Just One More Minute

A/N: All characters belong to JKR.

Over the past couple of weeks I have been bombarded with some of the most depressing news. For a while there, I was beginning to wonder if I was wearing some sort of invisible magnet that was pulling it in from all different sides. Well, needless to say, at this particular point, it's still inexplicable to me. I do not, however, regret being there for those who needed me…not even for a second. [You can count on me to be there in the future, too…any time you need me].

Suffice it to say, depressing news can lead to depressing stories…and this is no exception. You'll not find a sugary ending here…something I've never tried in an H/Hr story before. I thought it might be a bit more heartbreaking then it turned out…perhaps this means I wasn't as deeply affected as I believed myself to be. Or, perhaps, writing was once again the therapy I needed to get myself back on track.

There is major character death…accompanied by the dying of a young spirit. Read it at your own risk.

If you're feeling depressed, I don't recommend this…it is NOT a pick-me-up story.

For those of you who do read it, reviews would be greatly appreciated. Good, bad, indifferent…they are all welcome. This story has not been beta'd … hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. Although, there are bound to be a few.

Thank you in advance for reading and reviewing. I want to thank both Lexi and Sara for putting up with me during the writing of this one…you have no idea how much your support helped. It's always great to know you have friends you can turn to when you need to vent or blow off a little unhappiness. Love to you both! BUGGLES!

Terri

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Just One More Minute

A-D-E-H-T

Five ordinary letters used in millions of words…

However, once placed together in the order of D-E-A-T-H they are instantly bequeathed with the power to strike fear and despair into even the most hardened of hearts. Put them together as H-A-T-E-D and still their impact does not stand a chance against the undeniable power of DEATH.

Harry was the strongest man Hermione knew and still, death frightened him. Not death in the customary way of thinking … no, to Harry, death was so much more than simply dying…

It had surrounded him-

"Your parent's death…"

"Cedric's death…"

"Bow to death…"

"Sirius's death…"

"Dumbledore's death…"

until it took him-

“Harry's death…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Story

By Hermione Granger

It was late. Everyone, she presumed, had gone to bed. She was restless, unable to sleep. She made her way quietly down to the library and did what she was prone to do at times like these…she researched ways to save his life.

She didn't know he'd come to her. She wasn't prepared for it. How could she have prepared?

How?

—

“Do you have a minute? I…I need to talk to you.”

Something in his voice made her look up with a sense of foreboding. “Of course,” she replied, her entire being feeling inexplicably off-kilter. She patted the seat beside her and was forced to clear her throat to quell the tightness that had formed there. “What is it?” she asked as he cautiously sat beside her. His anxiety was nearly palpable and she had to breathe deeply to calm her racing heart before placing her hand over his. “It's all right, isn't it? You know you can tell me anything.”

His eyes rose to meet hers, searching for something— something she couldn't name— and that frightened her more. “Can I?” he questioned after a minute's silence. “Can I really?”

“You're starting to scare me,” she said, her voice quivering slightly as she squeezed his hand and held it tight, her fingers refusing to loosen their death-like grip.

“I'm not trying to scare you—”

“Yes,” she interrupted with a nod. “I'd like to think that you could tell me anything…” She watched him closely and for the first time in a long time, she felt unsure of that long-held belief, “but…can you?” she questioned. “I mean…are you able?”

“What if it's something that I know you don't want to hear?” he asked, his question taking her by surprise. “What if…”

She couldn't take it anymore and shouted, “Please!” in exasperation. “Whatever it is, you're making it worse by not coming out and just saying it!” She looked pleadingly into his eyes and begged of him, “Please…just tell me.”

"I'm scared of death," he said so abruptly that for a moment she thought she'd misunderstood.

She sat for a moment, in stunned silence. The breath she held escaped her on a nervous laugh as she stammered, "You…you're…but we're all…"

He held up his hand, effectively silencing what she had intended to be words of comfort. "I don't mean that I'm scared to die," he replied in a voice that was almost too quiet for her to hear. "I've been preparing for that for years."

“You can't say that,” she countered sharply. “You're defeated before you begin if you believe that."

He turned his hand over from where it lay under hers, capturing her fingers and intertwining them with his…making her keenly aware of the myriad of emotions a simple touch from him could inspire. His thumb began to caress her skin and he stared down as though mesmerized by its slow, languid circles. "Voldemort will get the fight of his life,” he promised.

A shiver of fear ran through her when she realized what was coming next. She tried to speak, to assure him that she understood and to prevent him from saying those inevitable words aloud…but hers were lost and she merely whispered, “I know,” in a voice ragged with emotion.

“I refuse to back down until I know his threat is over," he continued. She remained quiet, her voice lost to the tide of emotion and the tightness that had once again pervaded her throat. When finally he looked up, her heart gave a jolt at the fierceness she found in his eyes as he added, "and I'm not afraid to die for it,” with such intensity that the tears she'd been fighting to keep in check now flowed freely down her cheeks.

She wiped her eyes and desperately tried to regain her poise. She straightened her back and attempted a few deep, shuddering breaths before struggling to find her voice, "Is that…all you…wanted to tell me?" she asked, looking away from him with a stubbornness born of deep-seated fear.

"No, not exactly."

She waited for him to continue until she could no longer bear the silence then she turned to find him studying their hands once more.

"What's-"

"I-"

Another silence enveloped them as once more each waited for the other to speak. "Go ahead," he encouraged before the silence could become deafening. “What was it you were saying?”

She took a deep breath as she studied him. “How can you be scared of death but not of dying?" she asked. "Aren't they the same thing?"

He stood and drew in a breath, releasing her hand as he left her to stand before the fire. "Not to me,” he said softly as he stared down into the flames. "To me, death is about more than just dying, it's everything that's left behind when you go. Dying is just an act...a part of life. We'll all do it, there's nothing specific about it…it's just a thing. Death, to me…well, that implies so much more.” He turned to look at her, his eyes appearing dark and haunted in the light from the fire. “I'm not scared to die; I'm scared of what I'll be leaving behind. Of the things that'll go unsaid and of how the people I care about will be affected...if they're affected-"

"That's ridi…"

"Don't! It's not ridiculous!" he countered with such force that the impact was powerful enough to thrust her back into the couch as though she'd been thrown against it. The flash of anger in his eyes scared her and for a fleeting moment she wondered at the depth of it. "Do you have any idea how many things have gone unsaid in my life?” he demanded. “How many emotions have been misunderstood? Or the number of times I've wondered whether or not someone actually cared? It's not ridiculous to wonder whether or not people are going to be affected by my death. And I'm not…” he paused as his anger dissipated and a feeling of despair rushed in to take its place. “I'm not talking about the death of `The Chosen One',” he added softly, his head dropping to look down into the flames once more, “I'm talking about my death, me…Harry."

She rose and moved to stand beside him; she had to force herself to resist reaching for his hand. "You're right,” she said. "From your point of view, it's not ridiculous." She raised an unsteady hand and tentatively placed it on his arm.

“Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, turning his head toward her, his eyes meeting hers for only a fraction of a second before he resumed staring into the fire.

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Don't worry about it—"

"It's just that from my point of view it…" she paused and turned to gaze into the fire alongside him. “Well, from my point of view it is ridiculous, because—"

She suddenly threw her arms around him, falling against him as her tears began to fall and sobs wracked her body.

"Shh," he soothed. "I told you, don't worry about it. It's all right—"

She shook her head almost violently against his shoulder. "No!" she nearly shouted through her tears. She sucked in a breath, holding it tight as she released him and stood upright.

"Really, it's-"

"I can't imagine my life without you in it," she proclaimed without further hesitation. "I don't even want to think about it. Whatever it is...whatever I'd be doing.....it wouldn't be living…not without you here with me."

He took a step back to contemplate her words, wondering if there was something more to them...something hidden…something she wasn't saying. After a seemingly interminable bout of silence he reached for her hand, holding it loosely in his. "That's a bold statement," he said, his eyes searching hers, “are you sure you…” he stopped abruptly, shaking his head as he changed the subject. “I'm leaving you everything…if I die…I want you to have it all.”

Without thinking, she looked down and huffed, “That's just…yeah, great.”

“Excuse me?” he said. “Great that I'm—”

She looked up at him and his mouth closed instantly at the sight of her stone-cold eyes and the angry set of her jaw. “It's great to know I'll be the richest witch in the asylum,” she said sardonically. “Thanks.”

“The richest witch…?” he shook his head in confusion. “What are you on about? What's that supposed to mean?”

She raised her hand, gesturing vaguely toward him as she spoke, “What it means is that you've already killed yourself and I've just told you that I can't imagine my life without you. I don't want your money, damn it…I want you. If you go out there and you die on me, I'll go mad, plain and simple.” She put her hands on his chest and clenched her fists into his jumper, pulling him closer so he could look into her eyes. “Don't you get that?” she demanded. “If I can't have you…here with me…a part of my life…then the rest of it doesn't matter!”

He extricated himself from her grasp and turned around to once again face the fire. “There's no one else I trust. You're the only one who'll do what's right…who—”

“I don't want it,” she said softly, her eyes downcast as she stared into the fire with him. “It won't work. I won't be able to handle it. I can't.” She raised her head toward him then grabbed his hand. “I told you…if you die on me, I'll go mad. Just don't, okay…please,” she begged. “Just…don't.”

He turned to face her and reached for her other hand. “I don't want to die. But I can't rule it out as a possibility and neither can you. We both know the chance I have to take and I have to be ready…just in case.”

Her eyes fell to his chest. “In my head I know you're right, but in my heart…” she looked up at him then, the tears pooling in her eyes. “Please,” she shook her head slightly, “just don't…die.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I love you,” he said softly against her ear. “So help me, I do love you.”

She jumped back from his embrace, startled by his unexpected confession. “Y…you,” she tilted her head and stared at him questioningly. “No,” she said, shaking her head again, “it's not poss—” suddenly it dawned on her and her shoulders dropped, “oh, as a friend, yes, I…I—”

He grasped her chin and raised her head until he could look into her eyes. “No,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis. “I don't just love you…” his eyes widened and she was drawn into their depths, “I'm in love with you.”

Her head began to shake and she backed away from him as she struggled to digest his words. “You don't…can't…I—” she looked up at him helplessly; the words she wanted to say lodged deep within her throat and unwilling to pass through her lips.

“That's it?” he asked. “That's all you have to say?”

She put a finger in the air and a hand on her chest. “One minute…please,” she breathed. “Just…give me one minute.”

He took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “It's all right,” he said heavily. “I understand.”

“What…?”

He looked up sharply, his chest held higher with the holding of his breath as he fought back the tide of emotions that threatened to consume him. “I understand…you don't love me like that…I get it…” he swallowed hard, “it's fine.”

^*^*^*^*^

“It's time for your medication, Miss Granger," the young man called out as he knocked on her door and entered her room.

"Hold on, Patrick,” Hermione said, her quill scratching feverishly across the page. “Please…"

Patrick stepped into the room and quietly moved to stand beside her; the sight of her writing nearly breaking his heart just as it did every other time he'd witnessed it. He took a deep breath to hold his emotions in check. "Oh, writing, I see,” he said with false enthusiasm. “That's good. I'm sure that Healer Thomas will be proud."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She looked at him as a wave of fury took hold of her. “All I said…” she began breathily, “is that I needed a minute.”

His heart was on his sleeve and tears began to sting his eyes as he started to lose what little self-control he'd been clinging to. “If you loved me, you wouldn't have to think about it. The words would just come.”

“But, I—”

Without another word…another sound…he was gone.

“…I do.”

^*^*^*^*^

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said, her eyes never leaving the parchment. “It's a story.”

“A story?” Patrick asked, more out of habit than surprise. “Can I read it?”

“Not yet,” she said quickly, her hands covering the page protectively. “I have to write the ending and then maybe…”

“I hope it's a happy ending,” he said forcing himself to smile. “I love happy endings. Don't you?”

Hermione nodded then moved her hands and stared down at the parchment.

Without another word…another sound…he was gone.

“…I do.”

“I can't…” she shook her head and shifted the paper. “It won't….” She looked up at Patrick with anger in her eyes. “You distracted me,” she accused. She looked back down and put the tip of the quill to the parchment. “Now I can't do it. I can't write it. It's your fault, Patrick,” she said, her voice growing louder. “It's all…your fault. You made me forget the ending. Where is it? Where is he? Why can't I find him? It can't end like that, Patrick…it can't.” She looked up at him helplessly as she pointed down at the parchment. “Help me, please. Help me find him. I have to…to tell him. I never got a chance to…” Her head fell to the parchment and her body shook as she began to sob and feebly pound her fist against the top of the desk. “It was only a minute,” she cried. “Just one…that's all I wanted, Harry…one—”

Her voice died away and Patrick laid his hands lightly upon her shoulders. “It's okay, Miss Granger, perhaps you can finish it in a little while,” he suggested, his voice as gentle and soothing as he could manage. Hermione nodded her head and Patrick carefully pulled the papers from beneath her and placed them atop the stack beside the desk.

He helped her with her medication and led her to the bed where her quiet sobs resumed. “Harry…” she murmured, her eyes closed and her face buried in her pillow. “It was only a minute…just one…”

The sounds of her tears and soft murmurings followed Patrick as he left the room. The second the door closed behind him he leaned heavily against it and sighed.

“How is she today?”

Patrick opened his eyes slowly. “I know we're not supposed to get emotionally involved, but…”

“It's all right, Patrick,” healer Thomas said, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. “Your genuine empathy is the reason you're the only orderly who can get close to her…the others don't stand a chance. It's not ideal for you, but it has helped to prevent Miss Granger from spiraling deeper into depression.”

Patrick shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. “I don't know, sir,” he sighed. “She's been here a long time.”

“At the moment, all she has is her final memory of someone she obviously loved very dearly,” Healer Thomas said softly. “Your gentle encouragement, willingness to listen and,” he squeezed Patrick's shoulder admiringly, “your ability to stand firm when being rebuked, may be her greatest allies in her battle for recovery…should she choose to one day fight.”

“There's a stack of parchment in there that stands nearly two meters high and the story is always the same. For one reason or another she's unable, or unwilling, to write a proper ending. And every time I go in there and find her writing it just…it breaks my heart.”

“You do know that the ending may never be complete?”

Patrick shrugged. “I've heard rumors of what happened, but nothing I've taken stock in.”

“Have you read her story? You've seen the unfinished ending?” Patrick nodded and Healer Thomas continued, “Mr. Potter, the man who professed his love to her that night, left her before she could return his declaration. She never saw him again after that. As you know, he died in the final battle and one of the things that frightened him the most about death was—”

“…words left unspoken.”

Healer Thomas nodded. “Miss Granger needed that minute to sort her thoughts and Mr. Potter didn't have that minute to spare.”

“What…?” Patrick looked at him in confusion. “He didn't have to leave…”

“In his pocket was a Portkey set to take him to a remote site where he would meet those who were chosen to fight beside him. It was something Miss Granger was not aware of, as Mr. Potter made it abundantly clear that he would not have her put in harm's way when the time came to face V-Voldemort,” he paused then shook his head, silently rebuking himself for his stammer. He had to clear his throat before continuing, “Miss Granger was led to believe that she would be at his side until the very end of the fight. Had she gotten wind of their plan, she would have insisted upon being a part of it and that was something that Mr. Potter simply would not allow. So you see—”

“…she'll never be able to find a suitable ending because the rest of the story died with Mr. Potter.”

Healer Thomas nodded, “Perhaps one day,” he said…his voice low and unconvincing.

“Tell me. Why does she write as though she's narrating?” Patrick asked. “It reads as though the story isn't hers.”

“That's exactly what she's doing,” Healer Thomas confirmed. “It's a way to separate herself from what's happening. She writes the story as though it's a part of her imagination, and not a part of her reality. She uses no names because her mind won't allow her to accept that the story is hers. You've witnessed for yourself how harsh the reality is when she reaches the final scene and Mr. Potter's name resurfaces within her conscience. She needs to find an ending, but that will be an impossible task until she realizes that the story is indeed hers…theirs.”

“Why not a memory charm? Something to erase his memory?” Patrick asked, the protective side of his nature burgeoning. “Or, well, at least the one she was left with.”

“Some scars run deeper then the magic of man can fix…we are only human, after all. Miss Granger loved Mr. Potter. Don't you think it would be unfair to take away any memory of such love…no matter how painful that memory might be?”

“No, I don't,” Patrick said, shaking his head to emphasize his point. “Not when that memory is destroying a young woman who appears otherwise healthy.”

“What Miss Granger needs, is time. What she does not need is any further intrusion into her mind. It may sound merciful to have her memory altered but Miss Granger is a powerful witch and even in her current state she would likely be resilient to most charms. And you must remember, Patrick, that not only would you be tampering with a brilliant mind, you'd be attempting to destroy the most powerful memory an individual can possess…that of pure and true love. A useless venture, I can assure you; a love like that does not live in the mind alone and we have yet to develop a charm that will remove it from the heart. If she is to recover it will be with time…not magic.”

Patrick looked up sharply as he realized the absurdity of his suggestion. “How is it that you know so much? If Miss Granger never knew and Mr. Potter is dead—”

“A good healer knows his patients,” Healer Thomas said, patting Patrick's shoulder. “I needed to understand Miss Granger's state of mind, to know what it was that had brought on the depression and driven her so far into her own mind. Once she'd written her story, I read it and did some of my own research. I spent a great deal of time talking to people who were close to both Miss Granger and Mr. Potter; the story came together quite easily, all things considered…” He took a step forward and reached for the handle to Hermione's door. “And now, we remain patient and encouraging, and we continue to hope that—”

“…someday she can find a new ending,” Patrick supplied as they entered Hermione's room.

“…one more minute,” she continued to murmur softly into her pillow. “I do, Harry…I do. Just…just one minute more…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~One year later~

She looked at him as a wave of fury took hold of her. “All I said…” she began breathily, “is that I needed a minute.”

His heart was on his sleeve and tears began to sting his eyes as he started to lose what little self-control he'd been clinging to. “If you loved me, you wouldn't have to think about it. The words would just come.”

“But, I—”

Without another word…another sound…he was gone.

“…I do.”

Addendum to: `A Story'

By Hermione Granger

After all this time, an ending still evades me. I understand now, the reasons…but I am helpless to overcome them. Doing so will not bring back my Harry and so, as I told him in our final moments together, I cannot live…there is no life for me without him.

In lieu of an ending, I add this addendum…

Death…she waits for no one, does she? She simply races about from one to the next, randomly choosing her quarry with no modicum of remorse for those left behind.

How does she do it?

How does she shut out the pain that is born of such cruelty…of such heartlessness?

How does she so selfishly claim loved ones when there are words so obviously left unspoken?

And how does she tune out the wailing sounds of the brokenhearted?

So much of what Harry said to me that night is true…Death is so much more than merely dying. But what he failed to realize is that dying is what prevents us from having to live with the devastation that Death has left in her wake…comparatively, I'd agree that dying is the easy part.

There are countless ways to die…but only one way for each of us. No matter how many things we're hit with at any given time, it is always that one final blow, that one way that brings Death to our door. Every day I find myself wondering what my way will be and if she chooses it or if she only comes to collect the remains…perhaps I've been angry at the wrong entity all this time, I hope not.

Does she come only for those who fear her…for those who have things left undone? Again, I hope not, because I am no longer able to fear her and I've nothing left to do…not here in this realm of existence. All I can do now is wait impatiently for her to come for me.

I would have summoned her long ago if not for the fear of losing my Harry a second time…would we be together if Death was forced upon my door? I can't answer that, and it's not a chance I'm willing to take.

So here I'll sit for as long as it takes, and until then…

“I do, Harry,” I will continue to breathe. “Just give me one more minute while I make my way to you….”

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