Apologies
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Drama / Angst
Sub Category: Romance
Keywords: Harry Hermione Sirius Day After
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers:SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: It is the day after Harry and his friends' encounter with Voldemort and the Death Eaters
in the Ministry of Magic. After his talk with Dumbledore, Harry goes to the Hospital Wing to visit Hermione and Ron …
WARNING: MAJOR OotP SPOILERS AHEAD!
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: For everyone who sails on the HMS Pumpkin Pie, always remember: home is where your heart is. Glomps and hugs to you all!
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Drained.
Hollowed out.
He felt like an emptied shell - all skin and bones and nothing within: no organs, no blood or flesh. He leaned back wearily in the corridor outside Dumbledore's office, looking at the world around him through dulled and lifeless eyes, his brain utterly battered by the events of the day and the startling revelations made in the round room where he had left the Headmaster, who was probably trying to repair the damage wrought by an angry Harry Potter.
He had wanted nothing more than to simply collapse in that room - to be a mere sack of emptiness and nothingness draped over the chair, but he had forced himself to stand up and get out -- pushed himself out and away, ignoring the portraits of Headmasters past, paying no heed to the old man at his desk who now had to face the consequences of his actions with no one to console him except the living portraits of those who had gone before him.
Dumbledore at least had someone to talk to.
Harry Potter had no one.
Sirius Black was gone.
And now he was alone.
'No, you're not.'
He blinked and shook his head - turned and saw the unblinking eyes of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. For a moment he stared, wondering whether that particular statue with its own inherent magic had spoken - shaking his head again as he realized that the voice belonged to someone else … someone he knew well …
'You're never alone, Harry Potter. Can't you understand that?'
Hermione Granger.
Best friend, constant companion - the voice of reason to his often jumbled, unsettled mind. And she was in the Hospital Wing, along with the others, recovering from the battle with Voldemort's Death Eaters - a clash he had dragged his friends into, simply because … because …
He took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to face his actions squarely.
Because he, like the old man in the round room, cared too much.
Loved too deeply.
But in caring too much, and loving too deeply, they had both turned a blind eye to other things, other people. They'd focused their minds and attentions on a single person, unheeding of others who needed them - cared for them in the same way that he - and Dumbledore -- cared.
In his single-minded focus on his godfather - and in Dumbledore's concern for him and the burdens he would have to face - they had both forgotten about the others. Dumbledore's words swam into his mind: "I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love, to act."
And he had acted in exactly the same way - caring too much for Sirius and letting his fear and concern overrule everything and everyone else, screaming at Hermione and nearly hitting her in his anger at her interfering logic, unheeding at the time of even the merest possibility that she was correct … caring more for Sirius' life than the lives that might have been lost if his half-baked, half-mad plan failed.
As it had.
He'd gone to the Department of Mysteries with a single objective: to rescue Sirius. Instead, it had been Sirius and the others who'd rescued him - and in so doing, he'd led Sirius to his death.
As if a tape recording had been let loose in his head, he could hear Lucius Malfoy's smirking voice from behind his mask in the room he'd been dreaming about for months: "Oh, you don't know Potter as I do, Bellatrix. He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him ..."
And Hermione's voice from earlier that day started sounding off in his mind, interspersing itself with Malfoy's voice: "I'm trying to say -- Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the -- the sort of person who'd go to Sirius' aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst-?"
Vaguely, he realized he was walking … no, he was sprinting … no, he was running, unheeding of the noise and commotion he was making, unheeding of anything, everything and everyone that was in his way.
He had to talk to her.
* * *
Bizarre.
It was the only way to describe his feelings as he stood in the space between the two beds, looking down on his best friends, fast asleep in adjacent beds in the Hospital Wing.
Once again, all three of them were in the Hospital Wing (the others had been sent to their respective dorms) - but this time, he was standing alone, whole and unharmed except for the scars on his soul, while they were the ones injured and asleep. A flood of memories rampaged through his mind at the thought: Hermione's furred face after the fiasco with the Polyjuice potion in second year; Hermione petrified after the encounter with the basilisk before their game against Hufflepuff in that same year; Hermione and himself talking to Dumbledore in third year - the Headmaster saying, "What we need is more time…"
She had always been there for him, he reflected. From the room beneath the castle when she solved the Potions puzzle, to the Gryffindor Common Room at one in the morning as he perfected the Summoning Charm. She had used her Time-Turner to help him rescue Sirius two years ago; she was the only one who stood by him when the whole school - including Ron! - snubbed him for becoming a Tri-Wizard Champion …
And this time - in spite of her own doubts about his plan, she'd gone with him to Umbridge's office to try and get in touch with Sirius. He'd recognized her offer to go with him as a sign of solidarity and loyalty, even if he seemed to be maniacal in his distress and concern.
In exchange for all the solidarity, loyalty and, yes, the friendship and concern she had shown for him over the years … he shuddered as his mind replayed Dolohov slashing with his wand, a streak of what looked like purple flame passing right through Hermione's chest, her tiny "Oh!" of surprise as she crumpled - his panic at the thought that she was dead through his sheer thoughtlessness and stupidity ...
Unthinking, he sat on her bed and stared at her sleeping face, sensing her slow, even breathing, unconsciously reaching out to hold her hand - and entwine his fingers with hers.
"You were right, you know," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "You were right … it was a trap for me. You knew … you could sense it … you knew what Voldemort was thinking. You knew that he would count on my 'saving people' thing to make me go to the Department of Mysteries …"
He shuddered at the memory of their argument - and felt himself shake in loathing at the sheer level of anger, frustration and rage that had coursed through him as she tried to dissuade him from his plans. He had held himself back with an effort as she reminded him of his blunder during the Tri-Wizard tournament, of going beyond the limit in an effort to save Gabrielle Delacour …
"I guess you know me too well, Hermione - I keep forgetting that. You weren't even my friend in first year when you tried to stop me from that midnight duel with Malfoy - and even then you were correct."
He could still remember that night when he and Ron had set out for the duel with Malfoy - and his astonishment that anyone could be so interfering as she followed them out the portrait-hole, hissing like an angry goose. And yet … and yet … if she hadn't joined them, there was no way that they could have avoided getting caught by Filch. If it wasn't for her Alohamora charm that night …
'I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed -- or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.'
He could feel a smile breaking out on his face as he heard her verdict on the midnight duel in his head - and the look of shock on Ron's face at her pronouncement. Oh yes, he thought, that was the Hermione we all knew and loved - the bossy know-it-all who had avoided them for days after that, except for that one moment when she'd asked him if he thought that his Nimbus 2000 was a reward for breaking rules --
But she was right, he thought. She was so right … even then, five years and so many adventures before. She had been right so many times - even to the fact that it was Sirius who had sent him the Firebolt for Christmas two years ago. Of course, Sirius hadn't sent it to him to harm him - no one knew that at the time - but still …
'Oh yes, I forgot - of course, if it was darling Hermione's idea -'
Cho.
His smile vanished, replaced by a grim line as he gritted his teeth. Where did Cho get off, saying that it was a horrible trick of Hermione to have jinxed the Defence Association's list that they all signed? It was an absolutely brilliant idea, as he'd told Cho - and she had thrown that accusation at him and …
'You should have told her differently,' Hermione was saying in his head, with that maddeningly patient air she had. He tried to shake the memory of their discussion when she'd asked about his date with Cho out of his head, but the words rolled on and on … Hermione patiently explaining how he should have dealt with Cho's outburst, and ending it with the afterthought, '… And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too.'
"But I don't think you're ugly," he said to her sleeping form, unconsciously repeating his bemused reaction to her statement. "You're smart … absolutely brilliant … you understand me better than I do sometimes … you always know what's right for me, and what to do for me …"
'I know you're in there,' said Hermione's voice. 'Will you please come out? 1 want to talk to you.'
Christmas at Grimmauld Place. He'd been avoiding everybody because of the fear that Voldemort was possessing him - refusing to join them for meals, listening to Sirius singing from the cold drawing room where he had retreated to in order to evade them, hiding out in Buckbeak's room so he could avoid dinner …
So why had he opened the door when Hermione started hammering it, and calling him? She was standing there in her sweater, snow in her hair and face pink with the cold. She must have gone straight up to him from the time she entered the house -- with only a few words, made him follow her to his bedroom where Ginny reminded him about how it felt like to be possessed by Voldemort … and that had led to one of the most wonderful Christmases he'd ever had: surrounded by friends and the Weasley family, Grimmauld place transformed through their efforts into a homey, wonderful place, the usual pile of Christmas gifts from everyone -- Sirius as a genial host totally unlike the sullen host of the summer …
Sirius.
His mind brought back the first time he'd set eyes on Sirius -- a mass of filthy, matted hair hanging to his elbows, eyes shining out of deep, dark sockets, waxy skin stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, yellow teeth bared in a grin - a total contrast to the picture of the laughing wizard who was best man at his parent's wedding.
"Remember that night, Hermione?" he whispered. "The three of us in the Shrieking Shack with Sirius … we all thought that he was going to kill us, or kill me and the two of you were going to be killed along with me? Who'd have thought that it was Wormtail the whole time … that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew, the one who betrayed my mum and dad?
"Sirius wanted me to live with him, remember? If we had been able to bring Wormtail in … if I had not been so high and noble and not stopped them from killing him..." His voice trailed off. What was there to say? Everything that could possibly have been said had been said … he'd had to constantly face the consequences of his actions and decisions far too many times in the past two years …
Letting Peter Pettigrew live two years ago had let loose a flood of consequences that no one - not even Trelawney in her incense-shrouded room in the South Tower -- would have been able to predict. Who could have predicted the havoc that the prophecies of a batty old professor in Divination would wreak on the wizarding world? Her first prophecy had set Voldemort after his parents; the second heralded the events leading to the resurrection of Voldemort - and the deaths of Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black.
He heard Hermione whimper and he started, realizing that he was crushing the hand he was holding as his memories and emotions raged through his muscles and veins, and he quickly tried to let go - but unable to do so, entwined as his fingers were in hers. He tried to pull his hand away but couldn't … glancing down, he realized that Hermione was gripping his hand as tightly as he was - looking up quickly, he saw that her eyes had opened and she was staring at him, but her eyes were glazed, unfocused …
"Hermione!" he whispered hoarsely.
Her eyes snapped to his voice and he felt her fingers tighten around his. "Harry?" she whispered. "Thank Merlin you're safe!"
Before he could say anything, she had closed her eyes and was seemingly asleep again, her warm fingers still entwined with his.
He should have felt warmed by her concern, but he was not.
Once again, he felt his insides draining away … the same hollowness he'd felt in Dumbledore's office coursing through him: he was safe, but Sirius was dead. He had nearly brought all of them to their doom in an effort to save Sirius - but Sirius was still gone.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said in a choked whisper. "I dragged you lot into this to rescue Sirius - and I failed. I failed."
Failed his godfather.
Failed his friends.
Failed himself.
"No, you didn't."
A bitter smile as he clenched his teeth against the voice of reason in his head. Why should it - she - be insisting that he hadn't failed? He'd set out to rescue Sirius, but Sirius was gone …
"Do you hear me, Harry? You -- have not - failed!"
His head snapped up so fast that he could swear his neck bones snapped - and he was staring into Hermione's eyes, sparkling with their own inner pain. He realized that she was gripping his hand tightly and he could hear her harsh breathing as she tried to sit up, fighting against the pain in her magically-wounded chest.
"Hermione - no! You're hurt … you should rest … don't talk …" He stood up, but she held on tightly to him and he, realizing that it was useless to try and leave, sat down again beside her, glancing around guiltily in case Madam Pomfrey walked in and threw him out for disturbing her patient, pushing down on her shoulder with his other hand to stop her from sitting up …
"Harry …" She finally laid back with a gasp, teeth gritting against the pain in her chest, but he could still recognize the steely determination in her eyes and he leaned forward so that she wouldn't have much difficulty in talking. "You're here … you're alive … that's all that matters."
He stared at her, mouth opened in shock. After all that had happened, after all that he had gone through … after the loss of his godfather, the person whom he had learned to love more than life itself … all that mattered to her was that he was still alive, that he was still the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, their one shining hope against Voldemort and his Death-Eaters! Was that all he was to them? Didn't Sirius count for anything at all in this world?
He felt his chest constricting, felt again a dark, boiling rage build within his head as he tried to release her hand, even as he felt her gripping him tighter, and he turned to her with blazing eyes and gritted teeth.
"Sirius is dead, did you know that?" His self-control was on a very thin thread … it was only the continuing emptiness of his soul that had kept him from screaming at her. As it was, his very whisper carried an excess of venom and hate - hate for what he was, disgust for everything that he had been forced to do and live up to ever since he'd entered the wizarding world, loathing for whatever it was that made Voldemort want to kill him - and had led to the deaths of Cedric and Sirius.
He closed his eyes to the rage within him, trying to force a calmness over his shaking body, biting down on his tongue to keep from shouting the same things he had screamed at Dumbledore earlier as he'd smashed furniture and other possessions in his rage: "I DON"T CARE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE -"
Vaguely, through the red haze of his rage, he heard Hermione's hoarse whisper: "I know about Sirius … I heard them talking earlier … I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."
"Is that all you can say?" he hissed, as he opened his eyes and glared at her. "Is that all you can bloody tell me? That you're sorry … you're sorry … Dumbledore is sorry, everyone is sorry … but no one can understand what I feel!"
She was staring at him in shock, and he could see the tears breaking loose and falling down her cheeks. And yet she didn't let go of him; hazily, he felt her hands in his, felt her pulling on him so that she could sit up and face him rather than simply lie there and listen.
"No one can, Harry … because none of us know Sirius that well. I am sorry that he's gone, but I cannot feel the way you feel because I do not know him that well. All that matters to me now is that you're here, and you're safe … "
"Why?" he spat. "Because I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived?"
He saw her flinch at his savage tone and felt a momentary satisfaction, but in the same instant, felt her fingernails digging into his skin as she tightened her grip even more on his hands, and heard her whisper: "Because you're my friend. Because you're Harry Potter … the boy who came after me when he realized that I didn't know about the troll in the castle … the one who went after Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets … who went after Ron in the Shrieking Shack because he was in danger … who brought back Cedric Diggory's body because he made a promise to his ghost … who wanted to avoid his friends because he was afraid that he might attack them if Voldemort possessed him."
His chest tightened as he heard her litany, and he tried to answer, but her hands on his made him stop and turn away as she continued: "I'm sorry about Sirius, Harry - I really am. But I cannot feel the way you feel, because I never knew him that well. You're the one I know well, you're the one who's saved me, you're the one who's looked out for me, you're the one I care for …"
He heard her give a sharp breath and he turned back to her - and felt her flinging her arms around him and bury her head in his chest. Automatically, his arms went around her and he found himself resting his head on her bushy head of hair, stroking her back and rocking her slowly as she whimpered, "I'm sorry about Sirius, Harry - I really am. But I'd rather have you here … I don't know what I'll do if you were gone, I'm sorry if I sound selfish, but I cannot bear the thought of losing you … don't you see that, Harry? Can't you see that?"
He didn't answer, he couldn't respond with his lips buried in her hair, his fingers automatically stroking her back as he tried to calm her - his mind a whirring dervish of images and emotions as if a badly cut-up film was running behind the flesh of his tightly squeezed eyes: of Hermione looking as if she wanted to climb into his bed and hug him when Madam Pomfrey finally let them in to see him; Hermione running towards him in the Great Hall to slam into him with such force that he almost fell backward into the feast laid out on their table; Hermione making a small squeaky noise, eyes bloodshot, as she stared at him lying in his bed after the Dementor attack during their game against Hufflepuff; Hermione's white face with reddened fingernail marks all over where she had been clutching her face in fear as he battled the Horntail - and her pale, frightened face when he'd walked into this very room after the Third Task …
She wouldn't know … she couldn't understand … she would never be able to know how he felt now with Sirius gone - because he had, for one reason or another, always been able to come out alive - and she had, almost always, been there to see him when he woke up.
But what if she didn't wake up from this? How would he have felt if Sirius had not died - but Hermione had died instead?
From the bruised and battered corner of his heart where the memories of Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black resided, a cold wave - colder than the auras of a hundred Dementors - coiled out and washed through him.
How would he feel, he wondered as he stroked her hair and back, if that had happened? He'd had Sirius in his life for a few short, precious weeks - days in which he'd come to view him as both father and brother … but that was only because of what he'd had as an alternative: the spotlessly clean, loveless atmosphere of No. 4 Privet Drive with Uncle Dudley's constant anger, Aunt Petunia's studied indifference, and Dudley's moronic bullying to deal with. Staying with Sirius was an escape, a dream of living with someone who loved him, someone who would truly care for him, something that had been denied him for years.
But he'd had Hermione with him for five years and so many adventures … as he'd had Ron by his side for as long and as many escapades. Through all that time, they'd shown him the loyalty and affection that he so missed at Privet Drive - the main reason, he realized now, that he felt a wrenching loss every time he watched Hogwarts disappearing from view, the reason why there had always been that errant thought of not leaving the Hogwarts Express every time it pulled into King's Cross station at the end of every school year.
It wasn't the school that he would miss during the lonely summer weeks - it was the constant chatter of Hermione as she worried about classes, assignments and the latest threat to his life and his sanity; it was the constant companionship of Ron as they played wizard's chess or Exploding Snap, and his unceasing fascination with Quidditch and the meals in the Great Hall, as well as the endless supply of sweets that Honeydukes had to offer.
He shook his head as another thought blasted through his mind. He'd used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange -- used it in his blind anger and hatred of her for killing Sirius -- but it was a useless effort because, as the crazed woman had yelled, "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain - to enjoy it - righteous anger won't hurt me for long …"
But if it had been Hermione or Ron - he felt anger, and pain, and loss licking through his veins and muscles - he didn't doubt he would have used the Killing Curse and meant it. He heard his rapid, harsh breathing as the thought of losing his best friends swirled in his mind - and realized, with a shock, that Hermione was whimpering … that he'd been squeezing her too tightly to him as his jumbled, wearied mind sought to both comfort her and reassure himself of her presence in his arms.
He forced himself to release her; felt her arms around his neck grip him tighter yet, even as she took a deep, shuddering breath as the constriction he'd imposed on her battered chest eased off. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back, and he felt the arms around him let go - but only slightly.
He heard her rambling on: how sorry she was about Sirius, how miserable she felt because she could not understand or accept his pain, berating herself in the same pained breath for not being able to feel as he felt - and he kept shushing her, trying to murmur words of comfort over her rambling, until finally he pushed her away gently from him and held her at arm's length.
It was the first time, he realized, that he had really, really looked at her.
He had seen her in every conceivable mood that he could think of - laughing and angry, terrified and determined, happy and sad, compassionate and unsympathetic … he had always accepted each and every emotion that she had shown with empathy for the situations that triggered those reactions from her.
Accepted, yes -- but never really appreciated the depth of concern and caring that she had for him. He had accepted it all as his due, received it as his expected reward for all the burdens that life had given him - and never really thought of the toll that her concern, support and loyalty for him had cost her.
He'd never really understood it until that moment when he thought he'd lost her. And he, stupid, dumb prat that he was, had allowed the loss of Sirius to cloud his thoughts - and he wondered if it had been the combination of the near-loss of his best friend and the actual loss of his godfather that had led to the emotional roller-coaster that he'd been in since the moment he'd taken the portkey to Dumbledore's office.
He had lost his godfather and almost lost his best friend, but - and he asked himself again - what would he feel if the situation had been reversed? What if he had lost his best friend of five years - but had not lost Sirius? He felt his heart wrenching and pushed the thought away.
He realized that Hermione had fallen silent and was looking at him with mingled fear and apprehension, steeling herself for another emotional and hurting outburst from him. His heart went out to her as his kaleidoscopic mind started to whirl again with the memory of the times when she had looked at him in this same way - all those moments since their first year when he had set his mind on the actions that he felt were right and she had swallowed down her fears and doubts -- and set her mind to helping him …
He felt himself drawing closer to her … leaning forward until his forehead was almost touching hers, his arms on her shoulders as he looked into her teary eyes, and heard himself whispering, "I'm sorry, Hermione … sorry for putting you through all these … sorry for everything I've put you through …"
In the back of his mind, however, he was apologizing to Sirius - asking forgiveness for bringing about the situation leading to his death. At the same time, with a feeling of remorse, he admitted to himself that he was thankful that Sirius was not able to ask for an honest answer to that question - who would he rather lose, Hermione or Sirius?
From the depths of his roiling memories, an image of Sirius appeared - relaxed, happily watching his extended family around him in a warmly-lit sitting room in Grimmaud Place: Ginny, Hermione and Tonks in a corner, chatting about whatever it is that women found so interesting; Ron, Fred and George in another corner ostensibly playing Exploding Snap while keeping a wary eye out for their mother; Sirius and himself sipping butterbeers as they watched the roaring blaze …
"Home is where your heart is, Harry," Sirius had said in a soft, contemplative voice. He waved his hand around at the room, although he was actually indicating the whole house and continued, "This was never my home, Harry - because my heart was never in it. I finally found my home with your grandparents when I stayed with them and your dad …"
He broke off and gripped Harry's arm tight: "Keep that in mind, son - don't ever forget that. Whether you're staying at the Dursleys, or at Hogwarts, or here … whether you will be able to join me or not … always keep that in mind: Home is where your heart is."
With a sense of loss, he felt himself letting Sirius go a little as he answered his own question: at this point, even the mere thought of losing Hermione would kill him.
Because doing so would mean losing his home.
"Oi, you two! Get a room!"
The sleepy, lethargic and sluggish voice broke the moment - and they moved apart, both of them turning with a smile to their other best friend … and blinked, as they realized that Ron was still fast asleep in the other bed.
It was the person standing beside Ron's bed who had spoken - and the realization sprung loose a rapid-fire series of desperate thoughts through Harry's befuddled mind: envy at Fred and George's ability to Apparate, that it was impossible to Apparate or Disapparate from Hogwarts, followed by a rapid review of Practical Defensive Magic in a futile attempt to find a charm to conjure up a nice, big, deep and dark hole that he could hide in - and one corner of his brain telling him that Hermione was thinking the same thoughts.
Remus Lupin.
He looked as if he had gone through another full-moon transformation - gaunt, pale, dark circles under his eyes, hair even grayer than ever in sharp contrast to his young face. His eyes held an incredible mix of pain and loss, and Harry felt Hermione's hand clutch him tightly for a brief moment in sympathy.
But there was a faint wisp of a smile about his lips as he watched the two teens sitting on the other bed.
"Watch it, Harry," he said, his smile expanding just that tiny bit more. For a brief, hysterical moment, Harry could have sworn that he'd said 'Wotcher, Harry!' in an unconscious mimicry of Tonks, before he gave a swift glance around the room. "You're lucky that Poppy isn't around right now or she'll have your hide nailed to the door outside for … disturbing her patients."
For a brief moment, Harry felt the blood rushing to his head; from the uncomfortable sensation of heat he could feel, he suspected that Hermione was blushing so badly that he could get sunburned being this close to her - which thought made him realize that he was still sitting close to her. With a start, he quickly leaped to his feet and gently pushed Hermione back on her bed, ignoring the muffled "Tut! Tut!" from the still- befuddled Ron.
He'd moved at just the right time - within seconds of making sure that Hermione was comfortable, they heard footsteps approaching them and --
"Hem, hem," the nurse said in a disapproving tone of voice, although a definitely wickedly amused gleam could be seen in her eyes. "Mr. Potter, Remus - I suggest you clear out for the moment. I just got word that the Headmaster is coming here with … the High Inquisitor. And also, these two," nodding her head at Ron and Hermione, "have some things to take."
"Do I have to, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione replied in a plaintive voice. "You're making me take ten different potions … they all taste horrible."
"Hush, child," replied the matron. "You either take them now … or you won't be out of here as fast as I think you want to get out."
Harry gave a small chuckle, which earned him a diluted version of Hermione's patented death-glare. Before she could say anything more, he quickly and unobtrusively gave her hand a small squeeze. He quickly glanced at Remus and Madam Pomfrey (neither of whom were looking at them), and quickly and unobtrusively brushed his lips against her fingers.
"I'll see you later," he whispered to her. She gave him a tremulous smile and took a deep breath as she faced the approaching nurse, a smoking goblet in each hand.
As he walked out, he heard Sirius' voice in his head: 'Home is where your heart is, Harry.'
'I know, Sirius, I know,' he thought. He paused and looked back at a madly coughing Hermione, who had just choked down the contents of one goblet ...
'I'm home now.'
End