Healing the Scar by Vickles

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 07/09/2006
Last Updated: 07/09/2006
Status: Completed

"The same scar he had worn his whole life was now on her heart. No human medicine could
make it disappear, and there was no one to make it okay. Hermione mentally slapped herself as
another bolt lit up the dark afternoon sky." A short ficlet from Hermione's
perspective.




1. Healing the Scar
-------------------



Healing the Scar

*By Vickles*

*Rated PG*

*Disclaimer: While not her biggest fan, I still respect JKR's rights and would not steal
from her. I just felt like borrowing for awhile…*

Author's Note: Just a little piece I wrote one night. I'm not quite sure how to describe
it. It is definitely unlike anything I've done before. I hope you enjoy, and please review!

~*~

“Hermione, hon, you should get out of bed. He wouldn't want to see you like this,” Ron said,
grabbing her bathrobe from the hanger and handing it to her.

Hermione took it, still hanging on the word “hon.” A part of her wanted to tell him that he
should not bother, should not care. Her heart was given, and it was not to him. He meant it as a
friendly gesture, but still it stung. She stood and put on the robe, though she did not meet his
gaze. “Could I just have a bit of time alone, Ron?” she asked as nicely as possible. The words
rolled off her tongue with ease, for she had said them many times before.

Ron nodded, willing to meet her every request even if he objected to every one. As he exited the
room, Hermione crossed to the French doors, opening them wide and stepping out onto the balcony
despite the light drizzle. A little water never hurt anybody. She took one of the bench seats,
resting her arms on the marble rail. It truly was a beautiful house, surrounded by acres of land,
perfect for flying. He would have loved it.

In the distance, a bolt of lightning struck down, shattering the picturesque view and cracking
Hermione's shell. The same scar he had worn his whole life was now on her heart. No human
medicine could make it disappear, and there was no one to make it okay. Hermione mentally slapped
herself as another bolt lit up the dark afternoon sky. He was not dead yet. Miracles happen. They
do.

The precipitation made her uncertain, but Hermione thought she felt a warm drop slide down her
cheek. Perhaps a tear. She was not sure, but something told her that maybe, just maybe, she was
letting herself be sad on the outside. She could just hear Ron now, telling her it was about time.
It would not do anyone good to stifle their emotions. But Hermione had not been stifling anything.
She had felt it all. Could anyone blame her for not wanting to share them with anyone but the one
she wanted to share everything with?

It would be so easy, she thought to herself. It would be so easy for him to just wake up and
they could forget it had ever happened. They could forget about prophecies and dark lords. They
could move on. They could *live*.

*I should live*, Hermione admitted. *I should live for both of us. Then if, no, when he
wakes up I can tell him all about the many wonderful things I've done. I will not have to look
him in the eye and say that I've been unconscious as well*. That was what she was now.
Unconscious and awake. The living dead. She was a zombie.

A small sob escaped her throat. She was failing him. Before her stood every opportunity to do
the things he couldn't, but instead she chose to be alone. Instead she chose to cry alone.

Another bolt struck now, closer, and so bright that the white sky blinded her. When she was a
small child, she had thought that those few bright bolts were gateways to Heaven. So many times,
she had tried to squint through the blinding light in order to see the ones she loved, the ones she
missed. A few times, she had sworn she'd seen her grandparents smiling back at her, but that
had likely been her childhood imagination pulling her away from reality.

Hermione did not like reality anymore.

Seconds later, thunder boomed, the sound finally reaching her ears. Hermione scoffed at it. As
if a sound could put fright in her veins. As if anything could be more terrifying than the thought
of losing him; of living life alone.

For the first two weeks, she had hardly left his side. The comments were muttered quietly, but
Hermione heard them all. They had all considered her mental. Crazy. He will not be waking up
anytime soon, if ever, they had told her. She had refused to listen. He would wake up. He
*would* wake up.

Even after they got her to quit sleeping there, she'd visit daily, filling him in on
everything. Six months later, Hermione could get away with no more than two or three visits a week.
They did not trust her with her own emotions.

Hermione was suddenly cold, and then realized that she was soaked with rain. It was pouring now,
but she hardly cared. From inside the house she heard sounds of happiness, and then pounding as
someone headed her way. Probably Ron, wanting her to join in on the laughter, the company. Hermione
did not want to be happy. Not yet. It did not matter why they had smiles on their faces. None of
them meant anything if a smile was not on *his* face as well.

She could hear footsteps in her bedroom, and she then knew it was Ron. Spotting a broom leaning
against the doorway (*What is a broom doing out here?* she wondered), she grabbed it, jumping
off the ledge before she could think about not doing it. Ron called behind her, worried, but
Hermione was proud of herself and her quick thinking. Right up until she realized it was not a
magical broom, of course.

There was no time to react, so in the end Hermione was thankful that the balcony was only on the
second story as she calculated the chances of death. She heard the impact more than she felt it,
and smiled as she was enveloped in the pouring rain and peaceful blackness.

…

some time later

…

Something was different. Hermione realized it immediately and tried to open her eyes, but they
would not cooperate. There were voices, but everything was fuzzy. Hermione struggled to
concentrate.

“…hit her head so hard that the mediwitch wanted to keep her sedated for two weeks. She said
that most of the healing would take place then and that in the end she would recover fully.” It
sounded like Ron's voice.

There was a laugh. Hermione thought it sounded familiar, but at the same time it was foreign.
She hadn't heard it in so long. Again she tried to open her eyes. “I just can't believe
she'd be so reckless,” the voice went on, and Hermione began to suspect, or rather hope, “It
seems so unlike her.”

“You haven't seen her the past several months, mate.”

Mate? No. Could it be possible? Was it another dream? Why couldn't she just see for
herself?

Finally, her eyes opened slowly, and though everything was blurry, and she spotted the raven
black head of hair instantly. “Harry?” she was immediately embarrassed with the slur of her voice.
Some way to greet the man she loved.

Everything began to focus then, and suddenly she could see his face perfectly, - or perfect
face, rather, she could not decide - smiling at her. “You're awake,” he informed her and she
felt a soft hand touching her own.

It was real. He was real. Why was she in a hospital again? Hermione wanted to rejoice, but she
lacked the energy and could barely move, “So are you. What happened?”

Ron snorted, “You jumped off the bloody balcony with a bloody broom and landed smack into the
bloody ground, that's what happened.” Hermione felt herself smile. Ron always used the word
“bloody” far too much when he was flustered or upset. It was a habit he had picked up sometime
during the war. His voice softened as he went on, “You scared me. I thought you were a goner.” She
felt his hand in her other palm now.

Hermione shrugged, recalling the event now, “I thought it was magical. I planned on flying
away.”

She still hadn't turned away from Harry's gaze, relishing the feel of his squeeze on her
hand as he grinned, “That doesn't sound like you.”

“I wanted to get away from all of the happiness. What was that all about anyway?” Hermione
wanted nothing more than to just bask in Harry's presence, but her thirst for answers was
overwhelming.

Harry laughed, “Can't you guess?”

Hermione looked down, a bit ashamed and embarrassed as she derived a conclusion, “It figures
that I'd jump off a balcony right when you finally wake up.” She hated irony.

Ron snorted, “That is exactly what I said.”

There was no reply, and the mood suddenly changed. Harry cleared his throat, turning away from
Hermione to look at Ron, “Could you give us a moment, mate?”

Ron nodded, retreating after giving Hermione's hand another quick squeeze. Hermione, now
fully alert, tried to sit up, but when she couldn't Harry simply adjusted the bed so that she
was in a sitting position.

The white of the room seemed bright to her. How long had Ron said she'd been out of it? Two
weeks? It felt so much longer than that. She felt as though things had been dark for years. For
several minutes they quietly sat, happy to just be with each other again.

She turned to Harry, tears welling up in her eyes. He watched from the seat he had pulled up
beside her, reaching to touch her cheek, “What's wrong, love?”

Hermione bit her lip, her chin trembling, “You were gone. And then, after I waited so long for
you to wake up, I couldn't even be there when you did.”

Harry smiled sadly, “It's okay. I was taken care of. I was just worried about you. I
can't believe it's been months. I must have missed so much. You probably found a new
boyfriend,” he joked, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes.

She allowed a small laugh, reassuring him, before sobering, “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, concerned.

“There's absolutely nothing to fill you in on. I've done nothing while you were gone.
When I realized that the broom wasn't magical, there was a split second when I actually hoped I
would die,” Hermione wiped her cheek, looking up at him, “I'm so sorry.”

Harry shook his head, carefully pulling her to him as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed
her on the forehead, “I'm sorry I couldn't be there. You should not have had to go through
that.”

Hermione could not hold it in anymore, and the emotions that she had been refusing to share with
anyone for the past months finally overwhelmed her. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her
face in Harry's broad chest, shaking just slightly.

Harry soothed her, rubbing her back as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head,
“Shhh…Things will be okay, Hermione. I promise. Things will be okay.”

Though she hurt, Hermione nodded. She knew that he was right. Things would be okay.

The scar was healing.

~*~

A/N: I hope you liked it. A big thanks to Lady Starlight for taking a look at this. Please
Review!

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