A/N: This would've been up sooner, but I experienced major computer difficulties (I almost lost everything!), but now it's all fine and dandy and I'm bringing this to you as quickly as was possible. Once more, thanks to those who reviewed- I hope you do so again. A couple of points were raised by the reviews that I must address:
- Harry hasn't got any memories back- he was simply watching one of Hermione's. (I thought I'd made that clear, but obviously not.)
- Harry isn't sure what he's feeling for Ginny- and yes, that is important, although not in this chapter. This is still an H/Hr story, however. (Don't worry, I know where I am.)
- Ginny and Neville are still just friends- although, as it probably obvious, Neville feels a bit stronger than that towards her.
- I haven't forgotten Fred and George.
But onto this chapter. I'm quite nervous about this- I'm not sure how you'll all accept these revelations. (So let me know!) But I've rambled enough- read on, gallant reviewers.
Love Will Come Through
Chapter Nine: Crisis Point
"I don't know if I can take much more of this, Gin."
Ginny studied Hermione, saddened by the deep currents of despair she could hear within her friend's voice. It was Thursday morning, and they sat together at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, food ignored on their plates as they talked in low tones, trying to block out the packed room around them, something made more difficult by the fact that they were, as usual, the centre of attention.
With all the gossip concerning them that seemed to be bouncing around the student population, Ginny was heavily surprised that no one as yet seemed to have figured out that Harry took his meals in the kitchens. Hermione, however, seemed desperate for a sense of normality, so she had, upon her release from the hospital wing on Monday morning, stubbornly come down to the Great Hall with everyone else, flushing at all the stares she gathered.
It wasn't the wagging tongues of the Hogwarts students to which Hermione was referring, however. Every day after her lessons had finished she and Harry had headed for Professor McGonagall's office, who, due to the fact that the holidays were less than a week away, had granted them use of the Pensieve every day. But, every day, they returned to the common room with drawn expressions on their face, separating themselves from one another almost immediately, one of them always vanishing straight to their dormitory while the other sat weightily down beside Ginny. No progress had been made, and this was having a particularly distressing effect on Hermione.
Ginny put a comforting hand on Hermione's forearm. "It'll happen, Hermione," she said as convincingly as she could, "you just have to be patient."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm tired," she sighed, "and I miss him. And there's no guarantee he'll ever get his memories back, Gin, so don't patronize me."
Ginny ran her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione," she said quietly. Her eyes sloped sideward and she saw Ron sliding into a seat down the table, steadfastly ignoring the chirping greetings of a third year as he tore the corner of his piece of toast. She looked back at Hermione, who was pointedly not looking at Ron. "But you have to stay positive."
Hermione banged her fist on the table angrily, then blushed, clearly regretting this action immediately when everyone in the immediate vicinity looked up at her. She smiled weakly and turned back to Ginny. "Ginny," she said in a hiss, "it's hard to stay positive when you look at a memory and start sobbing, but he's looking at the same thing with some kind of nervy fear." She sloped into her hand, resting her chin awkwardly on its palm. "I just can't cope."
Ginny sighed heavily. She knew she could continue to softly encourage Hermione with platitudes, but she also knew that these were as much for her own benefit as Hermione's, and, besides, she didn't think she could hear herself say one more ridiculous word of false hope. Instead of improving, Harry seemed to be slipping further and further away- but Ginny knew it was not her job to pull him back.
"Are you sure there was nothing? Not even a second?" she whispered insistently. Hermione just looked at her, her sullen face telling Ginny everything she needed to know.
"We should eat," Ginny said, having looked furtively around her, and Hermione nodded vaguely, absently sticking her fork into a piece of bacon that didn't quite make it to her mouth. It had fallen open as she stared into what Ginny had thought was nothingness, and Ginny quickly followed Hermione's line of vision, discovering a sight which made her mouth fall open even wider than Hermione's.
Ron was still sitting where he had been when Ginny had noticed him arrive, and he still had a full English breakfast laid out on his plate (apparently seething jealousy had no effect on Ron's appetite); he also had Luna Lovegood attached to his mouth.
She was standing to his right, which meant that his face was still visible to Ginny, and she could see that he was as surprised as everyone who was staring at them. But Luna's hands were not holding him in place, and, even though his eyes were open wide with shock, he wasn't exactly fighting her off.
Eventually Luna drew away, and Ginny distantly heard her say something to Ron beneath all the whistles and catcalls that were now sounding throughout the hall. Ron went beetroot red, but nodded vaguely at Luna, who sailed off down the aisle with her usual serene ambivalence. Ginny and Hermione's heads turned at the same time; after staring at each other for a second, they laughed, the airy sounds making heads turn their way- right then, however, both could have cared less.
*~*~*
Ginny said goodbye to Hermione in the entrance hall, the latter giving a distinctly lacklustre reply and trudging gloomily off up the marble staircase. Ginny herself had the unenviable journey out to the greenhouses, for it was still raining heavily- Ginny hadn't seen any sign that it had actually stopped in the last week- and she had forgotten her umbrella. Cursing herself, she opened the door a crack and looked outside. As expected, it was dreadful, and Ginny resigned herself to the fact that she was going to get soaked.
"Ginny," a voice suddenly whispered in her ear, making her jump wildly, flail her hands out, and whack Harry straight in the face.
He winced in pain and rubbed his nose, which had rapidly gone scarlet. "Ow," he said dryly.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, but you shouldn't sneak up on people like that!" she chastised. Harry just looked at her sullenly. "What's up?" she asked, softening her tone.
He sniffed. "Did you talk to Hermione at breakfast?" She nodded. "Then you'll know what's up."
Ginny sighed. "You have to stay positive," Ginny said, echoing her earlier words to Hermione. "You can't give up."
Harry looked like he'd heard these words before. "It's easy for you to say that," he said rather angrily, "you're not the one with a memory like a piece of cheese." He spat these words out venomously, and Ginny had to remind herself that it wasn't her that he was mad at- not really…
She put a placating hand on her shoulder, which, to her slight surprise, he didn't shake off. "I know it's difficult," she said quietly, "and I know you feel like giving up, but I know that you can see why you need to keep doing this. You've seen the memories, you know you can't give that up. You can't do it to yourself, and you can't do it to Hermione."
Harry looked at her mournfully, but nodded. "I'll try," he said heavily, and Ginny smiled encouragingly.
"Good," she said as cheerfully as she could. She felt someone arrive at her right and a flash of a goldfish's tail on clear, shiny plastic told it was Luna. "Harry, I've got to go, I'll see you later okay?"
Harry nodded dully again and quickly vanished in the milling crowds, which Ginny somehow hadn't noticed while they'd been talking. She turned to Luna, who smiled brightly at her.
"Looking forward to Herbology, Ginevra?" she asked, plucking at her coat, which had folded awkwardly at her knee. "I hear Professor Sprout has procured some fascinating Luminous Pockseed Bushes."
Ginny smiled thinly and glanced out at the weather again. "I'm going to get soaked," she said bitterly, but Luna just smiled serenely.
"Would you like to borrow my umbrella, Ginevra?" she said dreamily, pulling a thick black stick from her bag with nimble fingers.
Ginny gave an audible sigh of relief. "Merlin, yes; thanks, Luna," she said, and Luna handed the umbrella to her. "Ready to go?" she added, and Luna nodded, still smiling widely. Ginny pulled open the door; immediately rain started to hit her robes, pelting down at some ridiculously acute angle, and the wind was so strong it took Ginny almost a minute to get the umbrella up completely. Behind her, students squealed, those who were lucky enough to be staying inside running away up the staircase.
They ran for it. Luna looked positively delighted by the thunderstorm, and it seemed to Ginny that Luna was only running to keep up with her. By the time Professor Sprout had ushered them into the greenhouses, where the rain was silenced by some clever charmwork, Ginny's legs were as wet as if she'd spent half an hour in the lake. She waved her wand at it and it dried instantly; Luna was doing the same to her coat, which, Ginny was impressed to see, folded into a miniscule pocket of Luna's bag.
There were a few other people in the room, but Professor Sprout was still watching the door for other arrivals, so Ginny and Luna sat down near the front- "We can't sit at the back, there are Kinked Ogflies in those Snargaluff pods!" Luna had said in alarm.
"So," said Ginny, drying off Luna's umbrella and handing it back to her, "how is Ron?"
Luna smiled rather wistfully. "I thought Ronald needed some cheering up," she said fluidly, "so I thought I'd do what I could. He's been looking rather down lately."
Ginny snorted. "I'll say." Luna's eyebrows went up slightly. Ginny flushed. "Um, well, yes; but why did you kiss him? He didn't exactly look very prepared for it."
Luna's frown vanished and she nodded wisely, smiling her dreamy smile. "Oh, Ronald just needs some persuading," she said lightly, "he'll come around."
"I wish it was that easy," Ginny muttered, and then Professor Sprout, having let everyone in, clapped her hands and the lesson began.
*~*~*
The corridors were, blissfully, deserted as Harry trudged back to the common room. It had been another disastrous session in the headmistress' office with Hermione and the Pensieve- she had taken him back to when they had told Ron, a display of solidarity under fire that made Hermione unable to suppress the tears as she watched what she had lost. Harry, once again, felt nothing- nothing stirred or sparked, and he watched the dramatic scenes feeling extremely uncomfortable. The Ron of the memory had been clearly upset, and Harry recognised his ex-best friend's surliness as the same bitter jealousy that was dominating the youngest Weasley male right now.
Hermione had run off to the library- some essay or other, she hadn't stopped to explain- and so Harry took the path back to Gryffindor Tower alone, only the sounds of the billowing winds interrupting his thoughts. It had, to much relief, finally stopped raining earlier that day, but the wind was still whirling madly, and the windowpanes clattered nosily.
He quickly changed direction when he heard Peeves zooming around down a corridor, but everywhere was still devoid of students- it was the dormant period between classes' end and dinner, and Harry knew that the common room would be full. Sighing, he turned the corner and saw the Fat Lady up ahead, who seemed to be taking an afternoon nap. Reaching her, he coughed pointedly, but as she awoke grumpily, she was swung out of sight, and into her place in Harry's vision came the person he least wanted to see.
"Oh." Ron looked surprised, which quickly turned to disgust, and he stopped, half-in and half-out of the portrait hole. "It's you."
Harry snorted. "And it's you," he repeatedly mockingly.
Ron's face contorted. "There's no need to be rude," he said angrily.
Harry held up his hands. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.
Ron glared at him. "You know what, Harry, everyone might think you're a big hero, but you're just as arrogant as Snape always said, aren't you? All you've done is treat me like crap."
Harry gave a short, hollow laugh. "You're one to talk."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked roughly.
Harry put his hand to his chin and stroked it sarcastically. "Hmm, I wonder," he said thoughtfully. "Who told me that Hermione broke up with me when she didn't? You did. Who duelled with his own sister in front of the whole schoo? You did. Who ruined what was possibly my only chance to remember everything? Oh, that's right, you did!"
Ron looked incensed. He leant forward threateningly and hissed, "I did NOT ruin anything!"
Harry pushed his own head forward so their noses were almost touching. "Then why did you drop the wand?" he said lowly.
Ron growled. "It was an accident!" His voice rose. The common room behind him had gone deathly quiet; Harry knew that everyone inside was listening intently to every word he and Ron were saying. He found, to his surprise, that he didn't care.
He laughed scornfully. "Oh, yeah, because everyone's going to believe that!" he said mirthlessly. "Yeah, you're helping your ex-best friend try to recover the memory of someone you want for yourself, of course it was an accident! How could we be so blind?"
Ron's face was gradually becoming purple. "Like I'd touch her after she'd been with you," he spat viciously. "I don't accept tainted goods."
Harry, despite his anger, paused. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Ron laughed hollowly. "Oh, that's right, you can't remember! How tragic. Your first time and you can't remember a thing about it." He smirked. "Well, I can tell you, the end wasn't very satisfactory for her." His smirk a contorted grimace, Ron finally swung his other leg out of the common room and pushed Harry aside, striding down the corridor with a victorious strut.
Harry just stood there. The faces he could now see in the common room were looking hurriedly away, but Harry didn't care. The meaning of Ron's words was no longer a mystery, but they had shot at Harry like a poisonous dart, the truth of it seeping into his blood. This was the reason for Ron's horrific jealousy; this was where his and Hermione's relationship had gone.
"Excuse me," came a lofty voice from somewhere to his left, "are you going to keep me hanging open all day? It's very uncomfortable, you know…"
*~*~*
Harry didn't enter the common room- he could barely stand the stares and whispers before, let alone now the entirety of Gryffindor house had heard the most intimate details of his life- and instead headed to the only place he could think of where he wouldn't be disturbed. The Room of Requirement was kitted out for his simple needs- plain white walls, a neatly made bed with fresh, crisp linen, and, he was surprised to find, a copy of 'Alice In Wonderland', which he'd read many times over as a child (it having been thrown out by a disinterested Dudley and rescued from the bin by Harry). He proceeded to lose himself in the delirious world again, still as fascinated by the madness and magic as he had been aged six. For those few hours, alone in the silent, small room, he forget about everything, and it was a rude return to the horrid state of affairs when there came, inexplicably, a knock at the door.
He started; the book fell out his hands and sat awkwardly on the floor, pages curling. There came no voice, but more insistent knocks; Harry could only assume that the room did not allow whoever was knocking to either enter or speak to him, which meant that he'd have to go and look.
He made his way tentatively to the door; the room seemed to know his every thought, for when he reached the door he found that a peephole had materialized. Putting his eye to it, he saw the distorted, but unmistakeable, shape of Hermione, her malformed face looking frantic. Her lips were forming words Harry couldn't hear; however, knowing he could hardly stay in the room forever, he slowly turned the doorknob and watched Hermione slide into view.
Her face sagged with relief, her stream of words immediately becoming audible. "Harry, I know you're in th- Oh, Harry, thank you!" she exclaimed on seeing him, flinging her arms around his neck. Flustered, he simply let her hang there, and she quickly relented, flushing slightly.
"What do you want?" Harry said sourly. Her face cracked sadly; clearly she'd been expecting a slightly warmer greeting than this. She slid in before answering, and Harry closed the door, noting with ambivalence that it was dark outside, and that it had also started raining again.
Hermione looked slightly bewildered by the simple furnishings of the room, but she made no comment; instead, she picked up the damaged book from the floor and looked at it with interest.
"Oh, Alice in Wonderland!" she said lightly, not looking at Harry. "I used to love this book," she added, flipping it over.
Harry sighed quietly and leant back against the door. "Yeah, me too," he said in a monotone. "What did you want?"
Hermione, still not meeting his eyes, examined the book for a little while before seeming to decide she could not escape any longer, putting it down beside her, and looking up. "Ginny told me what Ron said," she said, biting her lip.
Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Hermione stood up.
"Harry, how could I have told you?" she said, her voice cracking as she walked over. The room was so small she reached him in a matter of seconds. "You can't even remember our first kiss, what would you have done… how could you have… I…" she trailed off, eyes welling with tears.
"I'd rather have heard it from you than from Ron," Harry said quietly, almost a whisper.
Hermione's eyes flickered upwards, suddenly burning at him. "I know," she said softly. "And I'm sorry… but how could I know he would tell you?"
Harry tried to shrug, but all his shoulders did was twitch. "How did he even know?" he suddenly asked.
Hermione looked down, chewing fiercely on her lip. Clearly she had hoped to avoid this question.
Surprising him, her fingers suddenly batted at his, and he felt them interlocking with his own. "Come and sit down," she said gently, "and I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."
Harry felt extremely uncomfortable having her soft skin touching his own, but let her lead him over to the bed, where she let his hand go and it dropped onto the smooth sheet. Hermione played absently with her own fingers before finally looking up at Harry and beginning her story.
"It wasn't a rash decision," she said rather pleadingly, "we thought about it for ages, we waited, you know, we only did it when we both felt it was right." She paused, and Harry nodded vaguely for lack of a better response. "It was only a few weeks ago… just before we went to fight Voldemort. It was in here," she looked around, "though it was a bit fancier than this," she added, smiling wistfully. "And we… you know," she said, blushing, "and it was wonderful, Harry, it really was, you were so…" Her words fell away as she looked at him, his face impervious. Tears welled in her eyes again; she wiped them away and cleared her throat.
"We were in here, but then Ron came in… well, it was pretty obvious what had happened, and he got really angry… started spewing all sorts of horrible things, it was vile," she said, shaking her head ruefully.
Harry frowned. "Wait…" he said slowly, and Hermione froze. "Ron said... he said that 'the end wasn't very satisfactory for you'…"
Hermione gave a small, ironic smile. "I think he means because of him," she said. She laid an assuring hand on Harry's and patted it. "There was nothing wrong with you, Harry," she smiled.
Despite the situation, Harry smiled, feeling strangely relieved. "Good to know," he mumbled, flushing, and Hermione laughed softly.
"Anyway…" she said after a while, face straightening, "you said some things back, and so Ron challenged you to a duel." Her brow crinkled, showing just what she thought of this event. "I begged you not to accept, Harry, but you wouldn't listen…"
Harry suddenly felt rather guilty, even though he of course had no recollection of what Hermione was describing… but he knew that what she said was exactly what he would have done, and the sadness on Hermione's face reflected everything.
"So what happened?" he said, his voice cracking.
"You fought," she said, and even now the disappointment was evident in her voice. "I kept trying to stop you, but you just ignored me… it was horrible, I'd never seen you like that, or Ron." She coughed. "You won, eventually… Ron was in a bad state, it took a while to wake him up, and even then he was babbling. I'm not sure what happened to him." Her eyes were lined with tears. "You just left… I was mad with you, you tried to get me to come with you, but I stayed with Ron." She sighed. "Then he realized where it was and what had happened; he was nasty, really angry with me. And then he didn't talk to us again. Not that I'd have let him," she added, eyes suddenly flashing.
Harry bit his lip. "Thank you for telling me," he said quietly. Hermione nodded, her face a grimace.
And thereafter silence fell between them. Neither moved, both lost in thought; Harry vaguely registered the thought that it was probably a ridiculously late hour, but this didn't seem to matter- what did time, or rules, matter any more? He stared intently at Hermione's knee, crooked on the bed, her black jeans a stark contrast to the clean white sheets. He found it difficult to comprehend these revelations; he had had sex with this girl- no, he corrected himself, with this woman; and yet he couldn't remember a thing about her, couldn't remember kissing her, holding her, sharing his soul with her. He had the memory of seeing these some of these occasions; but he did not have the feeling of them. While he watched the memories he was a disconnected being; fact lay before him but feeling was nowhere to be found.
After what seemed like hours, he heard Hermione's soft, gentle voice. "Harry?"
He looked up, his eyes permitting her to speak on.
"Do you think I could kiss you?"
His eyes widened; panicked, she quickly hurried on.
"Not because of some selfish want, Harry; I just thought, maybe, it might help you remember," she said, rather pleadingly.
Harry found this outcome very unlikely, but something in him couldn't help but want to kiss those rosy lips… 'besides,' the something's voice hissed rather sneakily, 'what harm could it do?'
"Okay," he said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded. She looked rather startled herself that he had agreed so readily.
She shifted, the leg that had been dangling off the bed curling beneath her, and she was suddenly a whole lot closer. Harry swallowed, and decided the best course of action was to close his eyes. He heard her gentle breathing, and felt it tickle his cheeks before her lips found his.
Harry could not, to the disappointment of some distant part of his brain, say that her lips sparked any memory of feeling in him; however, he felt stirred in a different way, suddenly knowing exactly why the Harry he had seen in those memories had enjoyed kissing Hermione so much- for this was, he thought vaguely, heaven. Her lips were supple and smooth, not cracked like he often found his were, and the delicate taste his tongue delighted in reminded Harry of summer, of the smell of mountain air that drifted over the castle in July, and in that moment he was there, not in a plain white room in the middle of a stormy December -
Hermione made a tiny noise of some emotion Harry couldn't comprehend, and suddenly her tongue darted into his mouth, and her hands were in his hair; he shivered, but Hermione did not let go, and slowly he felt her manoeuvring him downwards, and before he knew it his head was against the soft, light fabric of the sheets, his hair ruffled beneath him, Hermione lying across him, her mouth still attached to his.
He gasped, devoid of air- but she seemed to feel the same thing at the same moment, and gently moved her lips down to his chin, planting soft kisses down to the nape of his neck. Harry was made so delirious by this that it was only with the faintest interest that he noted that what they were doing was probably a very bad idea.
He moaned as she played with the buttons of his shirt, fingertips moving between them to touch his skin. She was still kissing his neck, smooth lips meeting sensitive skin; she seemed to have become a different person, driven by some desperate desire, and he barely recognized her voice when she gave a husky whisper. "Oh, Harry."
He was not doing anything he could have expected to elicit this whisper, seeing as he was simply laying there, hands inert at his sides; suddenly his brain shifted and he sat up, sending Hermione flying up with him and looking rather dazed, as well as hurt.
"We shouldn't do this," Harry said, voice shaking.
It took Hermione a minute to react; to his surprise she gave a small smile and the suddenly pressed her mouth to his again, giving him short, sharp kisses as she rather breathlessly whispered, "Come on, Harry. I know you want it as much as I do," she said, pausing and looking pointedly downwards. He flushed, but turned his head so her next kiss only landed on his cheek.
"I can't," he said firmly, though his body was quivering.
Hermione's hands were still holding his arms; they froze. He didn't look at her, but her voice was suddenly coursing with anger. "What's wrong with me?" she said rather hotly.
Harry almost laughed, which he knew would have been a stupid thing to do under these circumstances. "Hermione, there's nothing wrong with you," he said, still not looking at her. "But how can you not see this is not a good idea? You don't want to do this, I know you don't."
Hermione's hands vanished. "How can you know that," she said cruelly, "you can't remember me!"
Harry looked at her; she looked angry, but her eyes were welling with tears and he knew her words weren't really meant to sting. "I know that," he said quietly.
They regarded each other for a second, Harry's gaze strong, Hermione's nervy; then, without warning, she suddenly burst into tears, covering her eyes with her hands as sobs wracked her body.
Alarmed, Harry sat awkwardly, not knowing whether he should be trying to comfort her or not, and as a result he did nothing whatsoever as tears leaked out from behind Hermione's fingers.
"Oh, god," she choked, "I'm- I'm sorry, Harry!" Her voice was a high-pitched wail, and it was startling to yet another side to Hermione- though Harry couldn't pretend to be particularly enamoured of this one.
Hermione wiped at her eyes in a futile attempt to stem her tears. "I'm such a stupid person!" she cried, which even Harry immediately recognized was an extremely false statement, and he nervously shuffled nearer, tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She leant her head against it, and her next words were, to Harry's relief, spoken much more quietly.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said again, looking up at him so sorrowfully he jolted with surprise. "I don't know what I was doing… I just thought…" she broke off, chewing her lip fiercely. Harry, feeling like he had to be the strong one, made a shushing noise and stroked her hair gently; for all its bushiness, it was surprisingly soft, he noticed.
Her sobs slowly subsided as she leant against his body, and he just kept soothing her, fingers running down her hair at the back; after a while, he felt her droop, and knew she had fallen asleep. As gently as he could, he moved off the bed, lowering Hermione down onto the bed, carefully pushing a pillow under her head just before it hit the sheets. He looked down at her pensively for a few seconds, then, without even wondering how the room had known it, laid down on the camp bed that had appeared behind him, and slept, dreams full of swimming pictures of Hermione.