3 - Absolution
I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose
And still somehow
It's life's illusions that I recall
I really don't know life at all.
-- Joni Mitchell, "Both Sides Now"
Her feet pound up the stairs in a frantic rhythm. She has bruises where she's stumbled and fallen to her knees but the pain is not registering. It doesn't matter.
She has to find him. Before it's too late.
Before he lets go.
Her legs are hurting. Normally she would assess this, tell herself that it's a result of anaerobic respiration. But such observations are lost on her right now. She doesn't care. Nor does she care for the pounding in her head, or the freezing sensation that clutches at her heart like a skeletal glove of ice.
She doesn't care about anything, anyone, but him.
Finally, her whole body shaking, she reaches the tower's stairs. They've been up here many times together to look at the stars. She smiles briefly as she remembers those nights, huddling up together around her bluebell coloured fire. She remembers his chaste touch, him squeezing her knee in a manner that a casual observer would dismiss as that belonging to a platonic best friend.
But Hermione knows the true meaning of platonic.
She sits on the floor, hugging her knees pensively as more flashbacks spring unbidden to her mind's eye. Sharing butterbeer with him in the common room after the others have gone to bed. Long walks around the lake, where he told her how lucky he was to have her care about him. Watching his elation after winning a hard-fought Quidditch match, when he looks at her in ways that make her heart melt. Yule balls, when they've danced cheek to cheek, holding each other so close and yet afraid to bridge the final gap and kiss. Scared of what the implications might be. Scared of what it would do to Ron, to Ginny... to them.
Yes, Hermione knows the true meaning of platonic.
She is jolted out of her wistful reverie as she glimpses a flicker of silver by the middle stair. Standing up to investigate, she realises he is close.
He is up there.
Picking up the invisibility cloak that he has discarded on the stairs in his despair, she tiptoes up the stairs. Her heart trembles at the thought of the scene that might well await her on the battlements.
Her head says that she is probably too late.
But her heart insists she can save him.
So without a second thought, she climbs the final stair and opens the door.
*
He is frightened.
There are a host of voices in his head, telling him how to do it. How best to end this eternal pain and find his guardian in that ethereal world beyond the veil.
Jump, Harry. You'll pass out before you hit the bottom. You won't know a thing. And you're high up here. You'll hit the flagstones of the courtyard with no evil chance of being revived. It's the best way.
No Harry. Don't do that. Use your tie. There's a place you can hang yourself from, just there. Far less messy. And you'll still be whole. There'll still be some of you left. Something for them to grieve over. This is how. This is how to do it.
Fuck them, Harry, they drove you to this. It's their fault. Slit your wrists instead. Nice and dramatic. You've got your wand, you know the incantation. Red blood and yellow eyes. The colour of Gryffindor. It'll hurt, but that's only for a little while. You're a brave Gryffindor, aren't you, Harry? This is best. This is fitting.
But what about that poison in your pocket, Harry? The one you stole from Snape's office. The one they say could kill twenty grown men. How very Romeo and Juliet. Except you don't have the Juliet. That's a problem. But not insurmountable. The gesture's the same. They'll all think you killed yourself because Hermione wouldn't look twice at you. You should do that, Harry. Don't listen to them. This is the best way.
No. No. You should honour your parents. Cast Avada Kedavra on yourself. So what if you don't know if you can cast it on yourself? You'd die the way they did. People are always dying for you, aren't they? Best to thank them, best to emulate their heroism.
This is how.
This is the best way to do it.
This is the best way to die.
The voices start again, but he doesn't pay attention. He's got his options.
He looks out across Hogwarts lawn. He can see the Quidditch field not so far away. Quidditch. He was good at that, once. Before his grief robbed him of his will to play. Before Gryffindor lost the cup.
Maybe jumping is like flying.
He may as well breathe his last while doing something he is good at.
Smearing his tears all over his face, he pulls himself up and makes his way to the ledge. He climbs up easily and sits, comtemplating the massive drop. Somehow when you're devoid of a broomstick it seems so much bigger.
He closes his eyes. I'll be with you soon, Sirius, he thinks. Mum, Dad, I'm coming. Your son. I'm coming to see you.
And this time none of us will have to let go of each other.
He stands up carefully, balancing on the ledge. The ledge is wide and there's no wind, as if the elements themselves are holding their breath.
Harry. You know you can't do it like this. You know you can't let go. What about your parents? They died for you, Harry, you. This isn't what they'd want. You know this. And you know that Sirius wouldn't want it either.
And... I... I don't want you to let go.
I don't want to say goodbye.
Harry's brow creases. This voice is wrong This voice isn't telling him how to die.
More to the point, he's fairly sure that this voice is not in his head.
She's come.
She's standing there, sobbing, wearing her pyjamas. She looks tired and frightened. Her chest is hitching. And she's standing there with her wand trained on him, her arm trembling but determined.
I won't let you do this. I won't let you punish yourself for something that wasn't your fault.
He snarls aggressively. Fuck off, Hermione. Leave me alone.
No. I'm not letting you jump. You can try, but you won't be able to.
I want to do this. Let me go. Let me end all this suffering. I'm ready to go. I've had enough of this world. I can't do it anymore. I can't be The Boy Who Saves Everybody From Everything anymore. I don't care about anything. I just want to end it. Let me be with my parents. Let me be with Sirius.
... let me be where I belong.
And what about here? You belong here, Harry. At Hogwarts. In Gryffindor. With the Weasleys. With Ginny. With Ron.
With me.
If you loved me you'd understand. If you loved me you'd let me go. You'd help me.
It's because I love you that I won't let you do this. It's because I love you that I understand why you want to let go.
It's because I love you that I need you here with me. I need you to help me. I can't cope in this world alone, Harry.
His hear pounds as all but nine of her words go unheeded.
She loves him.
She loves him.
She loves him.
You were the first person I ever met in this world who was like me. Someone who'd been a muggle. Someone who understood what it was like to be here. Someone who shared my insecurities, my doubts. Someone who saw me as me and not some weird swotty muggle-born. Have you forgotten that? Have you forgotten everything about us?
She loves him.
You've saved me so many times Harry. From trolls. From Dementors. From Death Eaters. Now let me save you just this once.
Let me save you from yourself.
Trembling, he lets her help him down. At once he collapses into unchecked hysterics, screaming in tears of overwhelming grief. He grasps her close as she holds him tightly against her breast, rocking him as she would a child and crying her own tears for her own suffering. She strokes his hair, sweaty and unkempt as she whispers the words into his ear.
I love you.
They stay this way for hours, two teenagers trying desperately to find absolution in each other, clutching to each other in desperation. Neither will let each other go.
Finally, when the tears have subsided and chests have stopped hitching, they lie in each others arms and look at the stars, just as they used to. And as Harry looks up at the dogstar, he knows that the pain will take months, years to heal. But heal it will, eventually.
And he knows in his heart, as Hermione silently leads him to Gryffindor Tower and from there to bed, that he loves her too.
And perhaps, just perhaps, things will be alright.
Fin.
A/N: Well, finally it's finished!! Thankyou so much to those who kept badgering me to finish this; and especially to the Wonks for all their support and encouragement - you know who you are ;)
I don't pretend that this is an easy fic to read - it's a style that wasn't intentional at all. Rather I like to think that the fic decided on its own style and content, and I just wrote as it directed. Anyway, thanks for reading, and please feel free to review. All comments of all forms much appreciated.