Memories of a Headmistress: Loss

britt

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/02/2006
Last Updated: 08/02/2006
Status: completed

Hermione remembers how recently she awoke to find herself facing one of the hardest losses of her life.

Chapters

1. Loss

1. Loss

A/N: Alright, I don't do angst too well, so I apologize if this story seems a little choppy. I promise I'll try to do more work on the Honeymoon story that I've been writing as well. Again, I don't own the characters, except Margaret Cellestial because she's a character on the site these stories are inspired from. All canon characters, sadly, belong to JKR. Oh, and remember, reviews are good for the author's spirit. ;)

October 30, 2005

Pain. It was the first thing I recognized as I started to come back to consciousness. My back ached, and my abdomen stung. However, there was also a profound feeling of loss that accompanied that particular physical sting. Slowly, I started to become more aware of things around me. The smells of anti-septic potions, stale air, and the rank smell of someone that hadn't bathed in days. The first two smells told me that I was in the hospital ward, but there was still a fog in my brain keeping me from realizing why I was there.

I tried to sit up, but the pain in my abdomen became so great that I had to lay down again. That's when a sharp realization penetrated my brain. James! The memory of a few days ago assaulted me with a sudden clarity that I couldn't help but let out a strangled sob. I didn't know how long ago it had been, but prior to waking up here I had been on the way to see the Gryffindor Head of House, Margaret Cellestial. There had been several reports of misbehavior about the Gryffindor students so I was going to check on the state of things in the house. As I opened the door, I heard the shout of the killing curse and the next thing I knew was that I was flying backwards and then waking up here.

How had I survived the killing curse? The only hypothesis Harry, Dumbledore and myself had drawn over the years was that love could conquer the killing curse. However, I had been hit with it out of no where. There was no logical reason that I should still be alive. My musings on the issue brought me back to my original thought, James. James was the name I had decided to give my son when he was born next week. Was James okay?

Tentatively, I slid one of my hands along my sides, under the top clothing I had on, and up to caress my abdomen. Tears filled my eyes, threatening to escape when I felt the depressed stomach and the slight raise of skin from what could only be cut flesh. I had patched enough of my own wounds during the war to know the feeling of damaged skin. Not wanting to believe it, I lifted my head slightly to see if I could get a good look at the wounds. I was dressed in a hospital gown, so I easily pushed the fabric away to get a good look. Incision marks greeted my eyes, and they weren't just any incision marks. These marks were the tell-tale sign that my son had been removed from my body. The only question was if he was still alive or not.

My thoughts were cut short when I felt a stirring near me. I had been so enraptured in my inspection that I had failed to notice Harry's head resting on the bed with me. His swollen green eyes greeted my confused, open brown eyes for the first time in days. His dark hair was disheveled more than usual, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in days. His eyes held the same unshed tears that mine did, but there were also trails of prior grief. Harry rarely let himself get into this state, which caused even further worry and I began to feel a sinking sensation that emanated from the very depths of my heart. The previous hope that I had to our son being alive was dwindling fast. That train of thought was briefly interrupted when Harry let out a sob of his own and grabbed me desperately.

"I thought I'd lost you again," he began as he stroked my face lovingly, "I was so frightened when I found you hanging in the hallway, only to find out later you'd been hit with the Kedavra." The tears started rapidly, quickly soaking through the top of my hospital gown.

I tried to shush Harry, being on the verge of crying as well, while I softly stroked his hair. "But I'm alright Harry."

Harry gripped me tighter, increasing my suspicion that something was wrong. For a moment, the only sound in the room was Harry's sobbing and my sedate breathing. I wasn't sure how long I could keep up the appearance of strength with the growing dread I felt deep in my soul. Why hadn't Harry mentioned our son. Shouldn't he have said something about not raising our son alone? I was anxious in voicing the one question I knew would confirm my worst fear if my growing suspicion was correct.

In what seemed to be a pattern of Harry saving me, especially from myself, he confirmed what I had been suspecting for the last few minutes since I discovered the incision marks. "James isn't though. It seems as though the Kedavra killed him, which saved you."

I was horrified. The parent was supposed to die before the child, or die for their child, not the opposite. I disentangled myself from Harry as if his touch burned me. How could I be near him, or be worthy of his presence when I couldn't even protect our son? How could he look at me, knowing I was the cause for him to have to bury his own child? Tears started pouring from my eyes as the grief, held at bay so long, finally burst through. "Go." I rasped. "Just go. I'm sorry, but I need to be alone for a while."

Harry pulled away, stunned at my dismissal. However, he got up without a word, and started for the exit. I followed his progress, trying to hold the bulk of my grief at bay until he was gone. Just before he left the room, Harry turned, looking me in the eyes, and promised, "I will go for now, but I will return. I love you."

When he was gone, I broke down, lamenting the loss of my first child. Eventually, I cried myself back to sleep, hating that when I awoke again that I'd once again have to face the reality of my loss.

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