Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART II: The Interim
Chapter Three: Reality Bites
Remus spelled the doors open and held them that way, as the mediwitch pushed Harry's chair out into the director's office, the way they had come.
"Thanks, Remus," Hermione said, somewhat shyly calling him by his given name. There was an apologetic and embarrassed note in her voice. He nodded at her, and there was a twinkle in his eye, even as he tensely watched Harry's face. Hermione knew that Remus knew why she had gotten so upset, and did not hold her actions or her words against her.
There was a knot of people standing just inside, talking anxiously, Ron among them. He had been the one to run for a mediwitch when Healer Munson called out, and had not been allowed back into the room.
His eyes flitted nervously to Harry's still, pale face, and then darted briefly down to where Harry's and Hermione's hands were threaded together. He looked up at Hermione, a question in his eyes. She gazed back, her posture rigid, her nostrils flared, her eyes wide and dark, and traces of drying tears on her cheeks. Something like defiance and apology warred on her face.
Ron swallowed with difficulty, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat.
"He okay?" he asked. Hermione pursed her lips and nodded, a short jerky motion of her head.
"We're taking him back to his room. Do you want to come? We could talk." The last sentence was offered a little hesitantly. Their eyes met again, and one corner of Ron's mouth curled up in a mirthless half-smile.
"I guess we should," he pointed out in a quiet voice. Hermione seemed to freeze for a moment, as they continued out into the corridor. Their gazes bounced off of each other and skittered away nervously.
They said nothing more until Harry had been removed from his chair and safely ensconced in his bed. The mediwitch hooked the restraint field back up to the bed, replaced the silver tape on his hand, and rearranged the row of potions that would diffuse into his body through the adhesive. She removed a couple of empty amphorae, and bustled out of the room.
Hermione had parked the chair in the corner by the table, where it would be out of the way, and curled herself up on it, leaning her cheek against the upholstered back, her arms wrapped around her knees, imagining that she could still feel Harry's warmth in the rough fabric. Her eyes drifted over to Harry. He was breathing evenly, his forehead smoothed from pain, although his scar still stood out on his white skin like a livid weal.
She caught herself suddenly; she was breathing in time with him, and had not even realized she was doing so. Her cheeks burned, and she looked guiltily at Ron, who was watching her pensively.
"So…" she began, in what passed for a nonchalant tone, trying to paste a smile on her face, like this was any ordinary conversation that two chums might be having. Ron was not to be thusly put off.
"You know what we need to talk about," he said, and his voice was barely audible. "You were trying to tell me before the press conference, weren't you?"
"Maybe I should have been in Ravenclaw after all," she said, trying to smile and failing miserably.
"When did it happen?" Ron asked, his eyes drifting over her shoulder toward Harry.
"I'm - I'm not sure." She knew exactly what he meant. "I - I think maybe it's always been there - and I - I just never realized it before."
Ron had been standing up to that point, but now leaned heavily against the wall, as if he no longer had the strength to stand on his own.
"Does he know?" Their eyes met again, and Hermione searched his face for a long moment before answering.
"If you're asking if we've talked about it yet, the answer is no," she said slowly. "But I think he knows."
"Does he feel the same way?" Ron kept asking questions, in the same tired, resigned, neutral-sounding voice. It made Hermione want to shriek at him to stop. She felt as if fragments of their friendship were tumbling down around her ears.
She looked over at Harry. "I - I don't know. I think - I think he might." She knotted her hands together in her lap. She looked over at Ron again. His hands were at his sides, clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles were white. Even leaning against the wall, every muscle in his body was rigidly tense.
"He does," Ron affirmed, somewhat unexpectedly. His voice was laced with bitterness that he was trying to conceal.
"What?" Hermione gaped. "How do you -?"
"I think he's been in love with you for awhile now…he just didn't see it. Or maybe didn't want to…because of me," he trailed off with a sigh.
"But - but Ginny - ?" Hermione stammered stupidly.
"She said he was calling for you when they brought him up from the Chamber." Hermione colored a little.
"He begged me not to go in the Chamber," she said in a faraway voice, gazing into middle distance. "He told me I would be a liability. He almost said it then, I thought, right in front of Snape and Malfoy, but he stopped." She halted abruptly, and looked back at Ron. "I promised I wouldn't go - and I did anyway."
Ron snorted, and smiled at her a little. "I don't think he holds it against you, Hermione."
She smiled back, and then seemed to suddenly remember what they were talking about.
"Ron - " She began. Her brow was creased with concern, and there was a placating look in her eyes.
"Hermione, you don't have to -" he tried to ward her off.
"I don't want to hurt you…or Ginny…or anybody. I didn't intend for this to happen."
"I know you didn't. And neither did Harry. That's what makes it so hard." He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, and something glinted in his eyes. "Harry and Ginny broke up today," Ron blurted suddenly, and Hermione looked at him, startled.
"What happened?" Ron shrugged.
"Would you want to be in a relationship with someone who was in love with someone else?" He asked her pointedly.
She blinked at him and pressed her lips together tightly. "Right…" she said faintly.
"Hermione…" he began tentatively, after a moment of silence. "What was all that last year? With us? The canaries and everything?"
A laugh burbled suddenly from Hermione's mouth, and it was more than half sob. "I never have apologized to you about that. I was just so…angry…and scared." Ron's expression prodded her to continue. "You didn't need me." She murmured so quietly that he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.
"What?" He asked in an incredulous way.
"You didn't need me - neither of you. You had Lavender. And Harry had his Prince book." She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "And I was just there - Hermione on the outside looking in…just like I'd always been, before Hogwarts."
"Hermione, that's bollocks!" Ron protested. "You saw how well the whole thing with Lavender went! And the potions book too - remember what Harry did to Malfoy? You were right of course. We'd both be better off if we listened to you more often. We'd have flunked out five times over if not for you." He looked at her sympathetically. "We both need you - we'll always need you. Harry couldn't have done what he did in the Chamber without you. And you know he needs you. I heard you yelling it at Remus."
Hermione looked down at her feet self-consciously.
"The whole corridor probably heard you," Ron egged. "Hermione, you were swearing at him -he was our teacher!" He made huge eyes of mock horror, and pointed at her.
"I lost my head," she mumbled, flushing even though she knew Ron was teasing.
"You've a gift for understatement," he replied dryly. They looked at each other again, and Hermione felt her love for him well up inside her. He was her best friend. And if she was Harry's right arm, then Ron was hers. They were the three sides of a triangle, interconnected and unbreakable.
"I love you, Ron," she said suddenly, her voice dropping into the quiet of the room.
"Now I'm confused," he joked, but his eyes were regarding her gravely.
"Are you mad at all…about - " she inclined her head toward Harry. He half-smiled at her, a little sadly, she thought.
"Haven't got enough energy to be mad with," he said laconically. "Hurts a little." After a contemplative pause, he amended, "Maybe more than a little." He looked slightly uncomfortable to be revealing that information. "Ever since I saw you at the Yule Ball fourth year…I - I kept hoping that we'd stop fighting long enough to - and last year, I figured we'd finally gotten - " He threw his hands up in the air, and his smile twisted.
"If it'd been anybody else, Hermione…Viktor, Ernie, Seamus, Dean, anybody…I could've have cheerfully hated them for the rest of my life. But you've got me in a bind. Harry…how'm I supposed to hate him? It's not like he even went and…seduced you away from me or anything." He sank down to the floor, resting his elbow on his knees, and looked at her earnestly. "Because, really, I'm not sure I ever truly had you at all." Hermione looked stricken.
"I used to get jealous of Harry…of the attention he got, of the money he had, the fame… but he doesn't want any of that. He'd give it all up just to have someone that loves him - a family…something that I've had all my life, and never really appreciated." He seemed to be rambling a little now. "If you can give that to him, how can I begrudge him that? I've gotten used to it, you know - coming in second to Harry, being the sidekick." Hermione opened her mouth, as if to protest, but he hurried on. "It's okay," he said. "I'd rather be Harry's sidekick, and be with you and him, than front and center all by myself."
"He's lucky to have you," Hermione said rather mistily.
"He's lucky to have you," Ron demurred. "And if he -" he started to say, but Hermione waved him off.
"Spare me the `protective big brother' spiel, please!" She said, laughing. "I don't need to be convinced that you would well and truly kick his arse if the need arose." Ron puffed out his chest in a "see that you don't forget that" way.
Hermione grew quiet again. "You're - you're sure? That you're okay?"
Ron rolled his eyes at her. "I can grow up too, you know. I'll be fine…after a while." He tried to smile at her.
"And the Trio?" she asked tentatively. "Are we okay?" Her forehead creased as she regarded him. She would do almost anything for him, but she didn't know if she'd be able to give up Harry. She was hoping against hope that he would not ask that of her.
With an uncharacteristically discerning look, Ron appeared to know exactly what she was thinking. "Our friendship," he nodded toward her, then at Harry beyond her. "You know I'd rather die that give that up, right? It's been the … the best thing that's ever happened to me, running with Harry to save you from that troll in the loo." He appeared at a loss for words. "There won't be any problems between us on my account." He looked solemn, as if taking a vow, and then watched with alarm, as Hermione's eyes filmed over with tears. "You are not going to pull a Cho!" He said frantically, leaping to his feet comically, evidently deciding that the serious heart-to-heart stuff had gone on long enough. "I refuse to be a party to it." He went to the door, and exclaimed in a loud and grateful voice, "Luna! I was looking for you!" And he was gone. She wondered absently whether or not Luna had actually been out there…and what was going on with that anyway? Maybe he won't be alone too long after all.
Hermione laughed to herself a little, and wiped at the tears that had spilled down her cheeks during Ron's flight. Then, she looked over at Harry and her smile died.
The pain alone could have killed him. Healer Munson's words echoed ominously in her head, and she could not shake the feeling of dread that this had somehow been planned. That someone, with malice aforethought, had deliberately and knowingly deactivated the wards on Harry's legs, knowing the effect it would have on him.
And had the timing been deliberate as well? At a news conference, so the entire wizarding world could dissect and discuss the poor Boy Who Lived and his infirmities?
Voldemort was dead, his followers scattered and reeling from his demise, or arrested and in prison, awaiting trial. Who could hate Harry so much? Who could desire to see him in pain? Hermione could not get her mind around it, and was reminded by an ache spreading from her temples, how short a time had actually passed since she had been in a hospital bed herself.
She pushed the wheeled chair over to Harry's bedside, and stretched out in it. She reached out one hand, and laid it on one of his, taking comfort in the warmth that radiated from it. She watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically, as the wards glowed softly near his feet.
"I love you, Harry Potter," she whispered in the near-total silence, as she slipped into sleep.
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Harry didn't awaken until the next morning. When he opened his eyes, they felt sandy and heavy, and his head was throbbing in time with his pulse. He shifted a little in his bed, and groaned involuntarily, and then stared, as he saw a hand wrapped in his own.
Hermione was asleep in his chair.
He watched her unashamedly for a moment, noted the way her lashes fanned darkly down onto her cheeks, the way her lips moved slightly as if she were reading, even in her sleep. He slid his hand from around hers; it had gotten sweaty during the night, and he wiped it absent-mindedly on his bedsheet.
His movements had attracted a mediwitch, who bustled into the room to check on him. Hermione stirred and awakened at the noise. She looked at him, concern lining her face.
"How do you feel?" slipped out of her mouth before she remembered how tired he must be of that question.
"Like I've been run over by the Hogwarts Express," he said candidly. "What happened?"
Hermione explained how the wards had deactivated, thus failing to keep his legs immobile or keep him from feeling the pain.
"You - you didn't deactivate them, did you, Harry?" Hermione asked cautiously.
"How could I have done that?" he replied, equally mystified.
"Well, you couldn't have, not with your magical reserves at zero. But you're Harry Potter…you've done impossible things before."
"Then, why would I have done that? It hurt like hell. You'd have to be spare to do something like that to yourself. It felt like the reductor was hitting me all over again, and then my scar flared up a bit, and - I don't remember much after that." He paused and looked at her, squinting with concentration. "You were fighting with Remus," he recalled.
"He was trying to make me leave you," Hermione said, fixing her steady, dark gaze on him. Harry felt his stomach leave its customary resting place. Damn. They stared at each other for a moment, as the mediwitch finished fussing over Harry, and left the room, completely unnoticed.
"Hermione, I - " he began, but Hermione interrupted him, having noticed something he'd said a moment earlier.
"Did you say your scar hurt?" Worry stamped itself across her features. "Did you tell the Healer?"
"When would I have had the chance to tell the healer?" Harry sounded annoyed. "It's no big deal. It probably hurt because everything else did."
"Harry, you know when your scar hurt before…" she started.
"He's dead, Hermione!" Harry rapped out suddenly, his harsh voice startling them both. "It can't be that because he's dead. I killed him!" The words rang out in the room, in stark contrast to the normally hushed atmosphere. Harry was panting as if he'd run a sprint, and Hermione watched as a tremor shuddered over his body.
He's afraid, Hermione thought suddenly, not daring to speak those thoughts aloud. He's afraid that it's not true. And somehow that scared her more than anything else might have.
"Of course he's dead, Harry," Hermione said in an automatic way, as one would when soothing a child. "We saw him die." She decided that she would speak to Healer Munson about his scar herself.
Harry eyed her suspiciously. "You're patronizing me. You're thinking of going to tell the healer yourself." Hermione froze guiltily, startled at his perception.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" she snapped. He raked her with a lofty gaze, looking at her superiorly, knowing he was right.
"Did you ever talk to Ron?" he asked suddenly, changing the subject abruptly. She looked a bit discomposed at the sudden shift.
"We…talked," she hedged, feeling her pulse rate accelerate rapidly. Why was this making her so nervous? She twined her fingers around each other in her lap.
"How did it go?" Harry said in an intentionally vague way. His hand picked at a thread on the sheet. He wasn't looking at her.
"We broke up," she said suddenly. "If you could even call what we were doing dating."
"Hermione - " he began, the words "please tell me you didn't do this because of me" plainly apparent in his tone. He finally settled for saying, "Why?" He was still keeping his gaze down studiously. She took a deep breath.
"He didn't want to be in a relationship with someone who was… in love with someone else." There. She'd said it. She closed her eyes reflexively. When she opened them again, he was looking at her, and she felt the heat rise in her face. The love shining out of his eyes took her breath away, and she knew that the same emotion was radiating from her face as well.
"Are you?" Harry asked hoarsely. She nodded her head.
"Yes," she whispered. He smiled a little, but didn't remove his gaze from hers.
"Me too." His voice was barely audible. Hermione's hands were cold and her fingers trembled as she clenched them around the metal railing at the side of the bed. He slid his hand over slowly, and the tips of his fingers grazed her knuckles. She was intensely aware of every place that their skin touched.
He leaned toward her, but couldn't go very far with half his body fastened to the bed. His eyes flickered from her mouth back up to her eyes with uncertainty. She decided to close the distance between him, her mind shrieking something incoherently like I'm going to kiss him. I'm going to kiss Harry.
"Good morning. How is our patient this morning?" Healer Munson strolled in the door, his face buried in Harry's chart. Hermione fell back into her chair with a thump, as both teenagers glowered at the intruder.
"I've been better," Harry murmured truthfully. I was better right before you walked in!
Healer Munson checked the restraint field, and then began to do the wand-scan, talking to Harry, but watching the readout. "How did you sleep last night?"
"I slept fine. You sedated me." Harry grumped. The healer looked at him a little reprovingly, but was evidently used to patients who waxed moody from time to time. Hermione fought off a sudden, strong urge to laugh.
"Any pain in your legs?"
"Not really. A little achy, but nothing like yesterday." He was answering the questions mechanically, but his eyes kept lingering on Hermione. She could feel the warmth creeping up in her face.
"Then the restraint field has been working properly. How about your jaw? Ribs?"
"They're fine," Harry answered distantly. Hermione's hand had snaked through the railing to caress his; she started drawing a lazy pattern on his wrist with her fingernails.
"Tell him about your scar, Harry," Hermione drawled, and Harry gave her a dirty look.
"What about your scar?" Healer Munson asked with faint surprise.
"It burned a little yesterday…during the - during the ward breakdown. It's fine now." He enunciated the last sentence, glaring sharply at Hermione. She did not withdraw her hand, and continued stroking his skin.
Healer Munson made a note in the chart, and tucked the quill back into his pocket. "Let me know if it happens again," he said authoritatively. "If you're still feeling well tomorrow, we'll start the regimen to repair your legs."
"Is it - is it Skele-gro?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose with distaste.
"Some of it is," Healer Munson replied, nodding. "Your bones aren't gone, but rather severely damaged, so it gets a little more complicated. The process probably won't be as unpleasant as straight Skele-gro, but it won't be much fun. There are tendons and nerves and muscles to be repaired as well." He leveled his gaze squarely at Harry. "You're in for a long rehabilitation with those legs. But I think you could walk again."
Hermione's hand stilled on Harry's, and squeezed it softly.
"Hogwarts is re-opening in three weeks," Harry said, a little desperately. "It's my seventh year. Will I be able to go back?" The healer appeared to mull this over for a moment.
"It depends on your progress. If you're doing well enough, then it's possible that Madame Pomfrey could monitor your condition as well as I could."
It wasn't an unequivocal yes, but Harry would take it, under the circumstances. "Thank you," he said. Healer Munson nodded, but his expression was guarded, warning Harry not to get his hopes up.
Soon after the healer left, Ron came in, carrying a tray full of muffins, with one half-eaten in his hand.
"Goo' mor'ig," he said through a huge bite. Hermione watched him carefully. He seemed cheerful enough, but there were large shadows under his eyes. He tossed Harry a muffin, and offered Hermione the tray, which she declined.
The three of them sat for awhile, not sure what to say, eying each other with wary expressions. Harry was watching them like Ron was a bludger and Hermione was the Golden Snitch.
"Bloody hell, this is ridiculous!" Ron finally burst out, after swallowing the rest of his muffin. "I'm not mad at anybody, and I'll be fine. So quit looking at me like I'm some sort of - "
"Invalid?" Harry said sharply. Ron looked back at him, with something akin to panic in his eyes.
"Harry, that's not -" he said, but Harry grinned suddenly, taking the sting out of his retort.
"I was going to say `pathetic loser', you wanker," Ron muttered, throwing another muffin at him and laughing.
"Where've you been this morning?" Harry asked presently, in a more natural tone.
"Went home," Ron said in a muffled voice, stuffing most of another muffin in his mouth. "Showered, slept a little, thrashed Bill at chess, and came back here." Hermione was watching him surreptitiously. You didn't sleep much, she thought to herself.
"Bill and Fleur were over?" she asked politely.
"Yeah…" Ron rolled his eyes. "I think I'll like them a lot better once they've been married for a few years. It's still too much, `No, sit down, sweetheart, I'll refill your glass.' `Oh, isn't he ze most adorable zing you've ever seen?'" He imitated Fleur's accent, and mimed gagging himself.
"I think it's lovely," Hermione said vaguely, staring at Harry. Then she stiffened suddenly, and gasped as if she'd just remembered something. "You went home. I was supposed to go home. Why didn't my parents ever show up?" She jumped up out of the chair, and scrabbled under it for her shoes that she'd kicked off at some point during the night. "Something must be wrong. What if - ?"
"Ease up, Hermione," Ron called out. "They came by last night. I told them that Harry'd had a bad go of it, and you were staying with him. That you'd be home tomorrow."
Hermione paused and straightened up, one shoe dangling from her hand. She looked almost astonished. "Thank you, Ronald." Ron read her surprise, and answered in a miffed tone.
"You're welcome, Hermione." She drew back a little, and lowered her brows at him.
"Why do you say it like that?"
"I didn't say it like anything," Ron retorted. "You're the one who said thank you, like you couldn't believe that I would do something considerate. I'll have you know I'm a very compassionate person."
"Compassionate?" Hermione snorted. "Is that what Zacharias Smith would call you for hanging him through a Quidditch hoop and leaving him there on the last day of term last year?"
"He deserved that!" Ron seethed. "You should've heard what he said about Gryffindor."
"You're a prefect, Ron…." Hermione began primly. Harry stopped listening, but leaned back in the bed, feeling the patter of his friends' bickering washing over him like rain, strangely content.
"Oy!" Ron shouted suddenly, cutting Hermione off in mid-rant. "I almost forgot." He darted out into the hallway, and returned almost immediately with a stack of newspapers and periodicals. "Brought these for you."
"Aw, Ron!" Harry protested, eying the stack warily.
"Biggest lot of hippogriff dung I've ever seen. But I thought you'd enjoy it." Ron said cheerfully.
"You've been my best mate for six years. How is it that you obviously don't know me at all?" Harry muttered sourly, then looked at his friends sharply. They seemed to be having a conversation without speaking. "Yes, Hermione," Harry said in a biting tone. "I'm sure Ron edited out all the articles that might upset me. They're probably out in the hall for you to read later."
Ron and Hermione both eyed him guiltily.
"Damn, Harry!" Ron said, impressed. Harry glowered at them a moment longer, then held out his hand for the first newspaper.
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Healer Munson regarded him so gravely the next morning that Harry was more than a little unsettled. He had awakened in rather low spirits, which he thought was partially due to the fact that he and Hermione had not had another chance to be alone together, due to the constant flow of visitors and well-wishers in and out of his hospital room. He could also faintly remember vague shreds of a worrisome dream, though he couldn't say what it had been about.
He looked back at the healer and gulped. Hermione had arrived early, and was standing by his bed, holding his hand. A mediwitch wheeled in a small, metal cart, loaded with various potions.
"Harry," Healer Munson began. "Our objective is to first repair the damage done by the reductor spell. The potions should achieve that end, but it will not be pleasant. Once the legs have been healed, then you will have to deal with the weak muscles and relearn the act of walking."
"Let me guess…that won't be pleasant either, will it?" Harry asked dryly.
"Many times, we can use the patient's own magical abilities to assist us in the healing process. To help us in this, since your reserves are at zero, we'll give you an Amplitude potion, which should start building back your strength, magically speaking."
"That sounds good," Harry said amenably. "Why couldn't I take this earlier…through the tape-stuff?" He held up the hand that was attached to the array of potions above and behind his bed.
"We don't give it often. It would be preferable for you to build back your magical reserves at your own pace and under your own power. There are usually side effects."
"Such as?" Hermione prodded.
"Uncontrolled magical output, nightmares, visual and auditory hallucinations, nausea, vomiting…" Healer Munson raised his eyebrows in a "shall I continue" manner. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances of trepidation.
"'Uncontrolled magical output'?" Harry questioned.
"Wandless spells cast accidentally…sometimes quite powerful ones."
"Great," Harry said. "So when I'm not losing my lunch, I'm going to be hearing voices or blowing holes in walls, right?"
"Does he have to do this now? Can't we just slow down?" Hermione asked, anxiously.
"The effects only last a couple of days. It is the quickest and safest way, if he wants to return to school as soon as possible." Hermione looked questioningly at Harry, who nodded.
"Think about it, Hermione," Harry said, and his eyes lit up. "It's seventh year…seventh year and no Voldemort. Everyone's coming back. There'll be dances and Hogsmeade and Quidditch and -"
"And N.E.W.T.s…" Hermione said, her eyes growing huge with realization.
"You play Quidditch?" Healer Munson asked in a disarming tone.
"Seeker," Harry said, smiling a little, thinking of the House teams being reconstituted. Seeker…Quidditch Captain…the House Cup…
"I'm afraid you'll be in no condition to play Quidditch at any time during this school year." Harry opened his mouth as if to protest, but the healer continued sympathetically. "I said you'd probably walk again. That's what I'm working towards. Anything beyond that would remain to be seen, and may be quite unlikely."
Harry went stony-faced during the healer's statement, and was thinking morosely. If I can't use my legs enough to play Quidditch, then I reckon I can't be an Auror either. He felt despair raging within him. The two things I'm good at: Quidditch and Defense Against Dark Arts, and I can't do either. I've defeated Voldemort…to do what exactly?
"What am I supposed to do?" he said aloud. Healer Munson misunderstood him.
"Take things one day at a time," he offered sincerely, if not particularly helpfully. He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder, and then fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. For some reason, her touch annoyed him, and he had to fight the urge to shake her hands away.
How could she possibly understand? For the first time in my life, I have a chance to have an actual life, and I'm - I'm broken. She felt the tension in his neck and shoulders, and quietly withdrew her hands. He instantly was ashamed.
"Let's get on with it then, shall we?" he said, in a light tone, gesturing toward the array of potions. Hermione eyed him suspiciously, not fooled by his sudden optimism. The mediwitch began handing him the vials to be drunk, while Healer Munson fiddled around with the restraint field. A low-level ache swelled in his knees. "Hey, that hurts," he protested.
"You're going to have to be weaned off of the restraint field's pain-killing aspects. I'm only turning it down slightly…there will be a potion available, if the pain becomes unbearable. It will still keep your legs immobile."
Harry began to knock back the potions one by one. They all tasted quite vile, and his mouth felt like it had been rinsed with grit by the time he drank the last one. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and made a noise that sounded like "Fleh."
"It's important that you refrain from doing any magic today. We'll be able to test your levels tomorrow, and see if they've risen at all." Healer Munson said. "The other potions you took should head off the worst of the nausea and hallucinations, but if you need us, do not hesitate to let someone know."
"Are you really okay?" Hermione asked softly, as the healer and the mediwitch left the room.
"I'm fine," Harry said, more harshly than he intended. His knees were throbbing.
"You were upset when Healer Munson said no Quidditch." She pointed out, and he glared at her.
"Is that unreasonable?" He retorted, nearly shouting. "It's seventh year. I'm finally free of my damn destiny. Hogwarts is going to be back to normal. And you - finally - we - " He flushed slightly and looked down. "And it's all - it's - he's managed to overshadow everything, to ruin everything he's touched…even after death."
"We're alive, Harry. You won. He hasn't ruined everything he's touched. You're still you." She swallowed. "And I love you for it."
"It's not very fair to you, is it?" he asked with chagrin.
"To - to me?" Hermione seemed a little flabbergasted. "It hasn't anything to do with … Harry, if you're thinking of being all noble and self-sacrificing again…"
"I just - I - I just - " He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. "This isn't how I thought it would be." No Quidditch. No Auror training. No future…
"What isn't how you thought it would be?" she asked gently. Her fingers were playing in his hair.
"I thought I could - " he seemed at a loss for words.
"Pick up where you left off?" she filled in for him, quirking her lips in a sympathetic smile. "Life doesn't work like that, Harry. What happens to us affects us…and others…and it can't be undone."
"I don't want to be a burden… I don't want you to trundle me about like a baby in a pram." He said, knowing the words sounded ridiculous, but feeling them so deeply that they came out anyway.
"Harry, Healer Munson said you'd walk again." There was steel buried under the layers of Hermione's soft voice. "I believe him. And as for Quidditch…or anything else, for that matter, well…you're Harry Potter, and you do the impossible on a regular basis."
"And if not?" he replied in a cynical way that made her heart hurt.
"Then we'll adapt." She lifted her chin with more confidence than she actually felt.
"You shouldn't have to adapt! We should - you should just be able to - "
"Love is adaptation, Harry. Willingness to change…willingness to give things up."
"Hermione…" he said raggedly. She watched him critically. He looked pale and tired. "You - you - " He groped desperately for words, but could find none. "You deserve more," he finally finished. "I want to be the one to give you more, but instead I'm going to be the one holding you back."
"You're not -" she started.
"I am!" His voice cracked with the intensity of emotions that rippled through him. "You're going to be famous, Hermione. Hell, you already are!" He gestured toward the pile of periodicals still on the table. "You're young, beautiful, intelligent, and you helped save the wizarding world. You could have anything…anybody…"
Something ferocious flickered and snapped in Hermione's eyes like a tongue of dancing flame.
"I don't appreciate your selling me short, Harry," she said in a clipped tone. "If you think - if you think that matters to me at all…if you think that my - that I'm that shallow and - and fickle…and - and - then, then I - I - " She floundered for a moment, and then said in a tear-clogged voice, "Damn you, Harry Potter." She wondered vaguely if this is how Ginny felt when Harry told her he was leaving her behind.
He looked up at her in shock, when he realized she was crying. In a terrible paradox, he knew that he couldn't stand to watch her cry, even while he was trying to push her away.
"Hermione…" he whispered, his voice a ragged shadow hissing about the corners of the room. He tried to tip her chin up so she would look at him. "Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I just - I just want you to know that I'm - I'm not holding you to anything."
"I know you're not. But I'm holding myself to something." She looked at him with watery, determined eyes. "Do you know how long I've loved you?" He opened his mouth to hazard a guess, but the question must have been rhetorical, for she breezed on. "You wanted to give me more? Do you love me?"
He hesitated.
"Do you love me?" she said again, enunciating every syllable. He briefly considered lying to her, and then tossed that thought aside, the look in her eyes melting away his resistance, his noble ideals, his martyrdom.
"I wish you knew how much," he said in a low, impassioned tone, his words tumbling out over each other. His eyes were searching her face, and she felt warmth liquefy and slosh around delightfully in the pit of her stomach.
Her eyes were awash with new tears, and her chin trembled.
"Then you're giving me my dreams, Harry," she whispered, her voice breaking. She sat down on the bed beside him, her hip snugly where the bed bent upwards to support Harry's back. He was startled to find his eyes stinging as well, while she reached up and softly caressed the skin of his cheek with the backs of her fingers.
He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into her hand. "Your dreams?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say, and to get his mind off of the waves of desire that were churning through him, driven by a gale force. "Which ones?"
"Every dream, all my dreams," she said softly, and how was it possible for her face to be so close to his? Her eyes were pools of tawny fire, and he was going to drown in them, and he didn't care. He felt his heart rate accelerate rapidly, and could see her pulse beat mirroring his in the smooth column of her neck.
"My only dream," he whispered back. And then their lips brushed softly, almost accidentally. They drew back and gazed at each other for a second; Hermione muttered something strangled and unintelligible, before her lips collided with his again.
Harry's world fell apart, blasted to smithereens by the force of the emotion and desire surging through him. He felt as if the world had melted away, splintered into prismatic light, and then calmly reconstructed itself, while he clung desperately to Hermione. He was no longer aware of anything around him, anything save the soft velvet of her lips, the roaring of his blood in his ears, and the way her body pressed against his.
"Hermione, I -" he gasped with difficulty, breaking the kiss and breathing heavily. "I love - " Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he snapped his head around to look. It slithered into the shadows under the table.
"Harry, what's wrong?" The shining light in her eyes had been replaced with concern.
"Get your wand out," he said urgently.
"Harry -?"
"We didn't kill it. Nagini's here…I saw her…" He pointed under the table. "I thought she was dead. I thought Voldemort was dead…" his voice trailed off as he stared under the table, transfixed with dread, like one who stops to watch a grisly automobile accident.
I'm going to kill her. You know that, don't you, boy? A high, cold voice rang in his head, and he looked toward the ceiling, his eyes roving desperately in the corners of the room. Hermione watched him, as he appeared to be searching for something that she could not see.
"No, I won't let you - " he said. What are you going to do? How can you stop me? You're helpless…half a person…
"Harry…" Hermione pleaded, looking at him with anxious eyes. He looked back at her then, and his eyes were vales of sorrow, clouded with regret.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said wistfully. "We were wrong. He's not dead…I can hear him talking."
"No, Harry…it's the potion, the potion Healer Munson gave you. It causes hallucinations, remember? This isn't real. Nagini isn't here. Voldemort's not talking to you. Harry…Harry!" she said, speaking more sharply to get his attention.
He was staring at his open hands, laying palm up on the sheet, with something like horror. Blood was smeared on them, rusty-red and sticky…it was seeping on the sheets, the crimson standing out starkly, like a mute accusation on the pristine white field. He rubbed them on the sheets, but the blood was congealing and wouldn't wipe off.
"Oh…Oh God…" he stammered, utterly horrified. You're a filthy murderer, the voice sneered. We're the same, you and I…we're the same. "No…no.. I'm not! I'm not like you!" His voice was frantic and frightened.
Hermione saw him scrubbing desperately at his hands, and began to feel real fear well up inside of her.
"Harry," she said in as calm and clear a voice as she could muster. "Harry, look at me." He obeyed, his hands still twisting in the sheets. His eyes were shrouded and uncertain. "It's not real. It's the potion Healer Munson gave you. The Amplitude potion, remember?"
Harry's breath hitched a little in his chest, and his hands stilled in his lap. That Mudblood bitch doesn't know who she's dealing with, the cold voice snarled. Harry closed his eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he looked under the table in the corner. There was no snake.
"Are you real?" he asked her, and the confusion and heartbreak in his voice made her want to cry.
"I'm real," she replied seriously, her eyes dark and somber. His eyes darted around nervously, as if he were still hearing something audible only to him.
"The - the kiss?" A muscle jumped in his jaw. She smiled.
"That was real too." Her voice was warm, soothing, like balm to his soul.
"V - Vo - Voldemort?"
"He's dead, Harry."
She'll realize how wrong she is when I carve her from limb to…
"Stop it, stop it, stop it," he said frantically, clenching his hands into fists, and pressing them to his face.
"Harry…" Hermione said desperately, her arms around him, holding him. She could feel the quaver running through him, even as his shoulders remained tense and rigid.
"Hermione?" Ron poked his head in the door. "What's going on?" Hermione had never been so glad to see him in her life.
"Get the healer," Hermione ordered. "He's hallucinating." Ron bolted from the doorway, without another word. "Harry, please…"
"It's everywhere. It's everywhere." Harry mumbled, rubbing his hands into the sheets again. "I can't get it off. I'm just like him. Just like him."
"No, you're not. You're a good, decent person. You didn't kill out of pleasure…you killed out of necessity. This was Voldemort's doing. He instigated it, not you. Harry, listen to me, please!"
He looked at her again, and swallowed convulsively.
"Hermione?"
"What, love?" she said, her eyes moist with compassion.
"I'm - I'm going to be sick," he said weakly.
And she brushed his damp hair back from his clammy forehead and held the basin, as the Boy Who Lived vomited weakly into it. She made soft shushing noises, as he looked at her, and his cheeks burned red.
"I'm - I'm sorry…" he said quietly, embarrassed that she had witnessed that. Then, "you're real?" in a tentative, hesitant voice.
"I'm real, Harry," she said, cradling his head on her shoulder, as she gratefully heard the commotion of rushing feet out in the corridor. "And I'm not going anywhere."
TBC
I had some trouble with this chapter, so I hope it meets with approval. The timeline of the story is probably going to start moving faster now; so far the whole thing has taken up about a week or so of time. We may be spanning months in the timeline soon.
Enjoy and review!
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