Chapter Three: The Road Less Traveled
It was dark here…and cold. The light fled from this place as prey from the hunt. Light was its nemesis. Light was the enemy to the nothingness that swallowed her. But the pain was gone…and she could walk.
She took tentative steps as she peered through the pitch in search of something...anything. There was nothing. Dread settled in her chest as the unfamiliarity of this place consumed her.
That's when she saw it.
As a pinprick from a distant land, she saw the light. It radiated warmth and love. It drew her in. She walked toward it. There she would find comfort, family and belonging. She knew it as well as she knew Hogwarts: A History. Enraptured with renewed mobility, she broke into a run. The light grew brighter, wider and more welcoming as she approached. A smile tugged at her lips as she felt the warmth wash over her. She strained her ears to understand the whispered voices just beyond. In doing so, she heard one from behind.
"Please, Hermione."
She stopped and turned toward the voice. It was Harry's. She strained her eyes against the darkness. "Harry?" she called. Her voice did not echo. It did not ring. It evaporated into the depths before her.
"You can't leave me - not now."
"Harry, where are you?" she yelled.
Without sparing a backward glance to the beckoning warmth of the light, she set off in search of him. Unsure of her surroundings, she took careful steps with extended arms. She heard him. She knew it. He was here.
"Harry, I can't find you! Where are you?" she called again.
The darkness grew colder and she glanced over her shoulder. The light was dying, growing ever dimmer as a candlewick at its last breath. Panic rose in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs ignited with the painful fire of demand. Her legs fell numb sending her crashing to the unseen floor. She gasped for air and her body convulsed. Waves of pain shot through her chest and ribs as she coughed uncontrollably but she could hear him. He was crying.
I'm dying.
She fought to see through the darkness, to fight the beast that threatened to pull her away. Harry was back. She couldn't leave him - not now.
A harsh light, unlike that which called to her, filled her vision. Her chest throbbed in protest as the viscous air burned her lungs. His face swam through the haze before her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, tell him how much she missed his company and ask him all the details of his sabbatical, but her voice produced no sound.
"It's okay. It's okay," he said. "I'm here. I won't leave you again." The darkness consumed her. But he remained. She could feel him. When she opened her eyes she saw him. He occupied an overstuffed chair to her left and she felt the familiar warmth of her hand wrapped in his. She was at St. Mungo's. Morgenstern tended to her. She'd fallen asleep.
Hermione opened her eyes. She relived these dreams so often over the past few hours, or maybe it was days, that she couldn't separate her unconscious meanderings from reality.
Only one thing remained constant…Harry.
Feeling the solitude radiate from her chilled hand, she looked to the bedside chair. Harry slouched on his right side. His shoes piled on the floor beneath his legs which lie haphazard over the upholstered arm. His head peeked out from the crimson throw he swaddled himself in and his chin rested on his chest. His heavy breaths eclipsed the whirring sounds streaming from the mediorbs over her head.
She felt the smile tug the corners of her mouth as she gazed at him. He looked so peaceful. The door clicked to her right and she turned to see Healer Morgenstern enter the room.
"Hi," she whispered with a crackling voice. His eyes flicked to the chair and back to her as he settled on the edge of her bed.
"Throat still sore, eh?" he said with a smirk. Hermione trailed her fingers along her neck and nodded as she winced and swallowed the bludger lodged in her throat. "It will get better."
He lit his wand and pulled her left eyebrow up. She could hear the blood pound in her ears as the vibrant light pierced her cornea. He leaned over her and repeated the process with her right eye. Blinking oily spots from her vision, she felt his hand palpate her sternum. She gasped as an unexpected dart of pain shot through to her back. He muttered a spell as his wand trailed over her chest and the throbbing ebbed away.
"There," he finished. "That should help."
Hermione drew a breath and smiled.
"It does," she croaked. He snapped his hand toward her and shook his head. Her eyebrows knitted together as he grinned.
"Of all the orders I've ever given you, Hermione, this will be the most difficult for you to follow." He sniggered to himself. "You cannot speak a word for at least twenty-four hours. Your throat and lungs don't take well to lye-based soaps, or water, or convulsive coughing for that matter." He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "And since I've sentenced you to silence…you'll have to keep that between us as well."
He winked and rose from the bed. She couldn't help but smile. Not long after Harry left, her relationship with Ron spiraled into oblivion. Her Hogwarts classmates were consumed by their careers. Time and relationships slipped away from everyone. Working from her flat, Hermione became one of those people everyone intended to visit. No one did.
Healer Morgenstern filled a void in her life when Harry left. He encouraged her to talk through her emotional issues, as well as the physical ones. In truth, he became more than her healer - he became her friend.
This wasn't the first time he kissed the back of her hand and flashed a mischievous wink. Such was his modus operandi when they exchanged playful banter. It was the reason she refused to call him Adam. She didn't reserve herself on professional grounds; she did so because she knew it irked him beyond measure.
She heard the door close and realized she was stroking her fingers along her neck. She relaxed into her pillow and turned back to Harry.
She met a vexed expression that caused the smile to slide from her face. He sat, propped on his elbow, eyeing the door where Morgenstern last appeared. He seemed to feel her eyes on him and gathered himself in an instant. He threw off his blanket and flashed a warm smile. She couldn't help but smile back; she never could. His grin was contagious.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Shhh." He pulled his chair close to her bedside. "You're not supposed to be talking." Hermione opened her mouth to reply and Harry cut her off with a wave of his hand. She sank against her pillows and lowered her eyes. He laughed. "I'm just saying I wouldn't put it past that bloke Morgenstern to use the 'silencio.'"
Harry was right. Morgenstern would relish the opportunity to spell her into silence for twenty-four hours. In thinking about it, she wondered why he hadn't done it already. The answer was as obvious as the question. Committing herself to silence inflicted greater torture than if he provided a convenient excuse.
"What's that look for?" Harry asked. Hermione looked away from the door where Morgenstern last appeared and back to the best friend at her side. She realized her eyes were rolling over her healer's propensity to run up the score. No matter, what comes around goes around.
"Oh," Harry clarified. "I guess you can't answer that, can you?"
He smiled, grasped her palm in his, and dropped his forehead to the back of her wrist. She reached over, listening to his peaceful breathing, and ran her fingers through his hair. She pushed herself onto her side and relaxed into the down pillows. Silence soothed the companionable air between them. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand as her fingers tousled the hair-that-would-not-lay-flat. Minutes passed, perhaps hours; she didn't care.
He'd kept his promise.
"Hermione?"
A familiar voice broke the silence. Harry's head snapped up, startling her enough to recoil her own hand from his hair. She rolled onto her back as Ron walked through the door. He clutched a bouquet of baby snapdragons. She smiled as her eyes fell upon her favorite flower. His face brightened upon seeing her but she didn't miss the hesitation in his step as his eyes found Harry's. She looked between them both, catching Harry's glare only seconds before he disguised it. Ron placed the flowers on her bedside table and dropped a kiss to her cheek. Harry's hand slid from hers as he crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione glanced from Harry to Ron as if courtside at Wimbledon.
Something was wrong.
Ron settled into the straight-backed chair on the opposite side of the bed and avoided formal discussion with Harry. It was the Tri-wizard tournament all over again. For reasons she didn't understand, the atmosphere in her room spiraled from warm companionship to palpable tension. She was clever enough to realize one thing; she was both literally and figuratively caught in the middle.
"How are you feeling?" Ron asked. Hermione smiled and nodded. She fingered the petals of the snapdragons and smiled brighter. Ron's face fell in confusion. Hermione pointed to her throat and shrugged her shoulders. Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "You can't talk?" he questioned. Hermione shook her head in response. "Why not?"
"It might have something to do with drowning in her own bathtub."
Hermione rounded on Harry. His glare chilled the room and she saw the tension rippling through his forearms. She turned back to Ron who ignored him altogether.
"I thought to visit before the troops arrived," he continued. "Mum found out what happened, so I'm sure the queue will be twenty deep by the time I leave."
"And when will that be?" Harry interrupted.
Hermione couldn't take it. She snapped her head to Harry's. "What has gotten into you?!" her voiced cracked.
The words vibrated in her throat, shooting a dart of pain through her larynx as she rubbed her neck. Her words drew Harry from the glower trained on Ron. His eyes floated above her head to the strip of mediorbs Hermione heard clicking and whirring. His expression softened and he reached for her hand. She pulled away. She didn't want to be comforted. She didn't want to be calm.
"What happened?" she croaked, looking between a lifetime of friendship on either side of her bed.
Ron's eyes dropped. The flashing lights from the mediorbs highlighted his swollen pink lip. She grazed a finger across it and Ron sucked in a breath.
"I thought you couldn't talk?" he asked, now inspecting his lip with his own fingers.
"She's not supposed to talk," Harry bit.
"Shove off, Harry!" Ron snapped. Before she knew it, they both leapt to their feet, casting vicious snarls toward each other.
"Stop it!" she barked over the increasing cacophony of the mediorbs. Tears sprung to her eyes from the razor blades that sliced her throat.
"Get out," another voice interjected. She leaned back against the pillows and looked around Ron. A red-faced Morgenstern stood in the doorway with menacing presence.
"Yes, Ron. Get out," Harry replied with a tangible chill in his voice.
Morgenstern moved to the end of the bed and flicked his wand. He caught the green orb that flew from the wall and it popped open in his hand. He scratched the quill over the parchment in her chart and did not look up from his endeavor. "Both of you." He released the orb and it flew back to its place on the wall.
Hermione tried to protest as the blue orb zipped to his hand. But as she drew a breath to respond, the air rattled in her lungs and she fell into heaving coughs. The involuntary compulsion to clear her lungs set fire to her chest and throat. Eyes watering and unable to hold herself up, she slid down the pillows and saw Harry's face replaced by Morgenstern's.
"Out! Now!" he directed as he slid onto the bed and pulled Hermione over his arm. She saw Harry back away from the bed as the coughing eased. "When you learn to behave as men you can return," he barked. "Separately!"
She heard their footsteps grow faint until the door clicked shut and Hermione drew clear breath. Her body relaxed against Morgenstern's right arm as his left massaged a wide circle along her back. He pulled her up and set her back against the pillows. She buried her face in her hands and avoided his eyes.
"Hermione," he whispered. She dropped her hands and raised her eyes to his. "My first priority is your health." She nodded. "I won't tolerate visitors if this is the result," he said, waving her chart in the air.
She played with the threading on the duvet and nodded again.
"You have to rest if your body is going to recover." He drew a vial from the pocket of his robe. "Drink this," he ordered. "Don't look at me like that. You'll never turn off that infernal brain of yours and sleep without it."
Dejected, Hermione reached for the vial and tipped her head back. As the potion slid down her throat, Morgenstern continued, "Besides, short of the silencio, it's the only way I can shut you up."
Hermione wanted to glare at him but her eyes grew heavy. Warm waves slipped over her body and the room dimmed. She felt the duvet rise on her chest and heard Morgenstern's chuckling voice drift away.
"I'll pay for that later."
***
Ron stalked from the room with Harry on his heels. He decided to add this morning to the litany of events he'd fucked up with Hermione. The list was long and spattered with good intentions gone awry. This was no different.
"You've got some nerve showing up here," Harry sneered.
Ron rounded on him. "What in bloody hell are you on about? Just because we didn't make it as a couple doesn't mean she's any less my friend than yours!"
"And we're lucky she's here to be a friend to anyone!"
"Well, thank Merlin for the savior of the world!"
He was out of control and he knew it. But he was livid and couldn't stop himself. "Or should I say 'thank Harry'?" He spat as he clasped his hands in mock prayer.
Add another one to the list.
"You don't know what in blazes you're talking about," Harry replied. His voice dropped several octaves and cooled the air between them. Ron took a step back and surveyed the man before him with disbelieving eyes. He knew, all too well, what he was talking about. Harry knew it, too.
Since the day they left for Hogwarts, Ron existed as one half of an infrastructure meant to support Harry Potter. The other half lay in a hospital bed beyond the door. They traversed hell and high water together and although Ron suffered moments of star-struck jealousy, he never forgot Harry's position. Nor did he envy it. The realization that he tread upon hallowed ground snapped Ron to his senses.
"Listen, Harry," he began. "I know you think I broke my promise. Maybe you're right." Harry crossed his arms over his chest and continued to seethe. "But you know as well as I do, when her mind is set to do something, rampaging hippogriffs won't stop her. We were miserable together. She wanted out, and I didn't want to argue anymore."
He believed Harry heard his words if only because he didn't rebuke them. Ron met his eyes for a moment before turning to the window. He couldn't voice the truth as he perceived it.
I wasn't good enough for her.
"She was in love with you, Ron." Harry's voice grew quiet. "What more did you need?"
Ron scoffed at the implication. He couldn't escape the irony that, for once, his experience exceeded Harry's. "Love isn't everything."
He turned around. Harry's disbelieving expression creased his brow as Ron scoffed. "You think love is something you hear on the wireless. It's not all passion and perfection."
"So you're saying you never loved her?" Harry barked.
"No!" Ron threw his hands in the air. "I'm saying love is not what you think it is! Sooner or later the passion fades and you have to figure out how to exist in the same space together. Dishes have to be done, flats tidied, clothes washed, bills paid."
Ron paced the floor trying to escape the words his heart screamed. Sometimes love wasn't enough. If love was all they needed, they could've survived. He could've helped her heal…helped her feel something. But he never did. He never could; not when he brewed her potions, not when he massaged her legs…not when he made love to her.
"No matter what you think, I've always loved Hermione," Ron said, turning back to Harry. "I always will. Nothing can change that." Harry's eyes flicked over Ron's shoulder as he stiffened once more.
"Nothing can change that?" he began, the bile creeping back to his voice, "or no one?"
Ron glanced over his shoulder to see Emily leading his frazzled mother down the corridor toward him. When he turned back, Harry was gone.
"Here he is, Mrs. Weasley," she announced as Ron turned to greet his mother.
"Ron," Molly began. She pulled him into her arms and hugged him. He wanted to be annoyed with her coddling, but truth be told, he needed a hug. "How is she?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. I didn't get much time with her before…" The door opened behind him and Morgenstern appeared with her chart. Ron's eyes caught the healer's before he found interest in the floor tiles.
"Are you Hermione Granger's healer?" Molly asked.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "How can I help you?"
"How is she? Can I see her? Is there anything I can do to help?" she fired in rapid succession.
Morgenstern's hands flew up in mock surrender. "You must be Molly Weasley." She nodded as he ticked the answers off on his fingers one at a time. "She'll be fine if I can keep her rested." He cut a glance toward Ron. "You may see her, although at the moment, she's not much company. I've given her a sleeping draught to soothe her agitation."
"Agitation?" Molly interrupted. "Why would she be agitated?"
Ron felt Morgenstern's eyes searing through the side of his head. "I think your son can answer that question better than I," he replied. "If you'll excuse me, I have a seven year old growing potatoes in his ears down the corridor." He shuffled past Molly as she rounded on Ron.
"Ronald?!" she barked. "What have you done to Hermione?"
"Nothing, Mum," he retorted.
Molly harrumphed and brushed past him through the doorway to Hermione's room. It snapped shut and Ron released the breath he didn't realize was trapped in his chest.
"Your mum is sweet," Emily remarked.
Ron's head shot up from the tiled floor he inspected. "Er, thanks."
She blushed and crossed her arms over her chest, twirling one long, blond lock between her fingers. "Listen," she hesitated. "I really enjoyed spending time with you last night."
Ron felt the heat of discomfort creep under his collar. He glanced around in search of prying eyes.
"Emily," he began. "I appreciate your attention to my injury," he said as he touched his lip. "But I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
"Ron," she said as she stepped toward him. "I'm not looking for a relationship. But I don't see anything wrong with being your friend."
She took his hand in hers and ran her thumb along the backside of it. She squeezed his hand in hers and winked. "Go home and rest. You know I'll owl you if anything happens."
"I know," Ron said aloud to her back as she swept down the hall. "You owl me every hour."