End of Our Days

Xonze

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 08/06/2006
Last Updated: 16/10/2006
Status: in_progress

“So this is it, this is the end of our days of torment, and the end of our days of death and pain. There is no retreating, no going home to fight another day. We win, or we die, taking a few of them with us. I’m willing to give my life so that my family and friends will be safe. Are you willing to do the same for yours?”– Unknown After the final battle Harry lays tired and battered on the floor, his mind reeling through thoughts.

Chapters

1. Aftermath

2. Familiar

3. Black Rain

1. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters.

A/N: Well this is the first story I’m uploading here, so hopefully I did it right. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and if you have the time C&C’s are welcome.

Aftermath

“So this is it. This is the end of our days of torment, and the end of our days of death and pain. There is no retreating, no going home to fight another day. We win, or we die, taking a few of them with us. I’m willing to give my life so that my family and friends will be safe. Are you willing to do the same for yours?”– Unknown

Harry Potter was in pain. A numbing pain that ran the length of his left arm and hand, his fingers limp and useless. His right leg was bent in a way that he knew was not normal, but his nerves had overridden the pain signals hours ago. He was bleeding from a dozen or so wounds, and he could fell the coldness of the blood as it found its way along the contours of his body and soaked in large stains across his clothes.

Breathing was a chore, a rattling breath was the most he could muster from his position laying on his stomach. He moved his head as he took a deep breath, and looked toward the room that he had just crawled from. It seemed like miles away, the dim light of a candle his only reference point. He blinked a few times as blood crept into his eyes, adding a stinging pain to the others.

In the room he could make out a large mass laying on the ground in front of the flickering candle. A slight smile crept across his lips as he saw no movement come from it. It was over, for him at least.

He was so tired.

He could still hear the sounds of battle outside. The sound of Men and Women screaming incantations and in pain, fluttered through the night, echoing all around Harry. If he could have, he would have placed his hands over his ears.

The haunting sounds of death seemed to become his only friend as he began to fall in and out of consciousness. Images shimmered though his mind, finally being set free from the walls of Occlumency that he had built up prior to the battle. He saw his greatest fears bounce into the front of his mind, making him watch his friends dying over and over again. They filled the darkness behind his eyelids when he closed them for sleep.

#

Harry jerked awake at the feeling of warmth on his skin. With sleep encrusted eyes he blinked at the blinding light that shimmered though the broken window. The warmth was a great contrast to what he had felt last night, the light felt almost heaven sent. The chill had finally left him and he rolled onto his back, giving a cry of pain as he did so.

Tears fell free of his eyes as he finally landed on his back. Pain shot along tattered and worn nerves, causing him to shiver involuntarily as he fell. Muscles screamed at him for the toll, and his head throbbed, causing him to squint at the light that was now shining completely on his face. A heavy sigh escaped him as the pain finally began to subside.

With a shaking hand he rubbed his forehead, dried blood flaked from his skin as he did so. He breathed in heavily through his mouth, noticing a strange taste that seemed to play on his tongue. He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, and his teeth, trying to scrape the taste off, but it wouldn’t leave.

His mind seemed to play back every taste he could think of. His first thought was blood, and while his mouth was full of blood at least once the night before, it wasn’t the same taste. He removed his hand from his forehead and reached down to a small bag that lay on the ground, it was attached to him at his waist.

He played his hand along the top of the bag feeling only three vials of the potions Hermione had made for him to take. There was six, but he remembered using two during the fight, one strengthening potion and another one he couldn’t quite recall. He was quite sure he would not have won if it hadn’t been for those potions. And as he thought back he was able to place the taste.

“Blood replenishing potion.” He mumbled as he looked about his surroundings and found an empty vial laying where he had moments before. A film of red layered the glass, and the stone floor was stained with droplets of the potion.

“Thank Merlin for you Hermione.” He grunted out as he remembered taking the potion after he crawled out of the room. He laid his head back against the cool stone and smiled for the first time in a very long time.

The smile didn’t last for more than a moment as thoughts of what might have happened to his friends filled his head. It was silent outside, and while he had won his battle, he wondered how his friends had faired. He was sure that if they had been triumphant they would have come for him.

He strained to listen for any sound from outside the walls of the old building. The sun was still flickering in his face, reflected by a dozen or so shards of glass that laid shattered along the floor and furniture. He heard nothing.

Fear began to over take him, the pain of his wounds second to it. Had they won and thought he was dead and left him there? Had they lost and now Deatheaters ran ramped across the country? Were they still fighting but too far away to hear?

They forgot about him.

The thought was so powerful that it shocked him to his core. They would never forget him, the rational part of his mind screamed, but it was lost among the laughs and screams that seemed to grow louder, reiterating that he was forgotten. Those laughing voices pushed forward ways of rationalizing the very idea of it.

He didn’t want to be left alone, he realized with a panic. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. His entire life was one lonely affair until he had arrived at Hogwarts those seven years prior. He had friends there, good friends. Ron and Hermione.

The names sat cloistered in his mind. Their faces standing against the dismal backdrop of his thoughts. He couldn’t believe they would forget about him. But, maybe they did, maybe with him being dead they could finally be together.

He groaned. He was tearing himself apart with thoughts. His already weak state of mind and body was failing, and he was speeding up the process. The will to live was fading with each and every thought that came to him. He had served his purpose. He had done what he was born to do, and now he was of no use to anyone, especially himself.

He was going to be discarded like an old and broken cauldron, left for the earth to take and forgotten the second he was out of sight. He felt tears burn his eyes, and for the first time they weren’t from the physical pain of his wounds, even though they still throbbed and pounded with every breath and beat of his heart. No, it was the feeling of abandonment that called these tears to the front.

He was already dead, his mind had succumbed to the onslaught and offered the only choice that made any sense at this moment in time. He wrestled with the pain as he gently moved his hand to the bag on his waist again, his broken and shattered fingers rubbed against the bag and Harry hissed in pain as they bent back, but he did not stop. He forced his fingered to work and untie the bag, letting the three remaining vials to fall to the floor. They rolled a few inches before coming to a stop, casting their respective colors on the dark floor.

He turned his head to face them, his eyes reading over the different colors. Hermione had only given him five. The sixth one was one from Remus. It was a last resort, to save Harry from whatever Voldemort could plan for him had he lost. Harry was sure Remus never thought he’d use it after he won, but now . . . it just seemed right.

Harry moved his hand to the greenish blue vial of liquid and grasped it firmly, pulling it to him. With a last bit of strength he moved his other hand up and pulled with everything he had, removing the stopper with a pop. He placed the vial against his lips, a drop of the potion dripped on his tongue and burned it with a small hiss.

He squinted, readying himself for what was to come after he drank the potion. Just the next great adventure, Dumbledore had said to him ages ago. He hoped he was right. He began to twist his wrist to allow the potion to fall into his open mouth.

Stay that hand Mr. Potter!

The voice was loud, and demanding. His hand stopped as he opened his eyes and looked around his surroundings the best he could from his prone position on the floor. No one was in sight. He shook his head, passing the voice off as just hearing things and began again.

HARRY POTTER!

It was louder this time, a booming voice that echoed everywhere and no where. It shook the shattered windows and the very mortar between the stones he laid on. Harry dropped the vial in his surprise and rolled off him and shattered along the floor, the greenish blue liquid flowed out, seeping into the cracks, hissing and popping as it went.

He cursed as he watched the liquid thread its way along the stones. With a sigh he turned his attention away from his failed chance and to the arched ceiling above him. He ran his eyes along the stones that formed a ring of sorts in the center of the arch, and focused on the circle as his mind was sent reeling.

The voice sounded familiar, but in his pain-induced stupor he couldn’t quite place it. Whoever it was shocked him out of his last chance for a quick death, now it was just a waiting game. It was a game he played his whole life, and one that he was never very good at.

If he could have, he’d of gotten a hold of a shard of glass to do the deed, but his body was too tired and too damaged to comply with the idea. As options faded, he found that the only thing he could really do was sleep and pray that it wouldn’t be long until it was done. So he closed his eyes, the ceiling disappeared behind his lids and imagined his parents and friends, willing sleep to take him.

2. Familiar

Disclaimer- Own none of the characters.

A/N: Thanks goes to Emma for her help in figuring out where to exactly go with this entire story. Love you Emmie. :p

Familiar

“It was a familiar scent that traveled through my nose, the smell of sunflowers wafting their way from the small gardens that sat to the sides of the road. And that, is how I knew, I was on the familiar road home.” -JPM

Harry awoke to the sound of a low rumble, it felt like only minutes had past since he had drifted off. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but he felt control of his breathing return to him as well as the understanding of sounds and the feeling of things around him. He laid there motionless as his brain began to take over its daily functions again, slowly pushing through the fog of sleep, removing dream elements from the real world around him

The first thing he noticed was that his shoulder blades no longer seemed to be digging into hard stone, instead he found that when he shifted his shoulders they met with a softness that he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t exactly pillow soft, but at the same time it was unlike the stone floor in many ways.

The second thing he noticed wasn’t as nice of a feeling, his bladder was full, which was probably what had woken him from his sleep. He shook his head, moving it only inches in either direction. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep until he had relieved himself, but the very thought of doing it right where he was made him laugh slightly. He’d have to figure something else out.

He slowly opened his eyes as he turned his head to face the window that had let in the sun not long ago but did not find it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but even after they had he noticed most things around him were in a haze. He blinked a few times hoping that things would clear up but to no avail, the objects around him still looked unfamiliar. He went to rub his eyes but stopped as the echoing sound of feet bounced to his ears. He turned toward the sound, finding a blurry doorway to his left.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away from the doorframe and Harry heard the squeak of an unoiled door opening and the sudden sound of rushing water. He had time. He went to move but found that his limbs were no longer listening to what they were told, his arms laid lifeless against his sides. He bent at the waist as much as he could and pushed his chin into his chest to look down to his legs.

He found nothing but a view of wrinkled white that fell off the edges of whatever he was on. He cursed as he tried once again to move, the cover shifted the tiniest bit, but nothing more came of it. With a groan he fell back, hitting softness again. Whoever had him here had him completely in their grasps.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the person in the next room over. The water still was running, the sound almost like it was from a sink. A moment past and a low rumble sounded from outside of wherever he was. It was like a growl almost, but much stronger and higher up.

“Storm.” He breathed, and as he did the water cut off with a squeak. The footsteps began again, moving out into the hall before coming to a stop. The sound of breathing was carried along the hall and into Harry’s room. From the sound of it the person was deciding, or confused. It alternated between heavy and shallow breaths and finally ended in a sigh. The footsteps began again, and the sound was getting slightly louder with every footfall.

Harry looked to the doorframe, his eyes watching as a blurry shadow ran its length against the outside wall, draping it in soft black. The shadow moved past the door and a blurred figure filled the doorway. It stood there for a moment, and Harry closed his eyes to slits, still watching the figure as its bleary features seemed to screw up in concern as it faced him.

He watched as the figure made its way into the room, the floor boards squeaking in an ominous way as it went. It walked past him and around where he was laying and to the other side of the room. Harry slowly turned his head enough to keep the figure in focus as it moved. When the figure walked past the end of where he was laying he noticed with a small start that it was a woman, her outline, unmistakable as of the female gender.

He wanted to ask where he was, but found that his voice was caught in the hallows of his throat. He cursed mentally and continued to watch the woman, his eyes fixated on her every movement, how he wished he could see clearly.

She stopped near a large grey object that jutted out into the room. She bent down and Harry lost sight of her for a moment, but his hearing picked up jumbled words and then the small hissing of fire coming to life. The room was suddenly awash in flickering orange light as the sound of burning became louder, settling into a chorus of cracking and popping.

Whispered words found their way to him, and he slowed his breathing so it wouldn’t drown out the soft talking. While he couldn’t make out the words, he could make out two distinct voices, one female, belonging to the woman, and another voice, a man’s, that seemed full of energy and yet reserved.

“What do you mean you found him?!” Harry jerked slightly, not ready for the voice to travel the volume scale to that height. The woman made a shushing sound, but allowed hers to raise also, replying.

“He was there, under the rubble. I found him two days ago, but there have been too many Ash storms to be able to contact you.” The woman said, her voice obviously filled with joy.

“Is he all right?” The other voice asked, Harry wished he could move to see her and who she was talking to. “I mean, of course he isn’t all right, well I mean . . .”

“I know what you mean.” The woman said, laughing gently. “He’ll be okay, I think. He was quite badly hurt when I found him. I did the best I could, but I’m no Madam Pomfrey. I wish the Floo was working correctly, I could’ve sent for her. How are things there, anyway?” Harry heard the man sigh before speaking.

“Not too good, we’re doing the best we can, but there are so many to help. I’m just hoping we won’t have to move again,” There was a pause and another sigh came from the man, “Fourteen died during that move, I don’t want to see that again.”

“Well, hopefully this news of Harry will bring some hope to everyone there.” Another low rumble echoed around the house, gently shaking the room, the woman gave a sigh before talking again. “I’m going to have to go, another storm is on its way and I don’t want the fire to go haywire like last time.”

“Okay, take care of yourself, you hear?”

“I will, see you.”

“See you.” Harry listened as the fire fizzled out, the flickering orange light receding back to its source.

The woman sighed as she stood, her head down, facing the floor. She was wringing her hands and turned to look at Harry.

Dropping her hands she made her way to the bedside and knelt down by it, her breathing was heavy and tired sounding, she reached a hand out and he felt fingers run through his hair, gently pushing it back from his forehead.

He opened his eyes fully and stared out at her, her blurred features focusing slightly. He still couldn’t make out who it was, but she seemed familiar in a way.

“About time.” He heard as he watched her mouth move, and then form into a smile. “Wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up.” The woman bent down her eyes meeting his, he watched at the blurred irises moved about his face, taking in ever little thing. “How are you feeling?” Her voice held a worried tone, one that was so very familiar.

“Hermione?” He mumbled, his vocal cords vibrating rawly in his dry throat. The line that was her mouth slowly moved up, pushing back her cheeks.

“It’s me.” She said and she turned away from for a moment, reaching over to a table. Harry watched her for a bit, waiting, before turning to look at the window that sat at the foot of his bed.

“Here.” She said and suddenly Harry’s vision cleared, objects that once were blobs of material now held crisp shapes, and his mind began to recognize the world. “They were broken, but they were easier to fix than you.” She said and Harry looked over to her.

Hermione. The brightest witch of their age. Harry felt like it had been a lifetime since he had last seen her face. The young features. The bushy brown hair. But the Hermione that he was now face to face with was different. Seemingly older.

He followed the lines of her face until he found her eyes. In the depths of black and brown he found a different, wiser, but sadder, soul seated behind them. It was old, tired, and the flesh seemed to depict that as he began to travel her face.

He moved from her eyes and looked over her face. Faded dirt smudges were scattered about her cheeks, and pink skin was faintly showing where she had probably tried her best to get rid of them. Heavy bags laid under her eyes, the skin drooping slightly from lack of sleep, it was that, most of all that seemed to age her.

“Glad that you’re back, Harry.” She said, running a hand through his hair.

Harry just smiled, letting her fingers work over his scalp.

TBC

3. Black Rain

Black Rain

It is a hellish problem to be stuck in one place for too long. To be laid up and being unable to fend for oneself. The lost of freedom destroys more than any sickness." -JPM

Thunder crackled stirring Harry from his light sleep. The flash of lightning that followed the rumble pushed its way through his eyelids causing him to squint until it subsided. He then opened his heavy lids enough to see out in the room. They shot open in surprise when he didn't recognize where he was. Green irises shifted around the room, taking in everything until they landed on a form laying heavily on his chest.

Hair, deep brown and tangled like vines, splayed out over the sheets that laid over him, and covered the girl's face. He watched as her shoulders rose and fell in a constant rhythm, and allowed his eyes to wonder from them, following the curve of her shoulders, her pale arms, and to the delicate fingers that sat slightly curled over the wrinkles of the sheets.

Lightning flashed as the sound of rain pelting off the windows echoed in the quiet room causing Harry's eyes to shift to the window pane. The window was streaked in muddy water, the droplets running winding paths across the glass, leaving a trail of blackness in its wake.

A deep breath told him the girl had woken up and he turned his attention back to her, watching a shiver run down her spine, her body convulsing slightly to the sudden touch of cold. He moved to place a hand to her, but found that he still lacked the strength to do so, so settled for a soft word.

"Hermione?" He called, his voice low compared to the pounding rain. When no answer came he began to repeat himself. "Hermione are yo - "

"Hmm?" The sound was lazy, a call through the fog of sleep.

Harry smiled. That dreamy 'hmm' made him feel better than he had in a long time. Though, the smile quickly disappeared, as the familiar calling of his bladder found its way to his brain. He looked at her for a moment, his mind running thought his choices. It was going to be embarrassing to ask, but he didn't have any other choice, unless he felt like wetting the bed or something along those lines. Which, his mind told him, would be much more embarrassing.

"Uh, are you awake by any chance?" He asked and Hermione turned her head slightly allowing an eye to peak out above her arm.

"Yeah, somewhat. Why?" She asked, that one eye looking him over.

"Well, um, you see . . ." How the hell was he suppose to ask this? He can't very well ask her to help him aim or anything, but he can't do it himself in the state he seemed to be in. Why couldn't life ever give him a break? "I, uh, have to use the, erm, facilities." Facilities? He must have hit his head or something.

"Wha-?" She began as she lifted her head up and sat up straight, her brow was raised slightly. Seconds later a look of understanding crossed her face and her cheeks grew a hint of pink, and a hand slapped gently against her forehead. "Oh, of course, I'm sorry, um. . . ." She trailed off as the lights flickered in time with the rolling thunder. "Duh, Hermione . . . I can't believe . . ." She began to look around the room as she continued to berate herself.

"Oh, that should work." She said in offhand sort of way. , Harry watched as she placed a finger tip to her lips as her eyes stared off into the distance. The tip tapped lightly against her bottom lip and Harry couldn't help but be reminded of how cute she was when she was mulling over a problem. "Yes, that would work I think." She turned back to Harry. Her eyes fixed on him. "I'll be right back, just hold on." She said with a smile and made her way out of the room.

"Hold on?" He said with a chuckle. Of course he was going to hold on, even if his bladder exploded on him. He moved himself up slightly to be able to see the window better and the rain that was falling outside. It was black.

The rain stood out against the backdrop of gray clouds, giving the world outside the window a doomsday feel that Harry had only seen in a movie. The darkness seemed to seep its way into the room, pushing back the light of the electric lamps that continued to flicker.

The lights finally turned off with a rolling thunder, leaving Harry in darkness, the silence was deafening, and he began to search around the room. Something was wrong.

He knew it, he could feel it in his very bones, that something was very wrong with how this darkness seemed to prevail against the light until they flickered out. A flash of lightening lit up the room, or rather lit up Harry and the bed he way laying on. The darkness didn't run from the flash of blue like it should have, instead it stuck to the walls and the floors like a second skin.

Harry felt his breath catch and the feeling of fear began to run along his spines, sending out signals for flight, and if he could have moved he might have listened to them. But instead he laid there, half paralyzed, as the darkness continued to flood into the room.

CRACK!

The sound made Harry's upper half jump, his eyes open as wide as they could, taking in everything that his brain could possibly process. Another crack made him turn his head down to his sheets. The sound, the crack was coming from the darkness, or rather, tendrils of darkness that slammed heavily onto the bed. The vines of darkness swayed back and forth as if waiting for their turn to claim a part of the bed, and slowly, each with a crack, they took a spot and began to slither along the bed.

"Hermione . . . "Harry tried his best to shout, but the word merely came out as whisper. He tried again as he felt a chill run over his legs. "Hermione . . ." His forced his voice to work, his vocal cords, battered and torn vibrated with the air of his lungs, trying to make his calls for help gain volume.

"Hermione!" Pain ripped along his throat as the horse yell traveled about the room. The coldness was beginning to travel up his chest now, and he knew that was the best he was going to be able to come up with.

He began to chant her name in his mind, hoping that she heard him, hoping that somehow she would feel he was in danger, somehow come to his rescue. He began to shiver as his mind continued to repeat her name. He looked down watching the tendrils wrap around him, binding his hands to his side, enveloping him in cold.

"LUMOS!" The voice was forceful, as if how loud it shouted had a direct correlation with how powerful the light would be, and it seemed it did, for the entire room lit up in a light so bright that Harry had to close his eyes. As he closed his eyes, he could feel the grip of the darkness release, slithering away from his skin and away from the light.

Slowly the light fell in brightness, dimming to the point that Harry could open his eyes once again. He turned his head around the room quickly just as the lights came back on.

"Nox." Harry turned to find Hermione standing armed with her wand, her shoulders heaving as if she had ran a couple of miles. She was breathing through her open mouth, her eyes darting every which way, and her wand finally fell to her side as she seemed to regain control of herself.

She looked to the floor and breathed in deeply before looking up to him, concern seated behind her eyes. Quickly, she moved from where she stood to kneel down next to the bedside and grabbed Harry into a tight hug. She was mumbling something but he couldn't quite make it out with her face buried in his shoulder, and she seemed to be . . . crying?

"Hermione?" Harry asked softly against her hair and tried to nudge her up to look at him. She slowly lifted her head, her cheeks shiny from tears, and she wiped at them as she continued to look from him.

"I'm sorry." She said, and Harry realized that she was saying that all along.

"For?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow in confusion, she just shook her head, still not looking at him.

"I shouldn't have left you alone like that, in this storm . . ."

"Why is that? What was that thing?" He asked, and he turned to face the room, looking for any hint of the darkness that had almost overtaken him.

"A Shade." Hermione said flatly, and finally looked at him. "They come in the rain sometimes, looking for people like us."

"Like us?"

"Yes, like us, us who still fight, and haven't given up."

"Fight what? I killed Voldemort, that's how I got into this condition." He paused and turned to face her. "Please tell me it isn't him."

She didn't meet his eyes once again, but the frown that formed across her lips was enough to tell him that it was. He cursed loudly and slammed his head into the pillow. Every fiber of his being burned in raw anger. After all that, after everything he had been though the bastard was still around. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to kill him again.

POP!

The first light bulb went dark, and sudden the rest followed each one going out in a more violent fashion until the last one in the room shattered and shards of glass exploded into the room.

"Harry, calm down, HARRY!" Hermione shouted, but he can barely hear her, his depleted reserves of energy had become even lower after he has lost control. His head with swimming, thoughts came in jumbles of pictures and words.

"Harry, stay with me, come on."

Harry breathed in deeply and shook his head, gaining back his bearings. He turned to her, his eyes drooped, and his mouth in a frown.

"I killed him Hermione, I saw him die."

"I know, we all thought you did, especially when we couldn't find you. I'm so sorry Harry . . ." And she hugged him again, holding on as tightly as she could.

"Umm, Hermione, I uh, still have to go." He whispered to her.

"Oh god, I forgot!" She said with a laugh.