it pained her to think that, for a brief instant, he had not wanted her by his side.

But she also wondered if, somewhere in that moment, sometime amidst her angry assertion that she was "not staying behind," he had recalled his promise to her. And in remembering, he had finally agreed (if somewhat angrily) that she – and the others – could go along with him.

Harry’s voice suddenly cut into her thoughts (and he was giving her a look that said he could blame her – and would – for not listening to him when he had protested).

"You have no idea how I felt after Dolohov cursed you. When you fell to the floor, it was like every feeling in me stopped completely. I couldn’t think properly! Neville had to check to make sure you were all right because I panicked! If you had died, it would have been my fault! Mine! And I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t!"

Harry paused, his hands still pressing on her arms, the weight of them filling her with sorrow, as he looked at her very sincerely now.

Hermione held her breath, almost hearing his next words.

I couldn’t live without you.

But he didn’t have to say them aloud. She already knew…

Instead she threw her arms around him, grasping him closely against her, never wanting to let him go.

"I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry about Sirius."

"I know," he muttered against her hair.

"But if something had happened to you," she gasped and his arms tightened around her. "If it had been you instead…"

"Sometimes I wish it had," said Harry darkly.

Hermione pulled back and looked at him directly.

"No! Harry, no," she said, shaking her head. "Sirius would not have wanted that."

"I don’t know what he would have wanted," said Harry bitterly. "I’ll never know now…"

"I’ll tell you what he would have wanted. The same thing we all want – Ron, and the Weasleys, and Lupin, and Tonks, and Mad-Eye, and Neville, and Luna – and me, Harry. Me!" said Hermione very seriously.

She put a hand on his chest.

"You are safe, Harry. And that’s all that matters!"

He pulled away from her abruptly, anger blazing in his eyes.

"Why? Why is that all that matters?"

"Because, Harry," she said softly, and his green eyes locked with hers, "without you, there is nothing."

He stared at her silently for a long moment afterward.

And when they walked back to the castle moments later, Hermione prayed Harry would understand what she had truly meant by her words: that he was not just a symbol of hope to the Wizarding world; he was not just a representative of goodness and strength against the evil face of Voldemort…

She longed for him to see that it was her belief in him that kept her going – for he was the only light in her world.

He was her only hope, her only love…

***

"Love?"

Hermione made her way through the darkness trying desperately to find Harry.

It was over.

She knew it. She could feel it.

Voldemort was dead… finally… at last…

And Harry…

"You have to be all right – Harry, my love… You have to…"

She had found Ron, hurt and bleeding, but alive. They had fought to the end – the three of them – together… until Harry had disappeared…

"You promised me. You promised…" she muttered into the darkness, needing to cling to something – even if it was the sound of her own voice.

She tried not to think about how many lives had been lost – did not want to know their names or their faces…

Not until she knew…

However horrible the rest of it was – she knew could face it… with Harry.

But without him…

Hermione was starting to feel panicky. The magical residue of the last battle between the defeated Tom Riddle and Harry was still lingering in the air, drawing her to the source, the very place where it had been finished once and for all.

And there…

There amidst the dying flames, the smoke and the ashes was…

"Harry!"

He was lying on the ground, bleeding heavily from the scratches on his face and hands. There were large welts on his arms where his shirt was torn; his jeans were dirty and ripped to shreds; and his glasses lay shattered near his fingertips – as if he had removed them himself. The round glass – broken and in shards – and bent frame were useless to him now.

He looked so pale… so…

"No!"

Hermione ran over to him, her tangled hair flying in her face – her wobbly legs faltering beneath her – as she fell to her knees.

"No, Harry! No, no," she murmured over and over, clutching one of his hands.

It was icy cold! And something in Hermione’s stomach lurched…

No!

"This can’t be real! It can’t be!"

And pulling out her wand, Hermione pointed it at Harry and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

Once, twice, three times…

Nothing.

"Riddikulus!"

She tried it again and again.

"It has to work… has to…You’re not real… not real…"

But the spell did not work; and Harry did not awaken.

Tears coursed down Hermione’s cheeks as she knelt closely to him, her body pressing against his as she kissed him softly on the lips.

It was a long moment before Hermione noticed the warmth coming from Harry’s mouth, before the breaths rising and falling lightly against her chest registered in her panicky brain. Even when he leaned into her, returning her kiss with passion, Hermione was sure she was only imagining what she so desperately wanted to be true.

When Harry’s arms pushed them off the ground and he wrapped them tightly around her, Hermione pulled back from the kiss, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"Harry?!?"

He had an odd expression on his face; it was a mixture of calm contentment, weariness and… amusement?

And for a moment – just a moment – Hermione wondered if it was her boggart Harry staring back at her.

He opened his mouth to speak and Hermione held her breath…

"What’s so ridiculous?"

… And let it out with a laugh.

"Nothing," her voice burst with all the happiness and relief and wonder in the world. "Nothing at all."

And she threw her arms around him, closing her eyes and sending a silent thanks to whomever, or whatever, had allowed him to return to her alive.

"I love you," he muttered – or maybe it was she…

It didn’t matter truly – for they had each other now. And that was enough. That was everything.

After a moment – or an hour – or an eternity of time, Harry pulled back from Hermione and looked deeply into her eyes. His own were deep emerald in color and filled with emotion.

"What is it?"

"I want to know why you never told me…" he started very solemnly as he pulled her onto his lap.

"What’s that?" asked Hermione as she pushed his damp hair off his forehead. She proceeded to kiss his scar, his nose, his cheeks and chin; but when he didn’t continue, she pulled slightly away from him.

He was so silent, so serious…

And she wondered for a moment if he had guessed about her boggart – or if he had always known, from their end of term exam third year to that time at Grimmauld Place. She wondered if he knew exactly how afraid she’d been of failing him… of losing him… and of not being there to save him as she’d so foolishly believed she could.

And upon hearing his next words, she was almost certain it was so… And she discovered he did not find her so foolish after all.

"Hermione, some things I had to do on my own. I think you know that. I made a promise to you long ago… Yes… But I hope you don’t think I broke it," he said, gazing deeply into her eyes.

She thought back to earlier – to when he had disappeared – and her anger when she’d realized he had elected to abandon her and Ron to fight Voldemort on his own. And she couldn’t stop him, because he had chosen…

There were so many circumstances she couldn’t control… in the past and now… That didn’t make it any easier.

"Hermione, I want you to know that you were beside me every step of the way," said Harry earnestly. "I carried you with me. Here…"

And he motioned at his chest, pulling one of her hands away from his shoulder to place it over his heart.

"All the love I had inside me… That is what allowed me to defeat Voldemort at last. I could feel that love radiating from everyone that has stood by me – from Dumbledore, and the Weasleys, and Lupin, and Ron – but especially from you. You have always been there… Always…"

"I still am."

Harry pulled her closer to him, touched by her words.

"You saved me, Hermione. It was your love that saved me," he gasped, his palms cupping her cheeks, drawing her in even nearer.

She was amazed at the raw intensity in his voice and in his eyes.

But when he spoke next, it was in a mere whisper, "And it was my love for you that carried me home."

And when he kissed her then – long and deep and true – Hermione was unfailing in her certainty that now… Now… They would be together as they were always meant to be…

Their love would carry them onward… To new adventures, new hopes, and new dreams.

Always…

The Beginning…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Further Notes:

On Hermione’s Boggart: JKR has virtually confirmed on her website (jkrowling.com) that Hermione’s boggart in POA was indeed Professor McGonagall (which for some reason I, at least, doubted), for she mentions outright in the "Extras" section of the website that "underneath Hermione’s swottiness there is a lot of insecurity and a great fear of failure (as shown by her Boggart in ‘POA’)." While I originally wrote most of this story shortly after reading OotP, I still believe the themes are relevant in some ways to canon. This story is really more about Hermione’s fears, and what I believe (or hope!) will truly save Harry in the end, than about the physical form of Hermione’s boggart. Having said that, however, Hermione does tell us in POA (U.S. Ed., pg. 319) that her Boggart McGonagall said she’d "failed everything!" Thus, failure could manifest itself in many forms and does not necessarily have to refer to schoolwork or classes. That is my justification for keeping this story as it is…

For sentimental reasons, this story remains my favorite of those I have written so far. I’m not always trying to make a point when I write, but the very last scene of this story (hopefully) exhibits everything I was feeling at the time when I wrote it. It is my hope that maybe those of you who read it can carry a little piece of it away with you when you’re through… J