On the Way Down

Kalie

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 03/08/2004
Last Updated: 10/09/2004
Status: in_progress

Love is a rollercoaster. But what happens after the big drop?

Chapters

1. One

2. Chapter Two

1. One

Disclaimer: First, I do not own Harry Potter (obviously). That credit belongs to the loffly and talented J.K. Rowling. Got that all cleared up? Good.

Author's Notes: Finally! I'm back with a new story. It's the first of many to come, actually. I'm projecting this at a 2-3 chapter story, so it's fairly short. One of these days, I'll write a novel length. Anyway, thanks to the wonderful Jennifer for beta-ing this story. And to Nitya and Jack who have shown so much enthusiasm when it comes to my writing :P

Summary: But the truth was crystal clear, no matter how much she refused to believe it. No matter how much she refused to let it all sink in. The truth being that Harry Potter, her best friend—and something more—was missing. Not your typical “Missing Harry” fic. No languishing for 10+ chapters. 7th year.

Return to Me: Chapter One

Weak with anxiety and fear clutching at her insides, Hermione Granger began searching frantically around the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a sign, any sign leading to Harry Potter whereabouts. But the truth was crystal clear, no matter how much she refused to believe it. No matter how much she refused to let it all sink in. The truth being that Harry, her best friend and-something more, was missing.

She thought back to a rather odd conversation that the two had exchanged just the night before. His somewhat paranoid behavior was strange enough without his words almost waxing poetic, which was unusually unlike Harry. Thinking back on it, Hermione marveled at the fact that Harry had gotten away with it this time and how she never realized then what he was going to do. Ever since the death of his beloved godfather, Sirius Black, Harry dwelled on enacting revenge on Voldemort, almost to the point where it had become and obsession with him. Numerous times he tried to go out looking for the Dark Lord himself, but was always stopped somehow, mostly by Hermione. Then again, he had actually told them what he was going to do before he planned to leave. This time was a different. He left with no words, no goodbye, and not one good look at his two best friends before he left.

That night, Hermione had found him sitting alone in the common room, staring at the fire blankly. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. It reminded him of the dozens of times Sirius' head had popped into the fire with a grin, wanting a talk with his godson, who was more than happy to oblige. He was curled up in an armchair, clutching his knees to his chest and resting his chin upon them. Knowing that he was, yet again, in one of his sullen moods, Hermione approached him cautiously. Harry hardly noticed that she was in the room until she sat herself down in an empty armchair by his side and looked directly at him. He turned around sharply to look at her better. A rather small, grim smile appeared on his face.

"Hi," Harry said, his voice more hoarse than usual. He knew what was coming. Hermione would ask him about his well-being, which would result in the oh-so-casual, "Nothing." The conversation will escalate into an endless cycle of Voldemort references, pains in his scar, and when it was all done, she would kiss him goodnight, leaving him to stare into the fireplace, looking for any sign of his godfather. It was always the same. He loved Hermione more than any girl he had known, but sometimes it all got to be too much for him. Harry had tried to work up an amount of anger towards Hermione, even the smallest amount, saying that if it wasn't for her, he would have already faced off against Voldemort. In the end, it was no use. How could you feel angry at someone who had proven herself to save his arse multiple times. He might have been dead already if it hadn't been for her loyalty and her determination in their complex relationship.

"How are you?" Hermione asked him calmly, unaware that Harry's mind was saying, I knew you'd say that.

Harry gently braced himself for the inevitable. "I'm fine, Hermione."

"Are you?" She looked at him skeptically, curiousness etched into her face. "Don't lie, Harry. You know very well that whenever you say that, it ends up being completely untrue."

"Tell me something, Hermione," Harry said in a strange higher-pitched tone. "Are you scared? Of me, I mean."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she continued to stare at him in concentration. Just where was he going with this conversation? "I'm scared of many things, Harry. Just not you." She looked at him curiously once more. "What's this all about?"

"It's nothing," he said in a casual voice. "Just forget about it. I was just thinking."

"Of what?" she pressed on.

Harry quickly fumbled for a response, not wanting to tell Hermione what he was really thinking of. "I guess I was just scared of the end of term, that's all. It's our last year, you know. We might not ever see each other again."

Her eyes snapped wide. She had not been expecting to hear that at all. Of course, they never talked about their plans after Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, and the other piece of the trio, Ron Weasley, had all reached a mutual consensus that they might not live to be a part of the Leaving Feast. It was certainly a depressing thought, but one that was always in the backs of their minds, whether they wanted it or not.

"I know," she said, not daring to dream what would become of them if they were never to see each other again. "Why bring up all of this now?"

Harry lifted up a hand and forcefully combed it through his unruly jet black hair in frustration. "Pressure, Hermione," he said in a tone remarkably reminiscent of that of two years prior. "I feel like the weight of the world is on my back and I can't move one bloody step in the right direction. Everyone is always expecting me to do great things, but how am I supposed to do that, when people continuously feel the need to protect me and shelter me from all the evil in the world? I've already been touched by evil, so how can anyone protect me from it? In the end it's 'killed or be killed' for me, and forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy at the end of this term, because, to be brutally honest, I'm running out of time."

Hermione's mouth was slightly open in disbelief. In one of those rare moments, Harry was speaking to her with raw emotion, no withdrawal, and no façade to hide behind. This was the real Harry Potter. No one really knew how Harry truly felt. Not Ron, not Dumbledore, and certainly not Hermione, though she continued to try on many occasions. No matter if you were his closest friend or his mentor, you still cannot slip into his mind (or his shoes) one day and walk around being Harry Potter. It just couldn't be done. However, it was times like these when all Hermione wanted to do was lift that weight off of his back and carry it herself. She had seen the extent of the pain it had caused him and it caused her pain to see him in such a state.

"I-I don't know what to say," she said plainly, finally looking away from Harry. She could vaguely register the corners of her eyes twitching. Oh, not now! she thought frustratingly. If there was a time not meant for weakness, this was one of those times. "Harry, if I could lift that weight off of your back, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I can't. The reason why people protect you is because they love you too much to see you in pain again. It's the same story and year-after-year, things get worse, no matter what we try to do to stop it. You can stop it, Harry. I know it's your responsibility to do so, but don't think of it in that way. Think of it as a way of protecting the people that you love. You won't feel quite as much pressure then."

"But that's just it," Harry said suddenly, turning around in his armchair to get a better look at Hermione. "It's knowing that that, if I fail, then those people would be gone forever and I can't live with that. Then again, if that should happen, I would already be dead. Honestly, I'd rather be dead along with countless of faceless and nameless witches and wizards than alive and watch you suffer."

Hermione wasn't completely sure that "you" was simply referring exclusively to her or his loved ones in general. Always needing a correct answer for everything, she had to have this statement confirmed. Ignoring the voices in her head, she turned around to look back at Harry, only to see his eyes extremely bloodshot and his face a deep shade of red.

"Did you-" she began, but Harry cut her off.

"You know what I meant, Hermione," he said surely.

She nodded, knowing indeed what it was. He was referring to her, and her alone. An odd statement to make, considering that they were never on the subject of their relationship. But, boy, they were toeing the line right then and there. Their relationship wasn't always as defined as "boyfriend and girlfriend" though, technically, they were. They never shared public displays of affection for one another in front of the student body, least of all Ron, who was initially put off when he heard the news. After awhile, he finally came to accept it and move on with his life. Quite a mature move for someone who wanted nothing more than to kick Draco Malfoy's arse and humiliate him in Quidditch. No, they're relationship was more complex than that. At that point, those infamous three words had never been uttered. It was more of a mutual thing, rather than a few over-blown declarations of love, like Witch Weekly would have you believe. Frankly, they were both surprised that they had lasted nearly seven years without straying way off track of their titles as "Perfectly Platonic Pals." However, both were thankful when the time really came.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione declared suddenly, clearly having her fill of angst for the evening. She stood up and straightened herself out, looking anywhere but Harry. "What about you?" she asked, gesturing towards the large grandfather clock in the common room. "It's late and we have classes in the morning."

Harry's attention was now focusing on the flames of the fire once more. "In a moment," he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear him. "I just-need to think a bit more."

"Okay," Hermione said softly, bending down to give him a small kiss on the cheek. She felt him suck in a breath and smiled, heading off towards the spiral staircase that lead to the girls and boys dormitories. Lying in bed, she couldn't help but dwell on Harry. Something more was eating away at him, but she couldn't quite pinpoint it tonight. Whatever it was, she could ask him in the morning...

...except, that was the last she saw of him. Sitting in classes that morning, she couldn't shake off this feeling of worry that somewhere, Harry was in danger. Of course he was in danger, you daft git, she said to herself. Hermione continued to replay their conversation in her head so many times, that the words were beginning to run together. Everything made sense. He left to face Voldemort head-on. It was the only logical explanation. "Weight of the world...'kill or be killed'...running out of time?" It made perfect sense to Hermione.

Hermione skived off the rest of her lessons that afternoon, leading others to believe that there was a serious situation at hand. Since when did Hermione Granger skip lessons? Never...until now, that is. She refused to let Ron out of sight, for fear of him running off into the oblivion. She knew she was just over-reacting, but she couldn't help it. Hermione wanted to protect both of her friends from arm, but when you can't do both, one will have to do, regardless of how insufficient that was to her.

"Hermione, I'm not going to run off and leave!" he exclaimed, trying to pull away from Hermione clutching his arm. "Look," he said more softly this time, "I'm scared for Harry too. He's off fighting his own battles, possibly to his death, and there is nothing we can really do about it. The only thing we can do is wait for him to show up. Now, can you please let me go?"

She hesitantly let Ron go and watched him walk off towards the Quidditch pitch. If anything could keep Ron's mind from lingering on the fate of Harry, Quidditch was most definitely not one of those things. "Boys," she muttered to herself irritably, huffing in response. Hermione began pacing madly around the edge of the lake, her mind bringing her back to the time when she and Harry shared a sullen walk around this very lake, pondering the Goblet of Fire, and silently cursing Ron for his jealous behavior. My, how times were different now.

Her thoughts dwelled so much on Harry that she thought she saw him near the edge of the forest, sprawled on the ground, not moving a muscle. She had seen this sight so many times in her nightmares, that she thought nothing of it. Yet surprisingly, the figure was solid. Nothing magical, nothing fancy, just...normal. Hermione's insides filled with ice cold dread. It couldn't be Harry, she though to herself. She moved towards the figure with ever increasing speed, not daring to believe what she was seeing. However, there was no mistaking the crumpled form of her best friend.

2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: First, I do not own Harry Potter (obviously). That credit belongs to the loffly and talented J.K. Rowling. Got that all cleared up? Good.

Author's Notes: Thanks for all of the nice reviews :) Trust me, I really appreciate all of it. And regretably Nitya for *cough* making that rec thread *cough* And also for your reactions whenever I gave you snippets of the story here and there! Thanks to Jennifer for beta-ing this yet again(even though, I'm sure she has better things to do *laughs*). Anyway, this chapter was a pain to write, so I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Love is a rollercoaster. But what happens after the big drop?

Chapter Two:

"Harry..." she breathed as she approached the lifeless figure lying on the grass. Her voice hitched in her throat as she struggled to maintain her resolve. Everything seemed so unreal, yet not. She had seen this exact same visage in her dreams many times before over the past seven years, that her first instinct was to believe that it was yet another one of those dreams. However, she knew what she was watching before her was most definitely not a product of her imagination. It was real...all too real. The chills running throughout her body was certainly enough to confirm this.

She crouched down low to the ground to examine Harry closer. Hesitantly reaching out a hand towards him, she suppressed a shudder. It wasn't the first time Hermione had seen him completely motionless, but it was the first time his skin had felt as icy cold as the pit of her stomach. Her hands were slightly shaking as she grabbed his wrist feeling for a pulse, or any sign that he wasn't dead.

"What if he really was dead?" she thought to herself, still clutching at his wrist somewhat desperately. She could scarcely fathom what a world without Harry would be like. There had existed a girl before who knew nothing of the existence of Harry Potter, nor a world full of magic and mayhem. She knew nothing of Dark Lords and Quidditch, nor of hippogriffs and house elves. But that girl disappeared a long time ago. She could hardly remember such a time now. Harry was as much as a part of her life as ever and nothing would ever be the same since she stepped through the threshold of Hogwarts.

She waited silently beside him for a few moments, looking around for help, but no one was there. A few faint blurs in the distance were zooming around the Quidditch field, but they were far too much away to notice anything odd and unusual happening on the grounds. Both Harry and Hermione were quite alone, with no one but each other for company. In an instant, everything seemed to rush by in a flurry. She felt something pulsing in her grasp. Her breathing began quickening as everything was finally beginning to register in her mind. That was a pulse, Hermione was sure of it. He's alive! Her mind was pulling her in a thousand directions all at once. It was one of those rare moments in her life in which a single, coherent answer to a situation was not making an instant appearance. Such a powerful wave of relief swept through Hermione that for a moment she felt light-headed.

"What do I do now?" Hermione thought anxiously. Her logical side was telling her to stay here and wait for help, not to disturb his body. But her rarely seen impulsive side was pleading with her to support his weight and carry him all the way back to the castle. "Who can think logically at a time like this?" she asked herself vehemently, gently moving Harry's limp form into a sitting position. Once she finally had him on his feet, her arms and shoulders were already sagging from his weight. Hermione found it remarkable that a rather scrawny teenage boy could weigh her down so. Then again, she was never one for physical work. Harry was the brawn of the infamous trio, no doubts about that. Things were different now, she reminded herself. There was always a time for shifts and changes...now was one of those times.

The walk back up to the castle felt more time consuming than ever before. Those minutes felt like hours to her. Who knows what would happen to the pair of them after this moment. But Hermione wasn't thinking far beyond the present. Even she was unclear about where exactly to go from here. Time could have stopped for all she knew. There was so much she could do in those fragments of seconds, and yet so much that she could not do. The seconds, minutes seemed to stretch on forever. But she didn't pay it any mind, and, shifting slightly, she went on.

The castle was near now, a welcoming gray haven set against the now darkening backdrop of the sky. Once she got there, she decided, she would head straight for the hospital wing. Granted, the state that Harry was now in was not good, and it would be best to have him treated right away. Her mind burning with questions of what had happened and how it did, she went into the school and walked to the hospital wing, silently hoping no one would cross her way.

Hermione had reached the hospital wing doors in what seemed like hours, yet she knew that was certainly not accurate. Being that her full upper body was supporting Harry's lifeless body, she kicked the doors gently, praying that Madam Pomfrey would be quick to react. Sure enough, the doors opened barely a few moments later.

As soon as the Hogwarts nurse's eyes set themselves on Harry’s body, she gasped at the sight of his bad state. “That boy’s gotten himself into a fit of trouble again, hasn’t he?” she murmured to herself. “Quickly, Miss Granger,” she said to the girl, indicating to a nearby bed, “set him here. Good thing that you bought him here now, or it would have been a lot worse.” She bustled about, whispering to herself, running spells and incantations through her mind. “Who knows what would have happened.”

Hermione preferred not to think about that, instead focusing all her attention on the battered body on the bed before her. She found it increasingly difficult with each passing second to take her eyes off of him. Never had she seen him look as worse for wear as he did then. Regardless of this, she still couldn't comprehend how peaceful, almost serene, he appeared to be. She couldn't keep from looking at his expressionless face, while something inside of her broke. Hermione wasn't sure what it could be, but everything seemed to fade away from reality. Then the tears came crashing down.

Madam Pomfrey turned around to glance at Hermione, looking slightly alarmed. "Oh dear," she said softly, walking swiftly towards the stricken girl. "That won't help him, you know. I can't make any promises that he'll be alright, but I'll do what I can. If that's not enough, then we can send him to St. Mungo's, where he will be in more capable hands."

Tears still streaming down her face, Hermione nodded grimly. What Madam Pomfrey was saying did absolutely nothing to alleviate her fears. If anything, it worsened them. Was it really that hard to imagine a life without Harry? Certainly, the very thought had crossed her mind various times over the past seven years. She had always kept him on a short leash for fear that he would do something rash and drastic. It came as no surprise to her that something like this would happen. However, that didn't make her feel any better about it all. If she lost Harry, then a piece of herself was lost with him.

All around the classroom bells rung, releasing a horde of bustling students, talking animatedly to one another, without the knowledge that one of their classmates was toeing the thin line between life and death. Most of their worries and cares stemmed from the curiosity of receiving their exam results in a few days time. Hermione once had those same worries herself, but now they seemed so petty and worthless compared to what she was worrying about at this moment. But it was all a matter of time before news of this broke out all over the wizarding world. The result would be an instant uproar that Hermione was certainly not keen on witnessing. It was hard enough with Harry lying before her unconscious and barely breathing, but to add a pack of muckraking and ruthless reporters who'd do anything to get a scoop on the latest gossip of the Potter variety, was incomprehensible.

"This will only take a second, Miss Granger," said Madam Pomfrey striding purposefully towards the doors. "I need to notify Professor Dumbledore as quickly as possible. I'm sure you don't need telling twice to stay close to him and never leave Mr. Potter of your sight?"

Hermione gave the smallest of nods, still refusing to take her eyes off of Harry's face. She couldn't help but feel a bit more helpful after registering Madam Pomfrey's statement. If there was one person that could handle the situation with near ease, it was Dumbledore. Over the years, they had gotten quite used to Dumbledore being able to fix just about anything or smooth something over spectacularly. However, no matter how powerful you are or how much good or evil you could accomplish, you're still human with human weaknesses. Both Harry and Dumbledore were interesting examples of this. They were held in high esteem by the majority of witches and wizards out there, they each had their moments of grandeur and glory, of death and extraordinary heroics. But how long could that façade possibly be kept up? How long would it take for that person to finally breakdown or fail.

She had wished people would see Harry as a human, rather than their savior or their hero. Every witch and wizard felt they were entitled to a piece of him somehow because of all the good he had done. To many, Harry was but a simple barrier standing between them and their greatest fears. And Harry himself had always felt obligated to live up to his ominous reputation as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione had always felt the same way particularly as Hogwarts' Head Girl this year. Everyone had their expectations already laid out for her, so there was nothing left to do, but to meet them. She had heard it said that she was "perfect." Hermione constantly laughed at that continuously, or rather scoffed. She was no more perfect than, say, Ron. That only appeared to be false on the exterior, because she rarely, if ever, let anyone see her faults and vulnerability. Harry, being one of them.

He was exactly the same way. Hermione had seen those sides of him, that Harry wasn't willing to show others. She had seen him cry on more than one occasion or bellow his frustrations out, especially during the most recent couple of years. They were they're personal outlets. The ones that would hold you tight when you were feeling down or calm an angry soul with just one look, or perhaps a stern word or two. She hated to be sappy or terribly cliché, but they literally completed one another.

Oh, she could sit by Harry's side for hours. After all of the times he had spent in the hospital wing, lying unconscious by reason of dementors, or even perhaps Quidditch. She vaguely wondered if Harry had ever done the same for her during her time spent lying on one of this small, sterile hospital beds. Did he perhaps feel as helpless then as she did now? Hermione reached out her arm and grabbed a hold of his hand tightly, grasping as if his very life depended on it. His skin was still as cold as ever. Somehow, Hermione was reminded of the deep, icy, plunging feeling she had felt while encountering a dementor for the first time. She could recall the horrid memories that flashed through her mind as dementor approached them during their third year aboard the Hogwarts Express. She had wondered what memories would resurface if she was to confront a dementor these days. Being called a 'freak' at her old primary school. Crying in the girls’ bathroom just before encountering a fully-grown mountain troll. Fluffy. Those vividly green eyes of the basilisk just before she had been petrified. Harry falling 50 feet off of his broomstick. Harry flying against a Hungarian Horntail. Harry shouting at her and Ron repeatedly. Finding out Harry had kissed Cho. Harry this and Harry that...My God, the list could go on and on with details about how most of her worst memories seemed to involve Harry in some way.

Finding Harry lying in the grass by the edge of the lake was, by far, at the very top of this list of horrific moments. If, by some miracle, he lived through all of this, there was absolutely no way she would ever let him out of her sight. Knowing Harry, he wouldn't go for that plan at all. Oh well, thought Hermione. It's for his own damn good. She couldn't bear yet another one of his rash impulses to run away. How many times had he done that exactly? One time too many.

Watching him closely, she noticed his chest hitching raggedly, up and down. Surely, that wasn't a normal occurrence. Oh, please get here soon, she silently pleaded to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore, who had yet to make it to the hospital wing. What was even worse was the fact that his complexion was growing paler by the second and the touch of his skin sent a rush of mind-numbing cold down her spine. No, this wasn't normal at all. She broke her eyes away from Harry's face, unable to look at him any longer, and simply stared at the doors as if daring them to open.

Barely a few seconds later, Professor Dumbledore strode in the hospital wing, his usually elegant robes, hanging off of him loosely in a way that only Professor Lupin's could. Madam Pomfrey was right on his heals, looking more anxious than ever. Dumbledore stopped next to Harry's bed and peered down at him, taking in the boy's terrible state. For just a second there, Hermione thought she had glimpsed something that looking remarkably like a tear, but after observing closer, she saw nothing there. He turned to look at Hermione and said calmly, "Where did you find him?"

Hermione looked down at her feet, unable to look into that solemn face of Dumbledore's, and said slowly, "Near the edge of the lake. I was just walking around and I had noticed him lying on the grass, crumpled and-" She broke off, not wanting to delve into farther about the thoughts whizzing through her mind at that moment in time.

Dumbledore stared her for a few seconds, then turned back to examine Harry once more. After awhile, he glanced at Madam Pomfrey and said quietly, "He'll have to be taken to St.Mungo's. There's nothing we can do for him here, Poppy."