What I'd Do For You

Disclaimer: JKR still owns HP and everything related to it; no money is being made, etc etc.

Author’s Note: Inspired by some lines in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ and by Lynney’s idea in her ever-so-brilliant fic, ‘Here With Me’ as to what the Power He Knows Not is. (‘Here With Me’ is the 6^th year as it should have been written, if JKR were a better writer…)

For Gil’s birthday. *hugs*

What I’d Do For You

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The thought kept repeating in his mind, over and over again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

He should not be the one sitting here, unhurt for all intents and purposes. Hermione shouldn’t be lying here in the Hospital bed, unconscious and hurt…

His heart clenched. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen! He was the one who should be hurt. He was always the one… It was his destiny, his curse. He hated it but not as much as he hated this. This wasn’t supposed to happen, his mind screamed silently, desperately.

He hunched over, shivers of belated reaction to the events of the evening racking his body although his hand retained its grip on hers, so painfully still.

This wasn’t supposed to happen!

The scenes from that night flashed through his memory and he lived it again. Felt all the fear, the sadness, the anger.

His memories of what had happened were blurry, moments blending into a confused mass of emotions, fears and dread.

What he did remember with stark clarity was hearing the snarled curse, “Crucio”, followed by not the blinding pain he remembered and expected, but some force slamming into him, pushing him aside and then a weight landing on top of him.

He remembered his momentary disorientation followed by the moment of horror which cut through his mind, making him sharply aware of his surroundings. He remembered the sound of her scream- high, shrill, drawn-out as he’d never heard it before- and he’d been brought back to the terrible reality of what had happened.

Hermione—she’d pushed him out of the way of the Cruciatus.

God! Her scream of agony! He’d felt every note of it as if he himself had been hit with the Unforgiveable Curse as he stared in mute horror, his mind blank, his body numb, aware of only the sight of her writhing on the ground next to him and the sound of her screams. His heart stopped, his lungs forgot how to breathe, his eyelids how to blink in that one moment, that one seemingly endless moment, as he could only stare in agony.

What followed was a blur; his mind too frozen to be aware of Lupin grabbing him and lifting him up as he ran to be followed by Bill Weasley who had lifted Hermione. He’d grabbed Hermione’s hand and retained it in his, somehow needing to hold on to her in some way, as if the strength of wishing could somehow draw her pain into himself. The pain which made her cry out occasionally or whimper- the sound so vulnerable, so unlike the strength and the confidence he associated with her that it slashed at his heart.

He’d only come back to an awareness of where he was to find that he was in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. Ron was sleeping, having been given a Sleeping Potion, so he would sleep while his broken arm was mending. Harry’d been practically force-fed some Potion which Madam Pomfrey insisted he take, despite his insistence that he was fine, only a little bruised and cut. And Hermione—she had (mercifully) lost consciousness somewhere while being carried by Bill to the Portkey which had taken them back to Hogwarts and was lying in the bed next to him.

Madam Pomfrey had frowned and shaken her head, sending a jolt of cold apprehension through his body and he’d waited until he heard her talking in lowered tones to McGonagall. “The Cruciatus when combined with the lingering effects from her wound from last year worries me. It may yet have caused some internal damage which may not be able to be completely cured with any Potions or Charms but we cannot know until she regains consciousness.”

For a moment he could have sworn he’d died and entered into some sort of hell dimension as he stared at Hermione’s still form. Some internal damage… May not be completely cured… We cannot know… Internal damage… Can’t be cured… Over and over, the phrases ran through his mind, paralyzing him until he heard a hoarse cry, “No!” rip from his own throat and the sound somehow broke through his numbness and he’d half-jumped, half-fallen out of his bed to stagger over to where Hermione lay, collapsing into the chair beside it.

He heard a vague buzzing in his ears and still, echoing in his mind, the sound of her scream…

Oh God! He shuddered, clutching her hand tighter in his, hearing a strangled whimper and only belatedly realizing it had come from him.

No, no, no, no, no… This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hermione was never supposed to be hurt. It was him; it was always him…

The Cruciatus had been aimed at him. Not her, never her… It was never supposed to be her lying here. But she’d pushed him out of the way; she’d deliberately put herself in the path of the Cruciatus to save him from it.

But God! Seeing Hermione being tortured, hurt, remembering the way it had felt as if hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin until he’d wanted to die or do anything just to make the pain go away—seeing Hermione in that sort of agony had been more torturous than anything else could have been.

He would rather endure the Cruciatus twice over than have Hermione feel even half the pain the Cruciatus inflicted.

His free hand moved to brush her hair away from her face, his fingers brushing her features in a feather-light, helpless caress.

Hermione couldn’t be hurt; he wouldn’t let her be hurt again.

Internal damage… May not be completely cured…

What would he do if Madam Pomfrey’s fears proved true?! What would he do if- if—he couldn’t even think it. What would he do…

A world without Hermione! He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened—and the thought darted into his mind that he wouldn’t want to live in a world without Hermione. He’d give up, just stop—he suddenly knew it. Nothing, least of all his own life, would matter if she were gone.

He had no idea of just how long he sat there, his hand holding hers. He knew Madam Pomfrey had come by twice to check and shaken her head and sighed at Hermione’s remaining unconscious until he was ready to put his fist through something but still, she didn’t move.

There was a slight frown on her face- as if even unconscious she were in pain and not comfortable and his heart clenched even further.

And then he felt it. The slightest movement of her fingers that had until now been so terribly still.

“Hermione,” he said hesitantly. “Hermione- are you- can you hear me?”

It seemed to take an incredibly long time before her lips parted. “Harry?” Her voice was weak, hardly more than a breath of sound; her throat dry and probably strained from her screams when she’d been hit with the Cruciatus, he realized with another pang.

“Yes, I’m here, Hermione,” he gasped out, not even caring that his voice was trembling slightly with relief.

“Are- are you okay?” He could see the amount of effort it took her to say even those few words and his heart broke at the strain he could see in her face- even as his lungs seized up and he forgot to breathe- forgot how to breathe, it seemed- forgot to think- forgot everything under the sudden wave of emotion he felt.

And he suddenly realized that nothing- not all the loyalty she’d shown him in the past 6 years- had prepared him for this moment and the almost stunning depth of caring she had just shown. When even lying in the Hospital Wing in clear pain and struggling to speak, her first thought was of him and his welfare.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he choked out, lifting one trembling hand to touch her cheek with the gentlest of touches, afraid he might hurt her. “But you- how are you?”

Her lips trembled slightly at the corners as she managed a slight, reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay,” she gasped softly, her voice little more than a thread.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling up, muttering to herself although her touch was very gentle as she cast some spells on Hermione.

He held his breath, his eyes wavering between Madam Pomfrey’s face to Hermione’s, white with strain, wincing every time Hermione caught her breath.

But then Madam Pomfrey looked up, her eyes meeting his—and he felt a surge of relief so powerful it made him dizzy and he was intensely thankful to be sitting down. There was a slight smile of relief in her eyes and her expression so that he didn’t even need to hear the words. “Miss Granger has been very lucky and should make a full recovery.”

A full recovery…

They were the three most beautiful words he’d ever heard in his life.

“However,” Madam Pomfrey added, eyeing him, “she does need rest and so do you. You will have time to talk, if you must, later.”

He only nodded, too relieved to mind her tone or her words.

“I’ll stay nearby,” he said to Hermione softly.

“I know,” she whispered before she closed her eyes.

He watched her for a few minutes until he could see by the evenness of her breathing that she’d fallen asleep again before returning to his own bed, exhausted now that his frantic worry over Hermione was abated.

He was with her when she awoke again, his face the first thing she saw.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

She managed a slight smile of reassurance. “Better.”

And the thought that had been haunting him for hours slipped from his lips without conscious thought, now that she was awake and out of pain (as he could see from the smoothing out of the lines of strain that had been on her face before). “Why?”

She looked at him in silence and he continued, his throat tight with all the emotion he’d been keeping inside for the last goodness-only-knew how many hours.

“Hermione, you- you took the Cruciatus for me. Why- why did you do that?” he asked, his voice raw with emotion and reproach. “You- you shouldn’t have done that. I- I never wanted you to do that.”

She looked at him for a long moment before she finally said, in a fierce whisper, “You have no idea just how much I would do for you!”

His breath caught in his throat and he blurted out the words without thinking, “Yes, I do. Because I’d do just as much for you.”

As if from far away, in some small corner of his mind that was still functioning, he remembered Dumbledore’s voice saying, “… the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.”

The one person… It had been Sirius then; it was all true. He had been willing to do anything to rescue Sirius—just as Sirius had given everything to rescue him. But now there was someone else. Hermione. For her, he would do anything—because, without her, he was helpless. Seeing her in pain, thinking she might be dead—they paralyzed him until he could do nothing, think nothing… And he was helpless.

What I’d do for you…

And he suddenly understood just what Dumbledore had meant when he said it was his heart that had saved him. His heart…

What would he do if Voldemort ever came after Hermione?

He’d kill him.

The very thought of it sent a surge of rage and fear and love coursing through him until he knew he could do anything if it would keep her safe.

There would be no room for doubt, for fear, for apprehension—no room for anything else except Hermione and what had been done to her. He wouldn’t stop to doubt his own strength or the risk he’d be taking because none of that would matter to him anymore if anything had happened to Hermione. None of that would matter… And against that, no one, not even Voldemort, could stand.

“You- I- I can’t stand to see you hurt,” he faltered. He would do anything to keep her safe—just as it had been his desperate wish to die to be able to see Sirius again in the Department of Mysteries that had saved him from possession by Voldemort. This was the same sort of emotion, only stronger. And it would save him again. This was what Dumbledore- what the prophecy- had meant.

The conviction grew inside him with absolute certainty and the tumult of thoughts and feelings found expression in two simple words that came from his lips of their own volition. “It’s you.”

A slight frown creased her brow and he continued on quickly, trying to express some of his thoughts. “I- it’s you, Hermione. You’re the power Voldemort knows not; it’s you. If anything happened to you, to protect you, I’d do anything. I- I thought it in the Department of Mysteries when he- when Voldemort possessed me- that I wished I could die just to see Sirius again and the feelings hurt him so he had to leave. That feeling- that emotion, that I was willing to die for someone else- only stronger- was what I felt to see you under the Cruciatus. Hermione, I- could, I would- do anything for you…”

He stopped talking, his throat tight with emotion, and there was a moment of silence. He could hear his words in his mind, could hardly believe he’d managed to say something so full of feeling; if he’d thought about what he was confessing, he would probably have not been able to, his words choked off by an instinctive wish to avoid sentiment—but he hadn’t thought before saying it. The words had just come and he’d had to say them.

He looked at her, wishing she would say something, anything, so he would know what she thought. And then she did.

Just two words, stunning in their simplicity and in their power. “I know.”

And somehow those two words said it all. She knew how much he cared, what he’d do for her—and he knew, now, just how much she’d do for him. They knew—and that was all.

~*~*~*~

That moment was playing through his mind as he stared at her, his grip on her arms firm and unyielding, as was his gaze. “I’m going on alone.”

“I’m coming with you.” It was a simple statement of fact.

He firmly squashed down the tidal wave of panic he could feel rising inside him at the very thought of Hermione facing Voldemort; he couldn’t allow himself to panic now. But his voice rose, unconsciously betraying the depths of his fear, his desperation. “No! You can’t; I can’t let you! I need to know you’ll be safe.”

She met his eyes squarely and he saw the glint of steel in her eyes and knew, with a sinking feeling, that he would lose. He could never win against her when she got that look in her eye—not even now, when he was driven by panic and an urgency he’d never felt before.

“If you think I’m going to stay here and let you face him alone, you’re deluding yourself! You said you’d do anything for me; now you have to let me come with you. Anyway, I’m not asking; I’m telling you. I’m coming- and nothing you can say or do will stop me.” Her tone softened from its implacable determination. “You can’t protect me and not let me protect you too. We’re safer and we’re stronger together—you know that.”

Their gazes warred for another moment, equally strong wills battling—until he conceded with a sigh.

“I know,” he admitted, letting his hands drop from where they’d been gripping her arms. “I just- I just hate the thought.”

“I know,” she repeated his words and he knew she meant them. She did know; she always knew and understood.

She knew that in insisting on coming with him and facing him down over it, she was having him go against every protective instinct he had (and his protective streak was a mile wide and as deep as the Atlantic Ocean). She knew- but leaving him to face Voldemort alone was one thing she couldn’t do, not even for his sake.

He heard her words again: you have no idea just how much I would do for you…

He slipped his hand into hers, the knowledge that she was with him giving him an odd sort of calm certainty, and said only, “Let’s go.”

It was time- and all he knew at that moment was that she would stay with him until the end, no matter what happened… She would face any danger, take any risks, defy any odds and not falter—for him. As he would do for her.

And that was all he needed.

The End