and I have the sense to recognize that
I don't know how to let you go
every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving
trying to escape this desire
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
but I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how
to let you go
I don't know how
to let you go
-"Do What You Have to Do", Sarah McLachlan
Harry went to beat something up.
Room of Requirement.
He'd never used a punching bag before.
Not that it mattered.
He pretended that he was hitting Voldemort (because it all came down to him)-he was hitting Dolohov (for cursing her)-he was hitting Dumbledore (for lying to him)-he was hitting Madam Pomfrey (because she couldn't fix her)-he was hitting Vernon Dursley (just because)-and he was hitting himself (because it was really all his fault, anyway).
Then, spent, he collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathing ragged, the taste of copper in his mouth. His knuckles were bloodied and torn and he felt a sort of sick pleasure in it.
But his knuckles would heal-and there would be nothing left-no lasting mark.
I'm dying.
I'mdyingdyingdyingdyingdying…
His stomach clenched until he felt sick.
He remembered the scar on her shoulder, the ugly, torn pink skin marring her…
Killing her…
He closed his eyes, his breathing hard and shallow. He could feel his knuckles throbbing, the wetness of the blood sliding over his hands, and it wasn't enough… nothing, no hurt at all…
You…. This isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do… sort of… I mean-don't you think you've got a bit of a saving-people-thing?
Please let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London-if we find out he's not there then I swear I won't try and stop you. I'll come, I'll d-do whatever it takes to try and save him-
Whatever it takes…
You need to see.
They can't even settle on a timeline.
I'm dying.
It's just a scar like mine.
I'm dying.
Lie to me.
I can't.
Can't, can't, can't…
In first year, he'd saved her from a troll.
In second year, he killed the basilisk and saved the day.
In third year, he'd saved her from Dementors and rescued Sirius and Buckbeak.
In fourth year, he'd faced Voldemort and survived and came back and told Dumbledore.
In fifth year…
His recklessness got Sirius killed.
And now it was taking her, too.
And he was lying on his back in the middle of the Room of Requirement while she was spending (what could be her last moments) alone in the hospital wing.
He couldn't face her-he couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her and see what he had done, what he'd caused.
He couldn't bear the way she looked at him without blame.
So he was hiding-hiding like a coward-because he was too ashamed to face her.
Coward.
As usual, he was making it all about him, when it wasn't really about him at all.
For once, it was about her, and only about her, and she was dying and he…
He was abandoning her.
It didn't matter what he felt, it didn't matter what he saw when he looked at her, it didn't matter that he blamed himself-because it was about her, and he couldn't abandon her, not when she'd sacrificed everything.
**
He snuck into the hospital wing in the middle of the night under the invisibility cloak.
Selfish… his mind whispered.
He didn't want to have to face her with other people around.
He sat by her bed, the cloak over him-a protective shield.
He looked at her and she looked so normal. Her chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of her breath, her hair was a tangled mess around her face, and her light snores filled the hospital wing.
He looked at her-so normal-and he couldn't understand how she could be dying.
Lie to me.
He removed the cloak, needing to get closer to her. He kneeled by her bedside, brushing the skin of her cheek with his fingertips. She was warm and soft and couldn't-couldn't-
People who were dying weren't warm and soft and peaceful. No, they were ashen and gray and old and sick…
He grit his teeth.
It's about her.
Her eyes fluttered open and he removed his fingers from her cheek. Her eyes were deep and sad as they looked at him, but a small smile curved at her mouth.
"Hi," she whispered. "I knew-I knew you'd come back."
"Of course I came back," he said, voice breaking-because he knew how close he'd come to hiding from her forever.
"I was worried about you."
He couldn't fight his overwhelming urge to touch her-he had to reassure himself she was still there. She was still breathing and still warm and she still didn't look sick.
So he went back to caressing her cheek, and his eyes studied her face, looking for some sign-some sign of death.
She grasped his other hand, her fingers gentle as they brushed over his torn and bloodied knuckles. "You hurt yourself."
"Stop," he said. "Don't-don't worry about me. Please, don't."
She nodded and closed her eyes as his thumb smoothed over her lips. She looked so vulnerable, so open and defenseless. So unlike Hermione.
"I promise you," he said strongly, the tears coming now. "I promise you that I will kill him. I will kill Voldemort, I will kill Dolohov-I will kill them. They'll regret this, Hermione. I promise."
His tears slid down the end of his face and unto her hospital bed. She gripped his hand until he felt pain shoot down his elbow.
They can't even settle on a timeline.
Something like hope began to blossom in Harry's chest.
"We don't know when," he breathed.
"What?"
"We don't know when!" he said loudly. "For all they know… it could be years, Hermione."
She swallowed and said, very quietly, "I don't think it's going to be years."
Her words seemed to suck all the life from the room. The hope that Harry had felt seemed to die nearly as quickly as it had come.
"Then… it doesn't matter…" he said firmly. "It doesn't matter, because I'm going to spend the rest of your life looking for something to cure you. D'you hear me?"
"There's no cure."
"I don't care!" he hollered, standing up. "There's always something, Hermione! There's always something! I can't-I refuse-I will not give up on you."
She struggled to sit up and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. "Harry, please…"
"No," he shouted. "No-this is who I am. This is who I am. I will save you."
"You can't," she said-begged.
He sat next to her on the bed. "Listen to me, Hermione. I got you into this-I will get you out of this. I will kill Voldemort and I will kill Dolohov and I will find you a cure. I promise."
She was shaking her head. "You can't promise that, Harry. There's nothing you can do for me." She dropped her voice. "I'm ready-I'm not…" her voice caught. "I refuse to be afraid. The only thing I wanted-the only thing I needed-was to have you with me. I'm ready to go."
"I'm not."
And there he was-making it all about him, as usual.
And he didn't care.
"Don't make me hope again," she pleaded brokenly, ripping at his heart. "Don't give me hope, Harry. I can't bear it."
"Hope," he said, voice cracking. "Hope-it's the only thing that we have."
Her chest hitched. "I'm ready to go," she said again-and he wasn't sure which one of them she was trying to convince. "I'm ready to go."
"No, you're not," he said, sure of himself. "You're not-and I know you. I know you and I know you're not ready for this."
"I am…" she whimpered, voice scratchy from her tears. "I'm not scared, I can do this, I can be strong…"
He gathered her in his arms and she broke down in earnest, sobbing and clutching at him. He felt his own tears slide down his face, but he kept control of his emotions, determined to be what she needed.
"Strong is fighting," he whispered to her. "It's hard and it's painful and it's every day."
She sniffled, her arms tight around his neck. She pressed her face to his shoulder and he could feel her surrender.
"You can fight," he said, certainty making his voice stronger. "That's who you are. You're… you're the bravest person I know."
"I'm not-" she said brokenly. "I'm scared. I don't-I don't want to die."
"I know."
"But you can't, Harry…" she whispered hoarsely. "You can't save me. You can't."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I promise-I promise I will do my best to find a cure. I will do my best to get revenge on the people who put you here. And I swear to you, I swear-if I fail, it won't be because I haven't done everything in my power to save you."
"Why?" she said. "Why are you-why are you doing this for me?"
"Because…" he faltered-unable to put into words his inability to let her go-his need for her. "Because… because you're Hermione. And I can't… it would be impossible to for me to do anything else."
Impossible.
So he held her and promised her and swore to himself that he would not give up, not lose hope, because there was always a way, there was always something.
She'd taught him that much.
**
References (lovely, lovely things):
Couple of lines from the Am. Ed. of OotP that you probably recognize from pages 733 and 735.
Used some of Kaze's dialogue from Lies that you'll probably also recognize.
And… a Buffy quote.
"Strong is fighting. It's hard and it's painful and it's every day. It's what we have to do. And we can do it together."
-Buffy to Angel in Amends and probably one of my favourite all-time B/A quotes.
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