Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 25
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Hermione and Ron kept vigil in the infirmary. They both knew that the rest of the school beyond the magically repaired (but now somewhat recalcitrant and squeaky) infirmary doors had already run the gamut from fear to relief to speculation to benumbed exhaustion with the whole topic. Inside Harry remained oblivious, Madam Pomfrey remained concerned and Hermione remained both frightened and fiercely determined.
Ron just remained, miserable and stunned. "He's not usually out this long."
"He's not usually hit with an AK, either. We don't really know how he was after the last one; he was so little and the protection from his Mum was new. No one's ever said just how long he was alone at Godric's Hollow before Hagrid got him. No one knows how it really affected him, because he was with the Dursleys then. They probably didn't even notice. We just have to be patient, Ron, and hope that the spells colliding diffused it enough..."
They had brought him back to the same bed he had just left, but Hermione had insisted he be moved to the other end of the room so that if he was disoriented when he awoke he wouldn't be looking out for Malfoy. Malfoy, who claimed now to have been only unwillingly possessed. He swore to having agreed only to take Voldemort away from Hogwarts to save them all from the Dark Lord's wrath. He went on and on about the damage Harry had done to him, the assaults and pain he had endured. He sulked anxiously in a bed near the door now; magically bound to the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall had privately assured them he would still face charges if she had anything to say about it.
Hermione had something in mind for him to face, and while it did charge when angry there wouldn't be much left of him afterward. Surely Hagrid would know where to get one.
Madam Pomfrey had made a series of small, distressed sounds as she had examined Harry. Hermione had seen her eyes meet Dumbledore's more than once during the process, and she had wished desperately for legilimency abilities of her own then. He seemed physically unmarked to her eyes except for a small, new lightening shaped scar on his chest where the spell had connected. He appeared deeply unconscious and cool, almost cold, to the touch; his breathing shallow and uneven.
Time dragged.
Ron climbed up on the bed next to Harry's and slept. Hermione turned at one point to muffle his snoring with a silencing charm but thought better of it; there was always the chance it might be a familiar, comforting sound to Harry even though it sounded like a Nogtail with bronchitis to her.
She had pulled her usual chair close to the bed and laid her head on her arms beside him, waiting. His coldness disturbed her; he was usually her source of warmth. It reminded her vividly of the night in the cave. She ran her fingers down his forearm and threaded them through his. They were unresisting and unresponsive, and the combination cut her to the quick.
She drifted into fitful sleep as well.
She awoke to find Dumbledore on Harry's other side; his hand was resting on Harry's head, fingers lost in the unruly black hair; eyes closed. Her feelings were torn; part of her wanted to tell him he had no right poking around in Harry's mind, but another part ached to ask what he had found. The old headmaster opened his eyes as if he had felt her gaze and smiled, gently.
"He is healing, Hermione."
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
"No. You are doing it. Waiting is, as you are finding now, hardly a passive activity. The rest he must go through again alone." Dumbledore conjured himself a comfortable armchair and sat down as well, with Harry between them. "I have dreaded this day for quite some time, Hermione, but it turned out far, far differently than I had feared, thanks in great part to you."
"Voldemort wasn't… he's not gone, is he?"
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. But he has been greatly weakened once more, of that I am certain. Far more than he could have anticipated. You and Harry have quite likely saved many lives this day."
"But Harry will have to fight him again," she said slowly, "won't he."
"Yes, Hermione. He will."
Hermione felt tears well up and fill her eyes against her will. So stupid. Like crying would help at all; make anything different in the end. She willed them away.
"How many time," she said angrily. "How many more times will he have to…"
"I believe the answer to your question," Dumbledore said gravely, "is six,"
Her heart dropped, but her mind raced on and she eyed him suspiciously. "How can you be so sure?"
"I can not be positive," he said. "I am giving you but one possible guess, one potential answer. Do you not recognize the number?."
She thought for a moment and then her eyes flared. "You did know all along. Malfoy said you did but Harry didn't believe him."
Dumbledore inclined his head once, in acknowledgment, and then his deep old voice intoned words she already knew;
"When the wheel of life spins once more a lion scarred by death itself will rise, who speaks the language of snakes and bears the fangs of a dragon. He will follow its path to begin his journey and he will strike down an immortal evil where it lies five times, but the sixth time he will find it within himself. Only if the lion can vanquish his own darkness will his seventh strike save him. If he cannot, the pretender has won, and by all that is sacred in this world magic must die."
"You said six," Hermione told him. "How can that be? He struck down Voldemort when he was a baby, and again first year, and in the Chamber of Secrets."
"I have come to believe," Dumbledore told her, "That young Harry was meant by Voldemort to be something quite special that night. I know Harry told you of the prophecy that foretold his coming, and how it could have applied either to him or to Neville Longbottom. Voldemort choose Harry, probably because Harry too was a half blood and might be more likely in the long run to need to prove himself than Neville. He was trying to eliminate what he believed to be the more dangerous of the two, so chose the one more like himself. He did not know about the part that said he would mark Harry as his equal; his informant was thrown out of the Hogs Head before he could hear the rest. And in the end he did just that; mark him. I don't believe he ever meant to. I believe now that he went to Godric's Hollow that night with quite another purpose in mind."
"I don't understand…" Hermione said. "You don't think Voldemort meant to kill him?"
Dumbledore smiled gently, and shook his head. "Alas no," he said. "He always meant to kill him. But I think he meant to make something special out of Harry's murder. Avada Kedavra is a powerful curse, Hermione. There are other ways to kill a wizard, particularly a baby Harry's age. The Avada is unspeakable because it requires the true intent of the destruction of another soul, not simply the disarming or elimination of an enemy. There is a cost to the wizard that casts it, each time it is cast. I believe that Voldemort did not die when his curse rebounded off the protection of Lily Potter's selfless love because he had already found a way to make use of the destruction to his soul his willingness to use the Avada had begun."
Hermione's head was spinning.
"I wish to speak of this to Harry, to warn him what he might face, but you and Ron will surely hear it too. But not now. There is time enough still. Not now."
"Professor, does the window mean what I think it might? I didn't really have time to take it all in, but it seemed to show Harry after Voldemort. Does that mean he'll survive him or just that he came later?"
"I am counting on you to help me find out, my dear girl. It is a rich and mysterious thing, your pageless story. It will bear a great deal of study. I, too, have not had the time to examine it that I would wish. Perhaps the placement of their 'chapters' alone is not enough to guarantee Harry will defeat Voldemort, but there are other promising indications."
"How can it… I don't understand the enchantment of it. How could the founders have known… I mean, is it divination or prophecy that causes the images to appear or… what?" Hermione asked, deeply curious.
"When Harry's spell set the window in motion it was in a way like winding a clock. It has continued moving and ever-so-slowly changing all the while you have been watching over him. The striking of the spell and the focusing motion of the window revealed an inscription I am quite sure was not visible before. From what I can ascertain, it was not the enchantment or intention of the four Founders that brought the window into being at all. The central hub, as you may have noticed, is not made of glass or stone. It is a substance I myself have never come across before or can name. It was discovered by Godric Gryffindor near the shores of the lake while the castle was being built. He meant only for it to be illuminated in the entry hall as a thing of beauty, but when it was mounted in the stone it began to slowly spin and caused the window to be created by spiraling it out from itself. The founders watched the window grow before their eyes until it caught up with their present day. It must now be significantly larger than it was, and will, I hope and imagine, grow larger still."
"I still don't understand then. Who or what makes the images appear?"
Dumbledore's face grew somehow both softer and yet more remote; the blue eyes over their half-moon spectacles met hers gravely. "There is magic far beyond what we simple witches and wizards can stretch our minds to perceive, Hermione. It is easy for us to grow flippant and too casually accept the greater gift that is given us. The best among us can harness but a small percentage of the true magic in this world. I am certain there is far more to it than most of us will ever, or can ever, know in one lifetime.
What gives life and meaning to the window is nothing you will ever uncover in a history book, although it clearly reflects our history and I believe begs us to learn from it. It is the essence of magic itself. Muggles and Wizards both have tried to name it, but it is so much more than we can explain that no one has ever discovered the one name everyone can acknowledge. Take to heart, Hermione, that there is magic far greater than what your books can or will teach you. You are wise to seek it there, but I have been hoping against hope that your… friendship with Harry would initiate you both in one of the greatest truths of life; that there are things we can not logically understand without our hearts, and were never meant to."
"So the window is…" Hermione whispered.
"To marvel at. To remind us always to look up," Dumbledore said gently. "To show us that time moves eternally on and we must make the most of our portion of it. That good will always triumph over evil in the end. That there is a reason to aspire to do great things. That there is meaning in the smallest shard of glass. That Harry's struggle against Voldemort is not, and should not be, all that his life is about. Or yours, or Ron's. Do not forget to take joy in the life you have been given, or evil will have won an unearned victory."
Hermione looked down at Harry. He seemed unchanged, still unconscious, but his hand was warm now within her own and his breathing seemed easier. Dumbledore sighed and rose to his feet, neatly disposing of his armchair.
She suddenly remembered one of the things she had been puzzling out before she had fallen asleep.
"Professor Dumbledore? What spell was it that Harry used on Voldemort?"
"One that he has been working for quite some time to master. I did not know that he had in fact perfected it; I'm not sure he knew it would work himself. But it did, and I am most hopeful he will use it again."
"The spell I cast, that went between them, it didn't ruin it?" she asked anxiously.
"No, Hermione. It may indeed have had an effect, but Voldemort was still ultimately driven from his host in Malfoy and from the school grounds. More importantly, it may have helped save Harry's life, as it is equally possible, in fact highly probable, that it affected Voldemort's curse as well."
Hermione felt as though something tight within her chest eased, her heart seemed to beat more easily. "Thank you."
"You should sleep while he does. He is not likely to awake for some time yet, I think. If you would be so kind as to tell Madam Pomfrey to notify me when he wakens I will go and see what I can do with the enormous pile of senseless parchment the Ministry has burdened a flock of owls to bring my way in regard to all of this. Perhaps Peeves will have a creative approach to the problem." He moved off to the door, drifting deliberately wide of Malfoy's curtained bed and appearing deep in thought so as not to have to hear Draco's litany of threats about what the Malfoy family would do when they found out he was being kept a virtual prisoner in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. The door squeaked shut behind him.
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In the end it was as Dumbledore had indicated; Harry required his own time to heal. It was a full forty-eight hours after the Headmaster's visit that he finally awoke.
The first thing he saw - fuzzily, of course - was Ron, sitting up on the next bed over and grinning. A blond blur was seated on his far side and from the sound of things his weary brain very slowly came to the conclusion that it was Luna Lovegood. The two of them seemed to picking through a large selection of Bertie Botts beans and having a rather enjoyable time together doing so. Nice to see, but not what he really needed at the moment.
He felt as if his mind were slogging through some sort of thick sticky syrup. It was hard enough to think; speaking seemed a task too monumentally complex to be considered. He wanted his glasses and something to drink; he wanted to be understood without having to say a word. He wanted warm brown eyes like a puddle of spilt chocolate, sweet and comforting … where the hell was Hermione? Had something happened to Hermione?
The remembrance of all that had happened hit him like a wave of cold water; he literally gasped for air and shuddered at the impact of it, attempting to sit up in his horror. He managed to get upright but promptly succumbed to the dizziness that follows prolonged unconsciousness and overbalanced. He slumped sideways but instead of meeting the comparative softness of pillow or mattress collided with the sleeping head of the very one he was looking for. Roused from a deeply unconscious state brought on by the sheer exhaustion of watching over his deeply unconscious state for the better part of three days Hermione came up swinging and gave her attacker a mighty shove.
Harry flew off the far side of the bed, colliding with the night stand bearing the various potions and implements Madam Pomfrey had been using and hit the floor with most of the contents. The cacophony of breaking glass, a bouncing metal basin and one bonelessly tired young wizard hitting the floor brought the school healer at a run.
"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?" she demanded at roughly the same time that a sleep-dazed Hermione shrieked "Harry!" and dove over the bed. Ron and Luna exchanged stunned, what-just-happened? glances and scrambled down from the end of the other bed as well.
Harry looked up from the uncomfortably littered floor of his bedside to find himself engulfed in a tearful hug from his best friend and at the business end of three wands. His arms seemed to find their way round Hermione like a reflex.
"It's just me," he managed to croak out. "Honest."
"Welcome back, Harry," said Luna calmly, tucking her wand back behind her ear.
"Sorry, Mate. The way she went at you I was sure you were back to you-know, um Voldemort." Ron apologized, pocketing his.
"Harry, I'm sorry, you scared me. I must have been asleep, I had no idea where I was, that it was you. I can't believe that I did that to you after… I am so sorry," Hermione sobbed.
Perhaps it was the sight of Hermione full-out crying; she'd been known to tear up but wasn't much of a sobber. Whatever it was, Madam Pomfrey underwent an abrupt transformation from her usual Head-Nurseyness and was instead kindness itself. She helped the still unsteady Harry to his bed and used her wand to clean up the broken potion vials and bottles. She didn't say a word about Hermione still being fastened securely to her patient's neck and hiccoughing while she magically scourgified his hair of split potions and glass fragments and otherwise checked him over. She was even extremely tactful in the way she suggested Ron and Luna together go and tell Dumbledore that Harry was awake.
She handed Harry a glass of misting blue potion and nodded in satisfaction as he gagged his way through it. "That will help, now that you're back amongst the living," she said with satisfaction. "I'm going to my office to finish up those dratted parchments from the ministry Peeves keeps bringing. Hands above the waist at all times, both of you," she admonished, moving off.
This at least brought a snort from Hermione, although whether it was humor or humiliation he couldn't tell; her head was still buried in his shoulder and all he could see was the rather substantial fall of her hair. Of course he still didn't have his glasses yet.
"Hermione, would it be really insensitive or anything if I asked you where my glasses are?" he asked hesitantly.
She scrabbled around with her left hand and passed them to him without lifting her head; they had been in the pocket of her robes for safekeeping.
He put them on. The rest of the room beyond her hair came into view, which oddly allowed him to focus more on her since he wasn't worried any longer what might be lurking beyond his line of sight. She was still hiccoughing sporadically, but the intervals had grown longer and he could tell she was quieting. He found her very solidity and warmth comforting, he was still profoundly cold. It felt nice just holding her and rubbing her back, entirely undemanding. He felt competent and up to the task, something he could claim about very few other activities at the moment. It was as if Voldemort had pulled some sort of cosmic plug on Harry; he literally felt drained of life force.
Hermione gave a giant sniff and drew back at last. Harry still wasn't much of a fan of the tear-stained female look, but he thought she wore it fairly well; she appeared sadly vulnerable rather than on the edge of outright scary. Besides, the last time he'd seen her cry they'd actually finished up quite nicely. He was cautiously optimistic.
"Okay?" he asked tentatively. "Look, it's okay about the pushing me off the bed thing, really. I understand."
"I was waiting and waiting for you to wake up; it's been three days, Harry."
"I'm sorry. I…"
"No, no, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about the spell, Dumbledore says he didn't think I spoiled it but I had to ask you. He lived, Harry, Malfoy coughed him up like some sort of red mist and Dumbledore said something that banished it, I think. I didn't know what you were doing; I was only trying to keep you safe. He… do you remember what happened?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "I remember my spell flying off of something and hitting the window. I can remember seeing the window move, and all those little pieces clicking around and changing. I started to see people and places I recognized; then I heard you call my name." His eyes grew puzzled. "I think I saw…" \they shifted to her. "The last thing I saw was green," he said, realization dawning. "A flash of green."
"You're the Boy Who Lived Yet Again now," she told him. "You sent some spell I didn't know at him at about the same moment he cast the Avada Kedavra at you. I tried to use a protego between you. All three spells collided."
"So you saved my life?"
"Or cost you your chance to finish him and be done with all this."
He shook his head. "The spell I was trying to use, Hermione, I've kind of been experimenting with… I've been trying to master something that would finish him that I could still live with. I don't think it's anywhere near ready to work yet, if it ever does. I only tried it because I wasn't thinking clearly. I was so distracted by the window actually moving, I just reacted. I wasn't ready for him to AK me. You did save me."
Hermione remembered seeing Harry's eyes searching the window as if it held some answer to where all those who had loved him had gone. In that moment she had realized her fear that he might be drawn more powerfully to follow them than remain in a world that still contained Voldemort. Her speed in launching the protection spell had had quite a bit to do with keeping him where she could see him. Death had never seemed to hold any attraction for Harry but she understood that repeatedly facing it down was having its own effect.
"Dumbledore told me a little about the window while we were waiting for you," she told him slowly, watching him. "He said that once your spell hit it, it was like winding a clock. It's still changing. He said they could see an inscription after it first started to move, and that it wasn't made by the Four Founders. He thinks that it was created by the source of magic itself. We still don't know what it really means, but I wish you could have heard what he told me, the way that he said it. He said that it was to remind us that time moves eternally on and we need to make the most of our bit of it, if we let our lives be dominated by Voldemort evil will win an unearned victory."
She could see that Harry was puzzled. "I did hear that somehow. Or something like it. I remember hearing his voice saying 'do not forget to take joy in the life you have been given, or evil will have won an unearned victory.'"
"Were you asleep that whole time? I mean, I know you were unconscious, but did it feel like sleep or something else? Did you dream? Were you aware of anything?"
His eyes retained their puzzled expression but their focus seemed to soften slightly, a look Hermione had always interpreted as introspection on his part. "It was horrible, really. Not so bad at first, but I was more than ready to move on by the time I woke up. It was like an unending mist or fog or something. I slogged on and on, there was just this feeling that if I stopped moving something awful would happen, but it never felt as if I was really getting anywhere. Like being trapped in between something, I guess, not being able to find my way back here or on anywhere else, either." She saw him shudder once, but it was almost reflexive and seemed to bring his gaze back to her. His eyes met hers, green and trusting and somehow still hopeful, and she knew then that she hadn't lost him as long as they could still look at her like that. It was part of the miracle of Harry for her, that after the Dursleys and Voldemort and losing Sirius and watching Cedric die and living through Umbridge and Malfoy's treachery, he could still somehow turn to her with hope.
Okay, so she realized as soon as she felt his lips on hers that no small part of it was also hopeful of a good snog, but he was after all sixteen and really a boy still at, erm… heart. And that was a good thing, too. A very good thing. Despite an uneven start and something of a rocky path to follow, Harry had actually turned out very nicely at the whole boy thing. Nice and considerate and actually kind of creative, really. Like that… that thing with his tongue right there. Nice, not gaggy or overpowering or anything, sort of sweet and questioning, and of course the answer to the question was Yes!, wherever he was going with it.
Hermione heard the telltale squeal of the Hospital Wing doors admitting Dumbledore and Ron and Luna, and realized that for once, entirely unintentionally of course, Voldemort had actually done them a favor by warping the doors. They drew apart, reluctantly.
"Later?" she asked softly, attempting to straighten out his hair where she'd been at it, and quickly realizing the benefit of his eternally wayward locks as well.
"Absolutely." Harry grinned.
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