The Bat Returns From Hell
- Chapter 14: Almost But Not Quite
Harry sat, slumped and miserable, in one of a row of uncomfortable, institutional plastic chairs - waiting…. Waiting for a verdict - life or death - completely out of his hands.
When they led him in, he almost lost it. The wizard party had commandeered a V.I.P waiting room adjacent to the most intensive section of Intensive Care at the largest Muggle hospital in Paris.
Harry immediately realized he had been there before, years earlier, during the last stages of the War.
Death won that round.
Now, Harry feared he would go 0-2.
Mostly to pass the time while waiting in antiseptic purgatory, Maréchal Delacour told Harry everything he knew about what had happened.
When the show ended, Gabby had been most unhappy at Harry being called away. Still, daughter treated father to dinner at a fancy Muggle restaurant that stayed open late to cater to the fashion crowd. There they celebrated both Gabby's modeling career and his reconciliation to it. Ironically, they just finished a toast to Harry - "who had given" each of them "back to" the other - when things went to Hell.
The Maréchal received an urgent mirror call amongst all those Muggles.
Fleur relayed an urgent message to call Tonks. From Tonks, the Maréchal learned that - violating a half-dozen Anglo-French Auror protocols - she had just searched this Paris townhouse Harry had identified.
Breathlessly Tonks told the Maréchal about catching this Muggle, Christian. He confessed to ordering Hermione's murder, a murder probably taking place as they spoke.
By then, not just Hermione, but Harry, had disappeared.
An immediate call to his former subordinate laid bare the whole sorry tale of French Auror incompetence.
Increasingly furious, the Maréchal went straight to the top. At around 2 a.m., he rousted the French Ministry's most highly placed contract with the Muggle Paris Prefecture from bed. Within fifteen minutes the two of them repeated that process with the Muggle Préfet de Police.
While finding Harry was important, their critical demand was for information about a possible Muggle crime victim named Harmony Farmer. That was easier said than done - even with the Préfet's assistance.
Harmony/Hermione had almost immediately been transferred from the Prefecture's jurisdiction to la Pitié-Salpêtrière….
That hospital…. A decade before, a witch (Hufflepuff '78) - more famous among Muggles than Harry was to wizards - was brought there after a Death Eater attack. She and Harry had just agreed to collaborate on a wide range of issues: both magical ones like Voldemort and sentient being rights, and Muggle ones like landmines and AIDS. Threatened, Voldemort acted immediately, and Muggle security was no match. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee passed it off as a car crash. Muggle conspiracy buffs had a field day; rightly suspecting a cover-up. They had no idea how much was covered up.
Then, Harry arrived just in time to say goodbye. Would history repeat?
Hospitals are horrible places for waiting - worse than horrible when waiting to find out whether somebody will die.
But when the person whose life hangs in the balance is someone you have loved almost all your life - loved but lost….
…Lost to a series of events that seemed not only logical, but necessary, at the time….
…Lost to a series of events that seem perfectly absurd in retrospect….
How much second-guessing can one man do before going crazy?
Coming from the prison wing, Harry tried to call ahead. He knew, and been a patient of, Healer Paracelsus Huxley for over a decade. Healer Huxley would tell him the truth.
Instead of the Healer, Harry managed only a fifteen-second conversation with some harried Healer Practitioner. She curtly informed him that Healer Huxley "could not possibly be disturbed" as he was "attending a patient in grave condition."
That was over an hour ago.
* * * *
Ever since entering their own little patch of Hell, she watched him carefully, but stealthily. As an Auror, this was second nature.
This wreck of a man slumped a couple of worn polyurethane seats away, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Occasionally, he would shake his head and run his hands nervously through his hair. The longer this agony stretched, the less communicative Harry became.
Tonks wondered how Harry could be so different from - yet so alike - the boy she first met so many years before, when her own career just begun. In many ways, he was a wreck then, too. But with a crucial difference….
At Hogwarts he still had hope.
Then, his life was ruled by something beyond his control - a prophecy made before he was even born. But Harry at least could hope that if, somehow, he defeated Voldemort, his life could be his own to do what he wanted.
Tonks sighed knowingly. She spent so much time protecting and encouraging the Trio during the war's final year and a half. Tonks had the distinct sense that what Harry really wanted in life involved Hermione….
She kept mum. Anybody else would have thought her daft. After all, Harry was shagging Ginny - not Hermione - regularly with an eye towards using love to defeat Voldemort. How could he possibly not be in love with Ginny?
But those private looks Harry and Hermione gave each other when they thought nobody was watching…. Even then Tonks had mastered clumsiness as a façade to conceal her watchfulness. It came in handy….
Before the final battle, Tonks was convinced that something had happened between those two - what, she did not know….
But she was certain that Harry and Hermione shared something far more profound than his relationship with his ostensible girlfriend and lover.
She said nothing, and learned the whole story only when it was too late.
After Hermione disappeared - while everyone was still searching - she finally pried the real story of Voldemort's destruction from her then fiancé Remus.
He was there; she had been elsewhere, busy dispatching a certain obnoxious aunt.
Remus was very reluctant with those facts, but her plea that they were essential to any chance of finding Hermione hit home. She found out that Harry and Ginny could not beat Voldemort by themselves….
Before they even tried, Hermione, as Lily once had, offered herself as a human shield for Harry. Fearing a repeat, Voldemort had thought better of killing her….
Without intimacy - or even physical contact - Hermione had managed to join the Puissance d'Amour Curse…. Her love for him was that strong.
When she did, Hermione cried out that love so Harry could hear, confirming what Tonks had suspected all along….
Thus, Voldemort passed from the scene.
Thus, Remus confessed, her example helped him find the strength to rip out the throat of an alpha werewolf when, moments later, Hermione's life was again at stake.
And thus, Harry's life never became his own. Prophecy led seamlessly to pregnancy, as both Harry and Hermione allowed what was right to happen, instead of what would have been so easy. Or had they?
Only then, once it was too late, did Tonks understand why Hermione left. The girl could not bear giving Harry away, and could not even refuse Harry's request. Had she, their prior relationship would have been exposed, and Harry, Ginny, and the unborn child everyone thought was theirs would all have been ruined.
So Hermione had run….
From that moment forward, Tonks became unalterably opposed to Harry's increasingly obsessive efforts to locate Hermione - because she, alone, understood why Hermione did not want to be found.
A loud buzzing noise interrupted Tonks' thoughts and her watch over Harry.
Her mirror - she was not expecting any social calls.
There was news.
Everyone looked at her.
Everyone save Harry. At the sound, he jumped to his feet and strode resolutely to the (thankfully) barred window, where just as resolutely he looked away.
"Tonks?" came a very weak sounding voice.
"Remus," Tonks' whispered. "What's happened…?"
"It's … it's over…. The clock … Hermione's hand … it … it just … fell off…."
Too busy holding her breath - and trying to hold herself together - Tonks said nothing. For all his wealth and fame, Harry now had lost everyone, except Molly, who meant anything to him. True, he was to blame for a lot of it….
Remus continued, "Tonks … please … I know you've been angry with him for what he did … but please … be gentle when you tell him…. He'll be fragile…. I don't want her … dying to be followed by…."
"I know, Remus…."
"No you don't, not with Harry, you don't. Let me … give you some … tips on how to do this…."
* * * *
Poor Harry. She could barely comprehend what he must be feeling. When Maman had passed, she was devastated, but Maman … she had been terminal for weeks….
Gabrielle Delacour - professionally, Brielle - worshipped the ground under Harry's feet since she was eight years old. Harry saved her, symbolized the wartime alliance, beat Voldemort, and had just managed to reconcile her and her father.
What had she ever done for him?
A harsh buzz startled Gabrielle, but her reaction was nothing compared to Harry's. He bolted from his chair as if hit by an electric shock. He stalked to the window, put both hands on the sill, and stared into infinity.
Gabrielle's first thought was how utterly alone Harry was.
Her second thought was how cosmically unfair that was.
Her third thought was that, if she did nothing, sooner or later (probably sooner) her sister probably would.
Tonks was in whispered conversation over the mirror…. Papa received similar news the same way.
Uncertainly, Gabrielle rose and approached the man at the window.
"Harry," she said, placing one of her hands on one of his, "I'm sorry I never got a chance to thank you for what you did…."
He flinched at her touch, but did not pull away.
"…you gave my Papa back to me…."
Harry turned slightly to the part-Veela-turned-supermodel, and with the saddest wisp of a smile she had ever seen in her life, shook his head slightly. "I should thank you," he said sotto voce. "At least you gave me a chance … to try one last time…. To see her one last time, before…."
"Harry, don't feel you're alone," she said, her almost whispered voice belying the most forward thing the young witch had ever done. "You don't have to be. I'm here … if you need me … for anything…."
Her proposition did not seem to register with Harry. "It's - it's bad … isn't it?"
He was determined not to look at Tonks. He had no illusion what that mirror page probably meant. Tonks would have to tell him. He would not help make it real.
Gabrielle shot a sideways glance at Tonks, still talking in the mirror too softly to be overheard. "Her hair … it's turned … completely grey…."
Harry swallowed hard, nodded to Gabrielle, and stared distantly out the window.
He did not pull his hand away.
She squeezed it. "Harry, promise me you won't do anything fool….
Tonks' loud whoop drew everyone's attention. It was so out of character; out of place; out of everything….
Even Harry whirled around.
Tonks activated the mirror's speaker function. A disembodied, instantly recognizable, voice yelled, "…DON'T EFFING BELIEVE IT!! IT'S A MERLIN-BE-DAMNED MIRACLE!!"
Tonks practically screamed into the mirror, "Remus, you're on speaker, say what happened, will you!?"
"…I CAN'T … I'VE NEVER … THE RUDDY HAND, HERMIONE'S HAND…. JUST JUMPED OFF THE FLOOR AND BACK ON THE CLOCK!!! IT'S A MIRACLE!!! SHE DIED - NOW SHE'S NOT…!!!"
Tonks whooped again. Other answering whoops came over the mirror from unidentified Weasleys. Maréchal Delacour spoke rapid-fire French that used the word "dieu" several times. The French Chief Auror, whom the Maréchal had refused to dismiss, yelled something about "justice" and tossed his hat in the air.
Harry's eyes went huge. An almost otherworldly smile blossomed. In one motion he enveloped Gabrielle in the most emotion-packed hug that she had ever experienced - and the French were a tactile people.
Gabrielle was overjoyed for Harry - and sadly realistic for herself.
She understood that, no matter what she, Fleur, or any other of her sex might do or say, Harry's heart belonged completely, utterly, and irrevocably to that woman who had just refused to die.
* * * *
Hermione had not died.
Her virtual resurrection only restored the status quo.
As Remus reported, her hand on the Weasley clock still pointed to "mortal peril."
The wait resumed. Glaciers moved faster than time passed in the ICU waiting room at la Pitié-Salpêtrière.
Harry tried either making small talk with Gabrielle or, more often, reverting to blank stares out the window. He struggled over how to tell Molly about what had happened to Hermione. His unseeing stare overlooked the afternoon sun's slanting rays that dappled the trees when, at last, an angel invaded their little corner of Hell.
Harry looked up to see Parry (known to the others simply as Healer Huxley) enter the room. The Healer looked haggard, unshaven, and his pale blue gown had all-too-obviously just been changed.
He had forgotten to replace his head cap. From that Harry could tell just how bloody the operation (or operations) had been.
Healer Huxley's tired eyes found Harry. Almost involuntarily Harry rose; face chalky white, full of trepidation. Only the absence of another mirror call from the Burrow gave him hope. Still, the sum of his life's experiences left Harry a confirmed pessimist about anyone he loved. He anticipated Healer Huxley's first words, `Harry, I'm sorry…. We tried everything, but some things just can't be fixed … she was unconscious though ... she didn't suffer….'
Even those thoughts vanished as the two men met, and Healer Huxley put his arm on Harry's shoulder. The touch seemingly drained everything from the younger man's mind, leaving quivering, vacant mush. "What…? How…? Did she…?"
Healer Huxley's gaunt visage betrayed a narrow smile. "She's made it, Harry. She should recover without permanent injury."
Pessimism - fear of crushing disappointment - had not allowed Harry even to contemplate that result. For a long moment, he stood there, dumbfounded. "What…? Parry, are you … sure?"
Healer Huxley explained, "Yes, it was a protracted, difficult procedure. We had a setback. She had to be resuscitated on the table, but everything seems okay now…."
"Oh Merlin," Harry groaned. Exhausted, he flung his arms around the man who had been his personal Healer for over a decade - who dropped everything and stayed on call for agonizing hours to answer Harry's implicit plea for help. Harry's legs went flabby, and Healer Huxley staggered a bit under the younger man's weight.
Except for Harry and Healer Huxley, everyone else stayed deathly silent, trying to overhear their soft-spoken conversation. Seeing the embrace, they erupted in exultation and sobs of relief. Tonks' hair turned bright pink as triumphantly she mirrored the news to Remus at the Burrow.
"Parry, I can never repay you," Harry mumbled. "I owe you so much … a Wizard debt can't begin…."
"You owe me nothing," Healer Huxley tried to tell Harry. "This is my profession. I'm relieved she made it. She did it, Harry. At several points, a weaker witch…."
"No more thinking about that," Harry shushed him. "The last few hours were enough for a lifetime…." Harry grabbed both Healer Huxley's hands as all around them a quiet celebration was underway. "I need to see her. Is she awake?"
Healer Huxley shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I placed her in magically induced coma. She's survived incredible trauma…."
A frown crossed Harry's face.
"You may see her," the Healer added, "but she won't know you're there, and you can't touch anything. She's still on an artificial lung while her own heal."
"Fine - no problem - anything," Harry began, then took what he said. "Lungs? What happened? I thought…"
"Come. Walk with me to the recovery area," Healer Huxley beckoned.
They left through the same door. While Harry changed into sterile scrubs, the Healer briefly explained what had happened.
The Muggles behaved quite competently. They properly treated Hermione's shock, provided necessary blood transfusions, and above all had good sense not to meddle with things beyond their comprehension. Thus, their doctors did not disturb the bit of plastic that magically bridged Hermione's severed carotid artery. The Muggles could not have ultimately saved Hermione's life, however. The large amount of blood inhaled during her ordeal mortally damaged her lungs.
By the time Healer Huxley finally began attending to Hermione, she was drowning in fluids oozing from her damaged lung tissue. Removal of the fluid was little more than a palliative, the damage was so extensive. Healer Huxley had one choice - filling her lungs with healing potion - that required hooking her to a magical artificial lung while the potion worked its magic.
The lung device arrived by emergency Floo from St. Mungo's just as Hermione's blood oxygen levels went critical. In his haste, Healer Huxley failed to notice that someone at St. Mungo's cast one of the spells incorrectly. When he Ennervated the magical lung, the errant spell caused some sort of override.
Hermione's heart abruptly stopped.
In essence, she died on the operating table.
Magical and Muggle defibrillation failed. In desperation Healer Huxley resorted - successfully - to direct heart massage. Even Harry was too squeamish to ask how that was accomplished.
Hence, the Weasley clock's bizarre behavior.
Healer Huxley's explanation lasted until, changed and sterilized, they reached the door to Hermione's station - not really a "room" - as she required so much equipment and constant monitoring that walls would have been an impediment. Before magicking the curtains aside, Healer Huxley warned Harry, "Steady yourself, this won't look pretty. Fortunately it shouldn't be needed for much more than the next six hours; less if her vitals continue as strong as they're reading…."
Harry took a deep breath. The curtains fluttered aside, and he saw Hermione.
Except Harry could barely see her. A mask with a large tube covered most of her face. Her hair was all shaved off. Her neck wound remained open, with two more large tubes extruding from it. Still other tubes entered her chest. These pulsed with blood - and connected her to what looked like an overly large, glowing, set of bagpipes.
"That's the artificial lung," Healer Huxley volunteered, watching Harry's eyes. "The mask ventilates her facial cavities. The throat tubes circulate the potion in her lungs. She's healing as we speak."
Harry looked at Hermione, virtually submerged under a forest of tubes, talismans, and monitoring devices. "Only six hours?" he asked.
"Probably less," the Healer reassured. "See all the crystals glowing green."
Harry nodded.
Healer Huxley stepped forward and levitated a small glass jar, maybe ten centimeters in diameter, and slightly more than that tall, from the head of Hermione's bed.
Inside the jar, floating in a clear liquid, was the piece of yellow plastic with which Harry saved Hermione's life.
"That was a brilliant and desperate gamble," Healer Huxley congratulated as he handed Harry the jar. "Fortunately for her, you didn't have any Healer training."
"I didn't have any choice," Harry replied. "She was bleeding to death in front of me."
"A Healer would have been too afraid of an air embolism to do that," the Healer explained.
Harry hardly cared. Hermione lived. Nothing else mattered. "I was too afraid of her dying not to try something."
Healer Huxley shrugged. "You'll probably want this as a souvenir. But for now it's best to leave it here."
"Why?" Harry asked. "It's serving no purpose anymore."
"It'll serve as a useful prop," Healer Huxley answered in a more serious tone of voice. He shifted into his "bedside manner." "To show her what you had to do. You see, Harry, in one sense saving her life was the easy part - you've always been good at that. But now, you'll have a Hell of a lot of explaining to do if you want her to stay…."
Harry floated the jar back to Hermione's headboard. "I'll say," he sighed thoughtfully.
"Let me give you some advice, then," Healer Huxley intoned, looking Harry straight in the eye. "You're a wreck right now. Go home. Get some rest. Clean yourself up. She doesn't need you right now, or for the next several hours. But she will need you - and you, her - once I end the spells. Think about what you're going to say ... whether want Molly here … that kind of thing. Prepare yourself. Both of you will benefit."
Harry looked almost like a little boy as he nodded. "You'll mirror me, then?"
"You have my word."
- 12 -
C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.Bat from Hell Ch 6 Endings and Beginnings.doc.doc 12/28/06
-->