Give Unto Me
by xink_slingerx

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 6
Genre: Angst, Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 6,662 words in 1 chapter
Published: 20 Nov 2005
Last updated: 20 Nov 2005

After the "final battle" Harry awakens from a near-fatal injury, and realizes he won't ever be the same again.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/5377/

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1. Give Unto Me

Dear Reader,

While this one-shot may be very long for a single chapter story, I decided not to divide it into two. It would have
meant me deciding when was a good enough time to update, and I'm much too forgetful for such things. After reading HBP
my passion for Harry Potter has died somewhat, but after seeing GOF (which I happened to actually like), I've been much
more interested in Harry Potter than I've been all autumn. Well, I suppose that's all I have to say, other than to ask
you very politely to review. You will, won't you? =)

Sincerely,

Ink.Slinger

Give Unto Me

Song by Evanescence

I've been watching you from a distance
The distance sees through your disguise
All I want from you is your hurting
I want to heal you
I want to save you from the dark

Give unto me your troubles
I'll endure your suffering
Place onto me your burden
I'll drink your deadly poison

Why should I care if they hurt you
Somehow it matters more to me
Than if I were hurting myself
Save you (save you)
I'll save you

“Shush, Ron!” hissed a stern voice through the darkness. It was a logical voice, a familiar voice.

“Sorry!” came the voice of another, this one much more relaxed, a male's, but this one also somehow familiar. There was
a shuffle of feet.

“Don't make so much noise - you'll wake him!” said the first voice.

“Well, you're the one near-shouting,” replied the second with a defensive air.

His eyelids were so heavy. They would not lift, he tried so many times. He wanted to open his eyes, to look around at
the people obviously standing right next to him, wherever the hell he was…

Open, he urged himself, frustration flooding through him. How hard is it to open my damn eyes?

Very hard apparently. He just lay there for a few more moments trying to despite himself, as the two voices fell silent
and he could hear the soft swoosh of someone dropping into a chair. He tried to sigh, but apparently he couldn't even
manage that. How pathetic.

Yes, how pathetic, he growled in thought. He was truly pathetic.

“Do…do you think - I mean - do you think he'll be all right?” came the second voice, but this time it wasn't defensive,
it was worried, that much was obvious.

“Oh, Ron, I just - I don't know,” came the female's voice, and he strained in thought to remember whose voice this was.
He knew he could; it was on the tip of his memory. He was so frustrated; he needed to remember who this was.

“Don't cry,” said the voice of this Ron.

Red hair, he thought suddenly, this bloke has red hair. He's tall, yes, I definitely think he is. Oh, and he's…he's
important to me. He's my broth - no, definitely not that. Something else. Think! Wait, Ron. He's Ron - my best friend
Ron. Ron!

Now he could hear the faint sobs of the woman. They were slightly muffled, which made him think she was crying into
Ron's shoulder. He tried again, tried so hard to open his bloody eyes! He was beginning to panic…

“I just - what if he doesn't - what if he doesn't recognize us?” she whispered fearfully.

I definitely know her. She's my best friend, too, her name's Hermione. Hermione. How could I have forgotten? I need to
wake up; I need to talk to her…

“Ron,” said Hermione, and she looked up from his shoulder where she wept.

“Yeah?”

“I think - I saw Harry, he moved,” she said in a hushed whisper.

“What?” He made a movement towards him, apparently to check if he was awake.

I am awake, can't you tell? Why doesn't anyone realize this?

He was beginning to get very angry now. He was tired of lying here motionless listening to everything and everyone,
unable to do anything himself. Again he thought: Pathetic.

“I guess…it didn't happen,” she said, her voice sinking with disappointment. She heaved a great sigh and cast a weary
glance around the St. Mungo's room, her watery eyes pausing at the window.

Ron was studying her, a slight frown on his face. He realized how helpless he was, how much he couldn't help her out of
this. There was one person that could, though, and he wasn't him, sadly.

“You - do you think everything will…turn out all right?” she asked. She struggled with each word she said, as if it
caused her great difficulty and pain. Though she sounded hopeful, she also sounded skeptical and doubtful at the same
time.

Ron never answered her.

Okay, it's just opening my eyes. I can do this. I can do this. I know I can.

And it seemed like it took all his might to, but finally he opened them, he opened his eyes and tried to look around
him. It was just a tad hard. Everything was blurry and much too bright at that. He blinked several times, the light
hurting his eyes so much they were streaming.

Then as he tried to focus his vision, forgetting stupidly that he needed glasses in order to see clearly, he heard a
shriek from the distance of the bright and blurry room. Before he could register what was going on, he saw a thin woman
rushing towards him, long and coiled brown hair flying behind her.

“Harry!” she shrieked, and it looked as if she were tempted to flail her arms around him, but apparently decided against
it because of his condition.

“I'll tell the Healers,” said Ron as he hurried toward the door. He looked as excited as she was. “I'll tell them he's
finally awake!”

The door swung shut after him, leaving Harry blinking confusedly, still trying to focus his vision, and not getting very
far. The girl - Hermione - was standing there with a huge beam on her face, tears in her eyes, hands shaking.

“Oh, Harry - here!” she said. The next second she reached for something before putting whatever it was onto his face, he
discovering a second later that they were glasses.

Of course, I wear glasses. Everything's much better now.

“Can…can you hear me?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked around at her. He didn't answer. He just stared at her teary face; it was pretty even if it were pale and
worried. Harry shifted slightly in his bed and continued to stare at her, all of it slowly coming back to him.

Now he remembered; he had thought he'd never see her face again that fateful night…

The doors burst open and in came three Healers, all of them very aged and as strict-looking as the next. They surrounded
his bed, shunting away Hermione, so that she was forced to join Ron in the corner of the room.

I'm fine…I'm fine. Leave me alone - what are you? No, I don't want any! Ugh. That's why, that was foul. Like to see you
take that slime without flinching!

“I can't believe it,” Hermione whispered to Ron. “He's awake - at last. We'll have to contact everyone about this at
once. Everyone will be so overjoyed! And to think I was about to leave back to the Prophet.”

“Hmmm…” said one stern Healer, bending over him and looking him over rather closely. She was rather plump with bulging
eyes that reminded Harry of a choking owl. Her hair did nothing better to draw away from this affect, because it
shrewdly reminded him of ruffled owl feathers, gray one's to be exact. Yes, this woman looked like a ruddy owl, no lying
about that.

“I'm…I'm fine,” he coughed as another Healer force-fed him yet another potion.

“Save your breath, Mr. Potter,” said the owl-look-alike. She peered down at him some more with those bulging eyes.
“You've been here for two fortnights unconscious; we have to make sure you're all right.”

He didn't argue. He lay back as they examined him some more, jotting down notes and checking previous papers. The way
they were all staring at him - it made him feel like some sort of project, like they were students about to dissect him
or something. It wasn't a very good feeling.

I was better off unable to open my eyes…

After several more minutes of uncomfortable stares, dreadful potions, and the sound of quills scratching parchment, the
three nurses left, reminding him they'd be back twice an hour to check up on him.

The moment they were gone Ron and Hermione moved in closer, both standing on either side of his bed. He still simply
stared at them.

He couldn't get over the fact that they were there standing beside him, looking so concerned, but more importantly
healthy themselves, though there did seem to be an odd limp in Ron's walk.

“So…so,” Ron said awkwardly through the silence of the three. “So,” he said for a third time. “Do you remember us?”

How can I forget two people that stuck by me through everything? It's just hard to believe this is really happening.
Both of you, standing here…and me…alive…

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, and this time she really did fling her arms around him. She hugged him gently, tears
leaving her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

“Hermione,” he said quietly. “How are you? How are both of you?”

They glanced at each other.

“I'm fine,” she sniffled. “But…but you…”

“We're all right, mate,” Ron said, grinning. He was obviously grinning at him to comfort him and he did, but it was
just…something felt different…something felt off…

It was something about the way Ron looked at him, the way the Healers did, too.

Why is he staring at me like that? Why is he looking at me as if he can't believe his eyes?

Ron can't…they both can't.

…And why not?

You almost died, did you forget what happened? Have you forgotten what you've done?

It was silly of him to argue with himself, but the moment he asked himself that question, he remembered everything with
such force that if he had been standing he would have been knocked off of his feet.

He took in a deep breath, his mouth dropping, as he gazed in disbelief ahead of him. The whole mood of the room changed;
it was suddenly darker, not as bright as before, no…everything seemed to cast a long and dark, an ominous shadow. And
now the glaring eyes of his two loyal friends burned onto him, making him wish they'd look away…wanting them to because
he felt so ashamed now.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“I contacted everyone,” Ron said. Obviously he thought this would improve Harry's spirits. It didn't.

Great, now they'll all be here to gawk at me as if I'm…I am though. I'm a murderer, they know it. I can see it all over
their faces every time they look at me. They know what I've done…

He continued to stare off at anywhere but his two friends, distinctively seeing them through the corner of his eyes
exchange a glance.

“I've missed you so much,” Hermione said suddenly. Her eyes were still shining with tears. “I've never cried so much,
Harry. I - I'm so glad you're all right.”

She bit her bottom lip to stifle another cry.

You stop being so rude, is what you should do. They're your best friends; they know you didn't do it because you wanted
to. They knew you did it because you had to. They don't think any different of you.

Then why can't they stop gawking at me?

They miss you, that's all…they miss you…

“I'm fine,” he said. His voice was hoarse with a hint of rudeness.

“Wait till you see the amount of get-well cards and letters you've gotten, mate,” Ron said brightly. There was a pause.
He decided to continue. “Most of them are from fan girls and even grown women. They all want a piece of you, mate.”

Then a thought occurred to him. His gaze snapped onto Ron.

Ginny…

“Where's Ginny?” he asked.

And again not for the first time he saw Ron and Hermione exchange a gloomy glance.

“What is it?” he asked, looking from one to another.

Ron sounded hesitant. “She'll be here,” he said. “I'm sure she will.”

“Well, how has she been?”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, a lot of those women have sent you presents, too. I reckon one's gotten you a-“

“Will she be coming to visit me?” Harry asked interrupting Ron.

Ron fell silent again.

It'd be great if you'd answer me. One of you…someone answer me…

“She'll be here,” Ron said again. That was all he said.

“Harry, are you sure you're all right?” Hermione asked him worriedly. She was watching him closely, and he knew she
would know whether or not he was lying.

“I'm fine I told you.”

“Are you-“

“I said I was fine, how many more times do I have to say it?” he snapped.

There was a sinking feeling within him now, a deep one that was like some kind of contagious disease, it seemed to be
infecting every other part of his body, putting him completely into a dark mood.

I wonder why they won't really answer my questions about Ginny.

“Oh,” said Hermione. She looked hurt. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and took a step back. “All
right,” she said before turning to the window.

Great, now he felt guilty. She always had that effect on him.

It was only minutes after that that the doors burst open again, and this time Mrs. Weasley came dashing inside, closely
followed by much of the Weasley clan: Mr. Weasley himself, looking thinner and balder than ever, Fred and George, both
pale as they followed their father, Bill accompanied with Fleur, the couple with their hands locked, and finally,
looking a bit tentative of being there, Ginny.

Harry's heart almost skipped a beat. She had come!

Finally…

Stop being so grumpy about this whole thing!

“Harry, oh, Harry!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked. She, like Hermione, threw her arms around him and gave him a deep motherly
hug. She squeezed him just right, swaying slightly from left to right as she patted his back.

This motherly hug made him feel better, his angst ebbing away slowly. Only Mrs. Weasley's motherly hugs could do this to
him, make him feel as if, even for the briefest second, she were his mother and he were her son.

She retreated away and let everyone else have a good look at him.

They all gaped at him too as if they had never ever seen him before. He stared back into each and everyone one of their
faces, that angst that had just faded away, fading back in stronger than ever.

“You…you look,” said Bill quietly. “You look great, Harry.”

Everyone nodded fervently in agreement.

Oh, just leave me alone now…I'm tired of this. Go away.

“We've all been worried sick about you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, nodding. “I've visited you everyday. The world can't
stop talking about you…I suspect the media will want an interview with you the moment they find out you're…conscious.”

Again everyone seemed to nod. Harry noticed that Ginny was standing in the far back at the foot of his bed, Hermione
even farther than that, her eyes still watery and set on something out the window.

“There's actually been a fan club set up for you, you know,” said Fred with a smirk.

“Yeah, there's about two hundred members locally,” George remarked.

“All females, of course.” Fred winked again, his smirk widening.

“Well, you know - unless they're wizards and they fly the Hippogriff the other way, in which case they still fancy you,”
George teased.

Harry found himself grinning. He would have laughed, except his rib cage was hurting, and he could not manage it. Mrs.
Weasley cast the twins a dark and warning look.

“I'm going to have a word with the Healers,” she said gently. “C'mon, Arthur.”

Mr. Weasley nodded, giving Harry one last smile, before following his wife out of the room.

There was silence. Everyone - except Hermione - seemed to be unable to take their eyes off him; he did notice Ginny was
staring at his left shoulder rather than his face.

I need to talk to her…we haven't talked in a very long time.

He cleared his throat.

“Listen,” he said to the other six. “Can I speak to Ginny alone for a second?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, Harry,” said Bill.

Harry watched as they filed out of his room, Ron looking over his shoulder at his sister and then Harry one last time
before letting the door shut behind him.

Yet again there was silence. Ginny continued to stare at his shoulder, not his face.

“So,” he said. He cleared his throat again. “How are you?”

“That shouldn't be the question asked to me,” she said strangely. “The question should be from me to you. How are you?”

Good, this is what I need. Ginny, I need Ginny. Maybe she can make me laugh. I wouldn't mind seeing her imitate Ron
trying to save a Quaffle again…

“Fine,” he said automatically, like he'd ever say otherwise. “But…but really, how are you?”

“All right,” she replied with a small nod.

They stared at each other, Ginny finally looking up into his face. He expected her to be different, he expected her to
not gape at him like this, and yet she was. She was predictably staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

“Listen,” he said. “About our relationship…”

“What about it?” she asked almost instantly.

There was a short pause.

“Are we - you know - are we back on?” he asked slowly, watching her carefully.

Her eyes widened a little as if she hadn't been expecting him to say this. A second after she turned a little paler as
she wrung her hands, obviously nervous. Ginny was searching for a way to tell him.

“What?” he asked, “What is it?”

“I thought…I thought you broke up with me?” she mumbled.

“I did…but it wasn't permanently,” Harry said.

“Oh.”

Oh? What in the bloody hell does that `oh' mean?

“Erm,” Harry said. “You…you still feel the same about me, don't you?”

Ginny stared at him some more. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Blinking, she shrugged.

What does that mean?

I don't think it's good.

Well, what do you know?

Apparently more than you do…you seem oblivious to what's coming next…

“I - Harry,” she said. “I'll always like you.”

What? What is that supposed to mean? What is she talking about? She looks as if she's about to let me go gently.

“You'll always like me,” he repeated. His voice showed the danger signs of his shouting soon to come.

“Yes,” she answered. She cleared her own throat and tossed some of her long and fiery red hair over her shoulder.
“But…but right now…Harry, I don't think it'd be best if we - you know…”

“No, I'm afraid I don't know,” he spat angrily.

“Well, I don't think I want to get back with you right now…at this moment,” she said delicately.

Her words stung. They were like a wasp's sting, definitely. Harry found that he could not speak for a few seconds as he
gazed straight into the face of the pretty girl he had once snogged countless times just over a year ago. Then, as he
stared at her nervous expression, he realized something…

She's dating someone else.

“Who is it?” he questioned. His voice was loud and demanding. “Who are you dating now, eh? Is it Seamus? Is it Ernie
Macmillan? Huh? Who is it? Or should I say, who are they? You never know with you…you never know.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she demanded fiercely, and he was sure she had stuck her hand into her robes for her
wand. That's what she always did when someone insulted her, reached for her wand to use that silly Bat-Bogey Hex.

“It means,” Harry snarled rudely, “That you, Ginny Weasley, are a slut.”

Ginny's mouth dropped open.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” she asked him.

“Who're you dating this time, Ginny? Huh? Who is it?”

That beast that was oh-so-familiar from his sixth year was roaring and growling inside of him, its teeth barred as it
prepared to attack. He was so angry at that moment that he did not care if anyone outside the room heard the shouting
that was going on.

“None of your business,” Ginny snapped. She crossed her arms. “You broke up with me. What did you expect me to do, huh,
Harry? Wait for you? Wait a whole year?”

“I guess for some that'd be much too hard,” Harry retorted bitterly. He could just see her now, jumping on the first git
that flashed her a smile, snogging him senseless, making her silly jokes to him too, getting him to fall for her just
like she had done every other bloke she'd dated…

“I'm done with this,” she said. Apparently her feelings were hurt. “I really liked you. It isn't my fault you broke up
with me, Harry. What did you expect me to do? Wait a year for you?”

“IF YOU LOVED ME YOU WOULD HAVE!” Harry bellowed so loudly, his voice hurt.

All was quiet now. Ginny was blinking so frequently he knew it was to prevent any tears from falling.

“Well,” she said finally, “I've never said I loved you, did I?”

She gave him a very long glare before she pulled open the door and let it slam shut behind her. And Harry suddenly, his
chest heaving up and down with rage slower and slower by the second, felt that beast within him, that horrible fierce
monster, die almost instantly, die for good.

&

The days were long and harsh staying there, staying at St. Mungo's. It was lonely. Everyone was delighted he was back,
but soon had to return to their normal lives and the Healers frequently had to ask him whether or not to let a reporter
from a wizarding magazine or newspaper in to interview him, or a fan woman or girl so eager to see him and get a picture
taken with him.

Yes, things were definitely lonely.

Ron visited daily, every evening just after his Auror training sessions. But Hermione - she didn't visit daily at all,
and every time she came she came with Ron or someone else like Neville. She hadn't spoken too much to him since the day
he had awoken from his long slumber.

He couldn't blame her. He had snapped very curtly at her.

This was why he was very surprised one afternoon when his hospital room doors opened, and in came Hermione quite by
herself, carrying a small bouquet of forget-me-nots to replace the old and dying flowers in his vase beside his bed.

“Hello Harry,” she said briskly.

“Hermione,” Harry said. He pushed away the tray of disgusting St. Mungo food he had been given for lunch, and focused
his attention on Hermione instead.

“How are you feeling?” she asked predictably.

“All right. And you?”

His heart was beating very fast as he watched her sit down on the edge of his bed, looking over at him unlike any of the
others, as if he were still the other Harry and not this, not the man that had replaced him.

“I've been better,” she replied. He saw she had bags under her eyes; she looked utterly exhausted. “I have to admit I've
been sleeping better since you've gained consciousness…before I could hardly sleep a couple of hours a day, if I was
lucky.”

Harry grinned at her. That was Hermione, always worrying about him, always letting him get in the way of her own needs…

“Ron told me you came to see me everyday,” he said quietly, his voice even. Harry stared straight into her light brown
eyes as he told her this. “Ron said you took off time from work.”

Hermione blushed a soft red.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I was really worried about you. If you think I was always worried back in the old…the old
days, this time it was a thousand times worse.”

Why does she do this to herself? Why does she care about me like she does? I treat her so badly sometimes…why does she
put up with it?

“Hermione,” he mumbled.

“Mmmm, Harry?”

“Thanks for the forget-me-nots,” Harry said politely. “They're beautiful.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she remarked with a wave of her hand. “Harry, I really think you should finish your lunch. You
need a full stomach to get better, you know. Chicken noodle soup, it's good for you.”

Same old same old Hermione…

But Harry grinned some more. Yes, this was the same Hermione, and he found that he couldn't have been more appreciative
of this. At least someone was still the same. This feeling comforted him and improved his spirits than anything else.

“I will,” he promised her. “But have you eaten yourself?”

I'm betting you haven't, if I know Hermione Jane Granger.

“No,” she said, smiling slightly. “I'll eat later.”

“Looks like you're a hypocrite,” he said, chuckling.

“…But it looks like I'm not the one in St. Mungo's, now does it?” she countered.

“You will be if you don't eat,” Harry said, and now his voice was concerned.

She just smiled at him and watched as he pulled the tray back toward him, and slowly began to finish his lunch. For
another thirty minutes they remained mostly silent, both of them somehow lost with their own private thoughts.

I wonder if…I think she'll be able to…should I ask her? She'll know all about Ginny's love affairs, I'm sure. I reckon
they're still close. I'll ask her.

“Hermione,” he said, looking up at her.

“Yes, Harry?” Hermione looked interested.

“Can I ask you a question about Ginny?”

Somehow she looked a little put off, as if she had expected him to say something else. After a moments awkward silence,
she replied, “Sure, what…what is it?”

“Who is she dating? And…and since when?”

He couldn't help but wonder. Curiosity had killed the cat, after all…

Again Hermione looked slightly put off for some reason, and she seemed to be debating with herself whether or not to
answer Harry with a direct answer. After sighing and locking eye contact with him, she answered.

“Ginny's dating McLaggen,” she sighed. “She's…she's been dating him for about two weeks now.”

Harry's heart sank. Two weeks? That was all? She couldn't wait two more weeks for him?

Hermione apparently could tell this revelation had brought Harry's spirit down considerably, because she asked, “Are you
going to be okay?”

“Stop asking me that. You know I'll say I'm fine.”

And there it was again, his snappish tone with her. The tone he always instantly regretted when he saw that hurtful look
on her face. This time was no different, except her hurtful expression was twice as worse than ever.

She stood from his bed, frowning slightly, as she took a few steps away.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I have to get back to work anyway. See you later, Harry.”

“Leave then,” he said coldly. “I'd rather be alone anyway.”

She was halfway towards the door, when she stopped and spun around to look at him, looking very furious with him now.

“Don't speak to me like I'm just some…some person you've just met!” she growled, shaking with rage, but also with tears
in her eyes. “I'm not! I've known you for seven years and I deserve to be treated better. Stop treating me as if I'm
such a great big bother. And…and if I am, then tell me so that way I can stop wasting my time coming here and visiting
you!”

Harry stared at her, realizing she was completely right. He was taken aback, though at the same time with her sudden
outburst.

“Hermione,” he croaked.

The tears had left her eyes now as she wiped them away furiously with trembling hands.

“I care about you, Harry,” she said in an infuriated whisper. “I care about you more than you've ever taken the time to
realize, and…and it's not fair to me for you to treat me like this. I don't do anything but worry sick about you. Do you
know how I would have felt if you had…died?”

She looked as if she repressed a few tears just thinking about it. And by now Harry felt like the biggest prat in the
world.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I just,” she said, now breathless, that's how upset she was. “I just feel as if you don't appreciate me sometimes,
that's all.”

She's right. I don't appreciate her enough, nearly enough. I'm too busy being a prat to ever thank her for all of the
dozens and dozens of things she's done for me. What kind of a git am I? I'm always thinking about myself…

“I do,” he told her honestly. She was taken off guard by his honesty. “I take you for granted, Hermione. I'm sorry that
I do.”

This seemed to calm her more, because she took some steps away from the door and back towards his bed.

“I shouldn't be upsetting you like this,” she muttered, flushing. “You're ill right now. I think I really should go.”

Don't leave…don't go…

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked her. He knew he could expect honesty from her. He inhaled a breath before
plunging on. “Why is everyone staring at me as if there's something so surprising about me?”

“Harry,” she said quietly, fidgeting. “I don't - I'm not the one to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” he asked.

She swallowed. It looked as if it was very difficult for her.

What is going on? There's something everyone's not telling me…

“Please, can you tell me?” he asked gently.

She still seemed to refuse to answer. She just stared blankly at him, fidgeting nonstop, as she did some deep thinking.
He stared back at her as something suddenly occurred to him. He felt chills down his spine as he wondered…

“Bring me that mirror over there,” he said, pointing at the handheld mirror far off in the corner of the room, just near
the window.

Hermione looked at the mirror then back at him.

“Harry,” she trailed off.

She knew he wouldn't back down now, and if she refused to get him the mirror herself he'd probably just try to get up
and get it. She couldn't have him getting out of bed…she didn't think he was allowed to. With a sigh, she walked over
and grabbed the mirror, handing it over to him once she reached his bed again.

“Harry,” she repeated. She looked as if she wanted to cry again. “Don't worry - there's nothing wrong, not to me.
Everything's fine.”

Harry brought the mirror to his face, his hands shaking, and when he saw his reflection, he received a stab of surprise
unlike anything else. He had never been so surprised in his life. The mirror involuntarily fell from his hand and slid
off of the bed, smashing onto the hospital floor.

He couldn't breath, he was so shocked, he couldn't believe it, he really couldn't believe it…

“Harry,” Hermione whispered with a cry. She pulled out her wand and cleaned up the mess of the shattered mirror in a
second.

“What…what happened to me?” he asked slowly in a shaky whisper. He brought his hands to his face, tracing his fingers
over the long and bumpy gash across the whole of his left cheek. The once soft skin was gone, replaced by uneven and
what felt like wax. His face…it was ruined…he was hideous.

What happened to me? What happened to me? The question replayed over and over in his head.

“Harry,” she said softly. She gulped as she sat back down on the edge of his bed. It was not for the first time that the
room seemed so much darker suddenly, shadowy and dim. “There was an accident - it…it happened so very fast.”

Harry stared at her, still quivering as he dared himself to wake up from this nightmare, willing himself to. He would
not accept this, he could not accept this. It hadn't happened to him, it just hadn't. This was some horrible nightmare;
he'd realize that he was still unconscious trying to open his eyes again as he listened to the conversation of Ron and
Hermione.

Definitely. Because this wasn't real. Denial filled him up to the core. He wouldn't believe it. He couldn't live like
this. He wanted to die. He was a freak now, a horrible murderous freak.

“An accident? The night I…” he trailed off.

“Oh, Harry, yes! They thought you were dead,” she cried, no longer bothering to wipe away her tears. “But you're all
right now, Harry. You'll be out soon…”

No wonder they were all gaping at me, no wonder Ginny wouldn't come near me…they all can't stand the sight of me now.
Half of my face…it's…

“Harry,” she muttered, “It isn't that bad. You're still the same Harry as before.”

“NO, I'M NOT!” he shouted so loudly he thought at first it hadn't come from him. He hadn't been able to control
shouting. The words left his mouth one after the other in a loud voice that he couldn't lower.

“Yes, you are…”

“Don't tell me what I am! I'm a murderer, and…and now I'm deformed too!” He wanted her to leave now. She wouldn't stop
staring at him, and though it wasn't those gawking gazes everyone else had given him, it still annoyed him; she was
staring at him as if there weren't anything wrong, but there was…and he was ashamed that there was.

She said quietly, “You're not a murderer; you did what you had to do. If you didn't, hundreds - thousands of others
would have died. Everyone knows this. No one thinks of you as a coldhearted murderer, Harry. Everyone's priding you for
what you've done.”

“While they gawk at the half of my face that'll never be the same again?”

“You don't - the Healers can patch it up,” she told him optimistically.

“PATCH IT UP?” Harry roared, again before he could resist. He barked with laughter. The laughter was cold and cruel, it
sounded like the laughter you'd get from a Death Eater just after they tortured or murdered a Muggle or Muggle-born.

“You can't patch this up,” he croaked, and now an instant later he felt like crying. He bowed his head, dropping his
gaze somewhere onto the floor off in the distance. He knew her eyes were still on him…

“Go on,” she urged him, “Go on and shout all you want.”

He looked back up at her. She was still staring at him as if everything were perfectly fine, as if he hadn't started
shouting and as if they were simply sitting in the library back at Hogwarts talking and doing their latest essay from
McGonagall…

I'm tired of this. Doesn't she know how to take a hint? I want her to leave. I want to be alone.

“You want me to shout?” he chuckled, again in a curt and cruel manner expected from that of a Death Eater. But really
his eyes were stinging, begging to release the tears that were pent up in his eyes. He wouldn't cry in front of her.

“Go on,” she said simply.

“I'm tired of it,” he said in a growl. It wasn't quite a shout, but if he continued he'd end up there. “I'm tired of it.
And don't tell me things will get better. WHEN? WHEN WILL THINGS GET BETTER?”

She didn't reply. Still her brown eyes remained on him and nothing else.

Never…they'll never get better.

Stop, get out of your angsty mode. You know it's bloody annoying. Hermione doesn't need this. Leave the poor girl -
woman - alone. If you want it to end, you know what to do…

He sighed and put his hands to his face. He knew she was still staring at him and he knew she was probably crying silent
tears, and that was why he couldn't bear to look at her.

“I'm here, Harry,” she told him softly. She peeled back his hands away from his face, and gave him a comforting smile,
the little light in the room as the sun set giving her watery eyes a sparkly appeal.

He knew she was. There was no denying that. She'd always be there for him, and again he was reminded of how much he had
always taken her for granted. It was so very true. He took it all for granted. Suddenly all of his worries seeped away,
his burdens that weighed down on him were lifted, and the anger begging for release within him simply deflated. He
wasn't angry, he wasn't ashamed, he wasn't any of those things.

He was grateful.

Suddenly it didn't seem important that half of his face wasn't the same and never would be. People that truly cared
about him, people like Ron and Hermione, wouldn't care. And the fact that he was a murderer, it was horrible and
something he'd never wished he'd have to do, but he knew it couldn't have been avoided. If not murdering Voldemort had
meant stand by and let him kill innocent Muggles for no reason, and kill the noble witches and wizards that stood in his
way, then he was glad he had stopped him. And right after those other two epiphanies, Harry realized that it wasn't his
loss losing Ginny. Maybe he had overreacted and he certainly hadn't meant to hurt her feelings the way he had, but he
knew now (actually, a part of him supposed he always knew) that Ginny just didn't understand him for the person that he
really was. Their relationship was great, much better than his relationship with Cho, but it wasn't love, it was just a
superficial, lustful relationship.

He certainly could have never loved her enough to marry her, to devote himself to her for the rest of his life, to have
her be the mother of his children. No, it could have never lasted.

“Thirsty?” Hermione said into the silence.

Harry nodded slowly, watching her as she smiled and walked over to the pitcher of water to pour him a drink. She handed
him the glass, sitting back down on the side of his bed. He smiled in return at her quite gratefully and took a sip from
the icy water.

The two sat there without a word as the room darkened and the sun fell out of view from the sky. It was becoming windy
and a whistling breeze was rippling through the curtains of his hospital window, making the room chillier than it
already was.

He had an abrupt desire to tell her something he had never told her before. He felt she needed to hear this.

Tell her…

“Hermione,” he said in a quiet voice, sipping from his cold ice water once more. “I love you.”

She smiled at him and took the glass from his hand to refill it. He watched her as she returned back to his side,
handing it to him. She sat back down, that typical sort of all-knowing Hermione Granger smile on her wonderful face, and
he knew she knew how he felt. She knew everything, after all. She was Hermione and she hadn't changed, and yet he had
thought he had, when he hadn't either.

They were still Harry and Hermione, and they always would be.

& Fin &

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