Chapter 5
Crying
Hours later, I lay in bed, Ron's words still running through my mind. My sheets are twisted around my legs, cocooning me in a tight vise of ivory Egyptian cotton. I roll over in frustration, catching a glimpse of my digital alarm clock-- 6:29 a.m. I've been lying here for eight hours and haven't gotten a wink of sleep. I try in vain to get comfortable, but to no avail.
What did he do with our Hermione?
"Ahh!" I groan, burying my face into my pillow.
Thump...thump...thump.
I raise my head, straining to hear what seem to be footsteps on the staircase just beyond my bedroom.
Thump...thump.
Softer this time. I get out of bed and make my way to my window, pulling the sheer curtains back to see outside. In a matter of seconds, I hear the front door open and shut and see Harry, in worn out jeans, a white t-shirt, and an old Yankee's baseball cap from our trip to New York last spring. He walks to his car, sets something in the trunk, and then gets in and drives off. There's no question in my mind about where he's going.
Hurriedly, I throw on sweat pants, an old shirt, my trainers, and the fleece jacket I bought the day before. I bolt down to Ron's bedroom, where he is tossing under his blankets.
"Ron!" I say, shaking his shoulders.
"I'd like that Super-sized," he murmurs, rolling over.
"Ron!"
"-with one of those Diet Coke things-"
"Ron!"
"-and don't forget the ketchup-"
"RON!"
"Whassthat?" he slurs, sitting bolt upright, "Hermione?"
"Ron, where was Allie buried?"
"Huh?"
"WHERE WAS ALLIE BURIED?"
"Godric's Hollow...why?"
But I don't answer him; instead, I promptly disapparate, which was a stupid thing to do, really. I realize this a second too late when I find myself in the middle of a small diner-like pub about a mile outside Godric's Hollow that is filled with Muggles; all of their eyes are set on me.
"'Owed you do that?" the barman voices.
"Very carefully," I say, pulling my wand from my pocket.
"Maxia Obliviate!"
For a minute, all of them blink rapidly, then go back to what they were doing before I appeared out of nowhere.
"'Ermione! Corking to see ya'!" the barman calls out. Harry, Ron, and I stayed at the Inn here when we were searching for the horcruxes. Sam, of course, is oblivious to the magical world. To him, we were simply three friends on holiday.
"Hello, Sam. Harry hasn't been by here recently, has he?"
"'S'matter `o fact, `e `as! Came `n ordered some `ot chocolate roundabouts ten minutes ago!"
"Thanks," I reply, exiting the pub and making my way down the winding countryside road to Godric's Hollow.
It would be a nice walk if it wasn't so nippy. The chill in the air bites at my nose and fingertips. I pull my coat tighter around me as I approach the edge of the small village. I can see Harry's car parked outside of the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. I step through the passageway, following the cobblestone path through the headstones. I spot Harry near the back corner of the property; he's on his knees, a spade held in one dragon-hide-gloved hand, planting small white and lavender flowers around a headstone. On top of the flat, polished rock is a stone sculpture of a small angel sitting on a bench, staring down at her dangling feet. Polished granite puddles dot the stone ground under the bench.
By now, I'm sure Harry knows I'm here, but he pays me no mind, diligently working on his flowers. I notice that despite the coldness of the morning, he isn't wearing a jacket.
"Are you cold?" I ask out loud.
"No," he replies stiffly, obviously still angry with me; not that he doesn't have every right to be. I decide to try again.
"What are you planting?"
"Impatiens," he answers, still not looking at me, "They bloom in the winter."
He makes no attempt to further the conversation, and in the silence, I allow my eyes to wander back to Allie's tombstone. The inscription shines against the background:
Allie Reneé Potter
August 18, 2001-September 27, 2004
Beloved child, daughter, and
Guardian Angel
"Potter?" I question, surprise evident in my voice.
"Yeah," he says, stopping his gardening for the first time, "I-uh-I adopted her last week. I didn't want to tell you and Ron about it until the final papers from her father's prison went through. It took forever for him to sign them; he didn't want to hand her over to someone else. I don't know why he cared; he didn't know her."
His voice catches, and he ducks his head, making like he's wiping sweat from his brow when I know he's brushing away tears.
"He'd never held her, or talked to her, or even seen her before. But he knew if he ever got out of jail, he'd get monetary assistance from the government because of her condition. He wanted her put in temporary foster care if she ever got out of the hospital."
His words become rushed, and he can't hide the flood of tears that engulfs him. His fingers brush the death date on the stone.
"I went there that day, to the prison. I knew that if I talked to him in person about the extent of her injuries, he wouldn't want to deal with her. I was right. He signed the papers within five minutes; said she was a hassle he was glad to be rid of.
"I got the call on my way back to the hospital; an infection had set in and her immune system couldn't stand the stress. Her vital signs were plummeting, and her lung was failing. They were able to keep her conscious, but her condition was rapidly deteriorating. When I got there, she was stable, but I knew she wouldn't last long. She was beyond medical help, and no amount of morphine would ease the pain or trauma in her body."
"Harry," I interrupt, "You didn't-"
"I knew she had about an hour left, maybe a few minutes more. It takes at least four hours for magic to harm the body of a non-magical human. So, I ordered her off all the machines and cleared the room. I did a pain reduction charm on her. I wasn't sure it worked at first, but then she asked me what I did, because her chest didn't hurt anymore.
"I sat in the chair next to her bed and picked her up and held her. And we sat there, and I told her that her daddy said she could come live with me. She said she didn't know what I meant. That I was her daddy, and that she--that she--"
"Loved you?"
He nods, staring at his hands as he speaks, slower now, almost in a whisper.
"She told me she was tired, and I said I'd rock her to sleep. Her breathing steadied after a while. It lasted for about forty-five minutes, then it slowed and eventually just...stopped."
"Oh, Harry-" I say, tears streaming down my cheeks and blurring my vision. I rush to him and pull him into my embrace. He clutches onto me, his face buried in my neck as heart-wrenching sobs wrack his body.
"She was finally mine, Hermes," I hear him whisper. "She was finally mine."
And for once in my life, I have nothing to say, no advice to give. For now, all I can offer is comfort.
A/N::: Well? Whadda ya think? Review, pretty please. Thanks for everyone who does so regularly. Oh, and sorry about the longer wait. I've had oodles of homework and projects and papers due and the like. All the teachers at my school are rabid. I'm a fiction author, not a poet. Bah....oh well...REVIEW, MY DARLINGS!
~MaNdY
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