Chapter Two: A Hero Returns
He knocked on the door three times. Hermione was either not at home or sleeping. He reckoned if she was snuggled in her bed or on the sofa, it would be quite a chore to get to the front door at all.
Harry pulled the letter out of his pocket and studied the envelope. He didn't stop to read it; he'd done that enough to have the words memorized. He turned it over in his hand and caught the brass key that fell into his palm. He turned it over in his fingers, contemplating his next move. Giving himself one more chance to enter her apartment the standard way, he knocked again.
Nothing.
He pressed his ear to the door and heard no signs of occupancy. Believing Hermione to be elsewhere, he slipped the key into the door and turned the knob. He stepped through the door into her dim flat. He closed the door and walked tentatively around the room. Favorite photographs of Hermione, Ron, and him adorned the fireplace mantle and books collapsed the shelves of the two built-in bookcases flanking either side of it. He picked up the familiar afghan and raised it to his face. He drew in the faint scent of Hermione's perfume before realizing he had his face dug in the throw. Clearing his throat, he draped the afghan back on the sofa.
"Er, Hermione?" he called. He wasn't sure whether to yell or whisper. If she was here, she certainly wasn't expecting him. Paraplegic or not, her hexes were cause for concern. "Hermione? It's me, Harry."
He walked through the kitchen and looked around. The tea kettle was warm on the stove.
"Hermione?" he called again, walking down the hallway to what he assumed was her bedroom. He pushed the door open and sneaked his head through the narrow opening.
"Hermione?" he said at a whisper. The room was large enough for her bed, a bedside table, and a small dresser. He ran his fingers along the dresser and noticed the light streaming from the half-opened door to the bathroom. He stood stock-still, not knowing how to proceed.
She had no idea he was coming back, let alone coming into her flat unannounced. If he poked his head into the bathroom, she'd release a scream tantamount to that of an unpotted mandrake. However, the longer he stood in her bedroom, the more convinced he became that the door would open and she'd hex her intruder into next week before stopping to realize who he was.
Feeling it better to accept a quick death on his own terms, he stepped toward the bathroom door. He fisted his hand in a vain attempt to stop it from shaking. When it didn't work, he placed it on the door and began to push it open. "Er, Hermione," he said in as careful a voice as he could muster.
She didn't respond. He pushed the door open farther and peeked through the opening. "Hermione? It's me, Harr…"
The breath evaporated from his lungs as he stood rooted to the floor. Visions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament's second task flashed through his mind as he saw her lying at the bottom of the bathtub. She had a knot on her forehead above her right eye, and her hair was floating around her pale face as if caught in a gentle breeze.
"Hermione!" he screamed.
He threw open the door and dove toward the tub. Splashing a wave of chilled water onto the floor, he thrust his hands into the tub and grabbed under her arms. Fighting to keep hold of her slippery skin, he dragged her from the water and dropped her on the bathroom rug.
"Hermione!" he called as he hovered over her. "Oh God, please wake up," he begged. She wasn't breathing. He dropped his ear to her bare chest and strained to hear the beating of her heart.
Nothing.
"Oh my God," he cried, snapping his head back up and putting a hand under her neck. He had a vague recollection of a first aid class he'd undertaken in primary school. Instinct drove him as he covered her mouth with his and blew the air from his lungs into hers. He could hear it rattling in her chest and took another breath, and another.
She wouldn't breathe. She wouldn't respond. He refused to believe she was dead. His eyes were stinging with horrified tears as he pressed the heels of his hand between her breasts. She was bouncing off the floor with the force of his thrusts.
"Come on, Hermione…please," he begged as he continued to pound away at her sternum. He dropped his mouth back to hers and blew another breath into her lungs as hot tears slipped down his cheeks.
He was losing her.
He tried to blow another breath, but it caught in his throat as he started to sob. "Please, Hermione," he cried. "I can't lose you - not now," he pleaded.
His breath rattled in her chest again. He sat up and looked down at her as her eyes fluttered open and she gasped for air. Her body wracked with convulsions. The water from her lungs sprayed the floor beside her. Harry, overwhelmed with relief, collapsed into a fit of sobs as he pushed her onto her side. She coughed so hard he thought she would break in two. When she cleared her lungs enough to draw breath, he pulled her over onto her back and saw her fight to keep her eyes open.
"Hermione?" His voice cracked as he ran his fingers over her cheek. "You're okay. You're okay," he repeated more for his own edification than for hers.
"I'm here," he assured. "I won't leave you again." The color returned to her cheeks and her eyelids fluttered closed. He paused for a moment, relishing in the sound of her respiration. He looked around the bathroom and found her dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. He pulled it down and covered her with it before gathering her in his arms and heading for the fireplace.
***
Harry grew angrier with every second he remained caged in this sterile room. He'd flooed to St. Mungo's with Hermione clutched to his chest. He barely explained what happened before a tall, dark-haired healer shuttled her away. The clock jested that it had only been an hour since his arrival here even though it felt like ten years.
He sat in the waiting room chairs, he paced the floor and he stared at outdated copies of Witch Weekly. Nothing assuaged the impatience within him. He wanted to see her. He wanted information. He wanted answers.
He wanted to kill Ron.
He leapt from the chair and paced a trail through the floor as he thought of the conversation he had with his best friend.
*
"Ron," Harry asked, stepping onto the terrace of Ron and Hermione's flat.
"Hi'ya, Harry," he replied as he turned to see who joined him. Harry walked to the railing and propped his elbows along the top as Ron did. He watched the people carry on with their lives on the street below.
"All right, Harry?" Ron questioned.
"I, er - need to talk to you about something," Harry answered. Ron turned to face him and leaned sideways along the terrace railing.
"Go ahead," he replied. Harry took a breath and looked back over the busy street.
"I'm going away for a while," Harry said. He cast a quick glance in Ron's direction to judge his reaction. Ron didn't seem fussed one way or the other. "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."
"Why are you leaving?" Ron asked. Harry looked at him and tried to think of an appropriate response. There were several reasons why he decided to go. He didn't feel comfortable sharing all of the reasons…well, more specifically, sharing one of the reasons.
He needed time to clear his head. He needed time to process what transpired during the final battle and what it meant for him now. His future was his own and he had no idea what to do with it. He didn't think he'd arrive at that conclusion without taking a sabbatical of sorts. He had to get away from the memories, the limelight…and her.
Harry considered Hermione one of his best friends since he was eleven years old. As they grew older, he noticed the affection Ron developed for her. Given the considerations of the prophecy, he found little interest in matters of the heart. When Ron and Hermione began dating, during their seventh year, Harry was supportive. Why shouldn't he be? The nagging self-doubt in the back of his mind continued to remind him that every day was borrowed time.
Then the battle came.
Hermione made it possible for Harry to defeat Voldemort. Without her sacrifice, Harry wouldn't have survived the attack led by Lucius Malfoy. She threw herself in front of his spiraling black curse and crumbled to the floor in front of Harry. He thought she was dead. A rage unlike any he experienced erupted within him. He only had vague memories of the fight that ensued. In the end, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort were dead.
He spent the next few days at Hermione's bedside. He was grateful she was alive but guilt-ridden over her injury. She tried to convince him the choice was hers and that she'd be cured in record time. But something in him didn't accept the "happy ending" she'd proposed. Happy endings didn't happen to him. That became obvious the more time he spent with her.
The longer he stayed at her bedside, the more he realized his feelings for her did not stop at friendship. Every time he closed his eyes he watched her fall. He saw the look in her eyes as she decided to dive in front of him. He understood she'd given her life for his and that realization, more than anything, awakened something within his soul.
He lived the next several weeks in a self-imposed hell. Hermione and Ron were in love. Ron spent as much time at her side as Harry. He showed Harry the ring in confidence and presented it to Hermione upon her release from the hospital. Harry was congratulatory in public, but in private part of him died with her answer to Ron…"yes."
"I just need to get out of here for a while," Harry said.
Ron nodded. "What are you going to tell Hermione?" he asked.
"I already told her," Harry answered. Ron's indifference faltered. He looked at him with an unreadable expression.
"What did she say?"
"She was supportive," Harry replied. For reasons he couldn't explain he didn't feel like giving Ron the details of their conversation. "I'll make the same promise to you that I made to her," Harry added.
"What's that?"
"I promised her that I would come back." Ron nodded in agreement. "But, I need you to promise me something as well," he continued. Ron furrowed his brow as Harry voiced his request. "Take care of her, Ron. You know how stubborn she is." Ron let out a scoffing chuckle. "Don't let her do anything stupid."
"I'll try," he whispered. Harry raised an eyebrow and turned to face him.
"You love her, don't you?" Harry asked. Ron hesitated just long enough to annoy Harry.
"You know I do," he answered.
"Then I trust her care to you," Harry replied.
*
"Bloody brilliant, that," Harry barked to the empty waiting area. He flopped onto a worn green chair, propped his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. He took a few deep breaths and relaxed against the back of the chair. His eyes met those of the mediwitch from the information desk who'd been stealing glances at him since he arrived. Over the course of his sabbatical, he grew accustomed to a life free of paparazzi. Apparently, London did not forget him.
He stood up, his movement startling the mediwitch back to her task, and walked to the window.
"Mr. Potter," a voice interrupted as Harry spun around. It was the same healer that grabbed Hermione out of his arms over an hour ago. His serious expression sent Harry's heart pounding. He crossed the room in three steps and met him at the door.
"Is she all right?" he blurted out before the healer could begin.
"My name is Healer Morgenstern," he replied without answering the question. "I've been working with Hermione for over a year," he continued.
"Is she all right?" Harry repeated.
Morgenstern raised his hands in front of him. "She's all right," he answered.
Harry felt a crushing weight lift from his shoulders as he crumbled into a vacant chair. He buried his misting eyes in his hand as he heard the healer take the chair next to him. "Thank you," Harry said with a wavering voice.
"She has you to thank," Morgenstern replied. "You saved her life. I needn't tell you how fortuitous your timing was. Had you arrived a moment later…," he trailed off. "Well…" Harry nodded his understanding. He couldn't bring himself to say the words either.
"Can I see her?" Harry requested. Morgenstern stood up and straightened his coat.
"Not yet," he lamented. "She's not regained consciousness. We're not sure how long her brain was without oxygen. We have several tests we need to perform to rule out permanent brain damage," he explained. Harry's levity vanished. "It will be a few hours before I'll allow visitors."
His face softened and he clasped Harry on the shoulder. "Go home and take a kip, Harry. Get cleaned up. You'll worry her if you look haggard when she wakes."
He gave Harry a smile and left through the same door he entered. Harry stood in the room without knowing what to do. The mediwitch at the information desk looked uncomfortable at best. She shuffled papers around and avoided his eyes. Harry was about to ask the location of the nearest hotel when he realized the source of her discomfort. As he stepped to the desk, Ron stepped out of the shadows on the other side.
"I came as soon as I heard. How is she?" his voice cracked.
The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood at attention. "Fine, no thanks to you," he hissed. Ron's head snapped up and his eyes flashed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he rebuffed.
"You promised me," Harry spat. "You said you'd keep her safe. I only left because I trusted you to take care of her!"
"I did take care of her!" Ron argued.
"And you did a bloody good job of it!" Harry yelled. "She drowned! She drowned in her own bathtub! Where the hell were you?!" Harry stepped inches from Ron as he lambasted him.
"She left me!" Ron yelled.
"And I'm sure you fought to change her mind," Harry barked. He turned away and paced the floor in order to assuage the overwhelming urge to punch Ron in the face.
"I don't know what happened," Ron muttered. "Something changed. We were miserable, Harry. I thought it best to let her go while we could still be friends."
Harry turned on his heel and caught the furtive glance the mediwitch directed toward Ron. Reality clicked into place and a fire erupted in his chest. He fought to contain the rage welling in him.
"I'm curious, Ron," Harry hissed. "We've only been here an hour. Hermione's parents don't even know what happened; neither does your mother and you have more family working in the Ministry than I can count."
"So?" Ron questioned.
"How did you know we were here, and why are you not surprised to see that I'm back?"
He asked the question but already knew the answer. The mediwitch's cheeks flushed and she busied herself with the same papers she'd shuffled for ten minutes. When Ron didn't answer, Harry's tenuous grasp on civility vanished.
"You son of a bitch!" he crossed the space between them in two steps and realized he'd thrown a punch after Ron sprawled across the floor with a bloodied lip. The mediwitch leapt from her chair and rushed to his side. She glared at him as a pair of strong arms descended around Harry and pulled him away.
"Geroff me," Harry barked as he struggled against the arms restraining him.
"I will not," Morgenstern's voice chastised. "Emily, get him out of here." The mediwitch helped Ron to his feet and tried to pull him down the corridor. Ron and Harry stared at each other with glaring eyes before he gave into her attempts and she led him away. As they disappeared around the corner, Morgenstern released Harry and he turned to face him.
"I will not have this kind of behavior here," Morgenstern warned.
Harry shuffled from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"As well you should be," Morgenstern continued.
Harry looked at his feet. He'd lost his temper and wasn't proud of it. He chanced a glance at Hermione's healer. His eyes drifted down the corridor where Ron and Emily disappeared. After a brief silence he returned his attention to Harry and cleared his throat.
"That being said," he paused. "Thank you. I've wanted to do that for months." Harry was dumbfounded. "Excuse me, I need to get back to Hermione." He turned to walk out of the room and stopped as he reached the door. "Come back at nine. It's after visiting hours, but I'll leave word with the information desk to allow you."
*
Harry could've hired a room for the evening but chose not to. Since he wasn't allowed to see Hermione, he settled for tending to her flat. He let himself in with the same key he used before. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was not there, but her apartment seemed desolate. The faint smell of her perfume mingled with the lingering aroma of chamomile tea. He busied himself straightening the parlor. He folded her cardinal afghan and straightened her books on the shelf. He couldn't help but smile to learn that she managed to collect the separate editions of Hogwarts: A History. He made her bed and fluffed her pillows. He managed to attend to every room, knowing full-well he was avoiding the last.
He took a breath and opened the door to her bathroom. The enchanted candles, which he didn't notice earlier, floated in midair. He drew his wand from his back pocket and vanished them. He looked to the water, now ice cold, in the bathtub and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't erase the vision of Hermione's pallid complexion and floating hair. He tried to shake the image from his head as he opened his eyes. He grabbed a towel from the rack on the opposite wall and began cleaning up the water that had splashed on the floor. In a matter of minutes he returned the bathroom to an organized fashion and stepped back to the bedroom. He dropped onto her bed and buried his head in his hands. So much transpired in the last few hours he scarcely knew what to make of it.
But he knew this much…he was exhausted. The room was quiet; Hermione's bed was warm and soft and her pillow smelled like vanilla shampoo. Before he had time to consider the appropriateness of his actions he'd fallen asleep on her bed.
*
"Er, I'm here to see Hermione Granger," Harry addressed the old wizard manning the information desk. His eyes drifted upward from the Daily Prophet. He cast a disinterested glance in Harry's direction until his eyes found the infamous scar emblazoned on Harry's forehead. Harry smoothed the fringe over his forehead as the star-struck guard handed him a badge. Before the guard mustered the courage to speak, Harry took it and walked through the door. He looked at the room number stamped on the badge and searched the numbers on the wall to find the appropriate corridor.
"Mr. Potter," Morgenstern's voice called down the corridor. "You're right on time," he said. The healer was emerging from her room, chart in hand, and approached Harry with a smile.
"How is she?" Harry asked.
"We're still waiting on a few tests from the potions lab, but the prognosis looks good. We'll have a better idea when she wakes up," the healer explained. Harry nodded his head and started toward the door as Morgenstern placed a hand on his chest. "I doubt I need to tell you that your presence here might be a surprise to Hermione. Be gentle with her," he warned.
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at Morgenstern's hand in speculation. "I trust there aren't any surprises waiting for me," Harry said, raising his eyes to the healer's. "Between the two of you," he clarified.
Morgenstern's face remained set. "She's been in my care for several months. I am concerned for her physical and emotional well-being. I shall have words with anyone who chooses to impede her progress," Morgenstern replied. He dropped his hand from Harry's chest and disappeared down the corridor. Harry returned his attention to the oak door before him and pushed it open.
Much like the last time she recovered at St. Mungo's, the room reflected the surroundings that would soothe and comfort the person assigned to it. In Hermione's case, the room looked identical to her last admission. The polished mahogany floor disappeared into a wall of carved bookshelves that lined the entire room. Books of every variety sat on the shelves, organized by subject matter. Hermione lie in a massive four poster bed covered in a fluffy duvet. The dim lamplight cast a mellow hue across her face. The only indication that this room was housed in a medical facility was a thin band of blinking orbs that glinted on the wall above her head. Harry stepped to her bedside as a deep set crimson chair appeared beside her.
He settled himself into the chair drawing in the peaceful expression marking her features. The color returned to her cheeks and her hair glistened from the amber lights above her head. Her arms were lying at her sides as her chest rose and fell with predictable rhythm. He slid his hand across the bed coverings and wrapped her hand in his. He found himself fighting back tears as he relished in the warmth radiating from her fingers. It was enough to make him believe in a higher power as he'd prayed to every one he could name to make this moment a reality.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He was torn between the desire to watch her sleep and the overwhelming need to see her eyes. He brushed his hand along her cheek letting his thumb drag along the softness of her complexion. His heart leapt as he felt her cheek press into his hand. A weak smile creased her lips as her eyes fluttered. Eager to see the warmth of her eyes Harry slid to the edge of the chair and propped his elbows on her bed. His face ached with the smile he'd not been able to form in days.
"It wasn't a dream," she whispered as her eyes found his.
Harry shook his head and kissed the back of her hand again. "No, I'm here." She squeaked an inaudible response as Harry dragged his chair closer. "You scared the bloody hell out of me," he chuckled as she returned the grandest smile she could muster.
Hermione's mouth bobbed open and closed and her respiration increased. The blue light above her head materialized into a snitch-sized orb that flew from the wall. It hovered over her for a few seconds and replaced itself.
In an effort to keep his solitude with her unbroken, Harry tried to calm her. "It's okay, Hermione."
With his free hand, he smoothed the hair back from her forehead. Her shoulders relaxed and her breathing returned to normal as he continued to run his fingers through her hair.
"You're beautiful."
The words escaped his lips before he realized it. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away from him. Startled by his own impropriety, he released her hand and sat back in the chair.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. The room fell into uncomfortable silence.
"Look who's awake!" Morgenstern's voice interrupted as the door swung open. Harry looked up and noticed the smile that erupted on Hermione's face. Her healer noticed it as well. "There's that beautiful smile!" He flopped down on the bed next to her and took her hand. "Well, I could tell you how you're feeling but I'd rather ask the question and look concerned." She smiled again. Harry suddenly felt like an uninvited guest.
"My throat hurts," she squeaked.
Morgenstern nodded. "That's to be expected. It will get better in a few days. Anything else?"
"My chest," she whispered. Morganstern lit his wand and looked into both of her eyes.
"You have Mr. Potter to thank for that," he replied. "Nox." He sat back on the bed and cast Harry a fleeting smile. "However, I think you'd rather have a sore sternum than the alternative." Hermione's eyes dropped to her feet. "Well, I'm comfortable in saying you will make a full recovery, Miss Granger," the healer announced, "provided you stay in the shallow end." He chuckled at his own joke and stood up. With a glance between Hermione and Harry he left them in the same awkward silence that his appearance assuaged.
"I, er - should probably go," Harry said, getting to his feet. Hermione's head snapped toward him and she grabbed his hand.
"No," she whispered. "Stay with me…please." She tugged Harry toward the bed. She gave him a guarded smile and appeared to search for the words. "Harry," she began. He leaned in closer. "I don't know what to say," she continued.
He knew how she was feeling. After the final battle, he fought the same embarrassment when trying to face her. He couldn't stand to hear it. He placed his finger on her lips to silence her before she could continue.
"We're even."
Her face broke into a smile matched only in his dreams; he couldn't help but reflect it. He pulled his finger away from her soft lips and busied himself straightening her covers. She drew a breath and closed her eyes.
"You need your rest," he directed.
Her eyes flew open in alarm and she grasped his hand. He leaned over her and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'll be right here when you wake up." She nodded her head and her eyes closed as quickly as she'd opened them. He dared not move until her breathing became deep and regular.
As he pulled himself from her side, he couldn't help what came out of his mouth. It was the one thing he was too frightened to tell her when she was awake and the one thing he wanted, more than anything, for her to know.
"I love you," he whispered as he kissed her forehead again.
Harry borrowed the cardinal throw from the foot of her bed and curled up in the chair the room furnished for him. It was the first time, in months, that he truly slept.