Chapter 21 - Speaking With the Dead
Ron shook his head. Not again. He couldn't go through this again.
"Help," he whispered feebly. And realizing that he had a voice, he raised it. "Help! Somebody!"
"Ron!" Ginny cried, going to him. "Are they-"
"Angelica and Hermione are alive. I-I couldn't tell with Harry," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "Please get-"
"Oh, no you don't Potter," Ginny hissed, falling to her knees beside him and pressing her fingers to Harry's neck. "Not again. Not this time." She sounded determined. She yanked the front of Harry's shirt open and appeared to be examining the wound. "It's not deep," she said after a few seconds, and much to Ron's astonishment, she pointed her wand at Harry's chest and cried, "Novo!"
Harry jolted violently, like Ginny had sent a shockwave through his body.
"What are you doing?" Ron demanded, watching a bit more blood ooze from the wound on his chest.
"Saving his life!" she hissed, tilting Harry's chin up. She opened Harry's mouth and clamped her lips over his. Harry's chest rose and fell as she blew breaths through her mouth to his.
"What are you doing? He's bleeding! You're making it worse!" Ron shrieked. He was hysterical now. Ginny was out of her mind.
"Back off, Ron!" She yelled. She repeated the process, sending a jolt through Harry, repositioning his chin, and breathing for him.
The third time Ginny did it, Ron heard a gasp, like a person choking on needles. It was labored and pained, and Harry bolted explosively.
His arms moved. His legs jerked to life, and Ginny fell back, and breathless though she was, she cried for the Medi-Wizards.
Harry's eyes were wide open, but they were blank, staring out without recognition.
"Dear Merlin!" Ron cried as Medi-Wizards began to bustle all around him. The healers fell upon Harry, Angelica, and Hermione.
He could see Ginny scrambling away and he was forcefully pushed aside. He cried in protest and was ready to get violent when he felt Ginny hauling him away, pleading for him to let the Medics do their work.
"Hermione Granger is inside that body," Ron yelled over the din. "Do you hear me? That's Hermione Granger. Are any of you listening?"
"Ron!" Ginny cried, struggling to restrain him.
"They have to know, Ginny!"
"Weasley."
He felt a hand clamping firmly on his shoulder, squeezing. He looked and saw the familiar face of Cho Chang.
She smiled briefly. "I'll take care of it," she told him, joining the mass of Medics upon Narcissa's body.
Ron heard her issuing orders, telling them that absolutely no one was allowed to tamper with Narcissa's mind lest they destroy the link it had with Hermione's body.
Ron let go then, relinquishing control to Cho Chang who asked for Hermione's body because they had to be brought to Saint Mungo's together.
Hermione's body was brought forth, laid out on a stretcher as Narcissa's mind babbled words of insanity from Hermione's lips.
"Go with Angelica," Ginny told him gently. "I'll have Fleur see to Hermione. I'll go with Harry… Ron, go!"
Ron nodded, giving Ginny a look of gratitude as he sped off to accompany Angelica to Saint Mungo's.
--------------------------------
Fleur Delacour-Weasley gave Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze before sitting back on her chair. She stared at Hermione's sleeping face and felt only a smidgen of worry.
The healers had declared Hermione healthy and that her sleep was only from exhaustion. Fleur, having instructed Hermione to do the switching spell, knew that it was a simple enough magic that was only complicated by the paperwork of authorizing it. Fleur trusted Hermione's ability, and she was sure Hermione had done it correctly. Fleur was not worried about Hermione having fudged the spell. She was more worried about what she would tell Hermione when she woke up.
Across the foot of Hermione's bed, occupying a different bed in the double room, was Harry Potter. He was in a coma.
Not much different than Bill's.
Sitting in vigil over Harry's body was Ron and, to Fleur and everyone's great relief, Angelica.
Angelica rose out of her deep sleep almost as soon as she arrived in Saint Mungo's. The child had been hysterical, screaming for her father and then her mother. Ron-poor Ron, had to be the one to calm Angelica down and tell her-promise her, that everything was going to be alright.
There was no way Ron could have known that for sure, and in effect, he had set himself up to breaking the promise he made to Angelica, but soon after the Healers got Hermione and Narcissa back into their proper bodies and after they managed to stabilize Harry, Hermione, at least, was out of the woods.
It was Harry they were worried about now.
Ron and Angelica hadn't left Harry's side. And from where Fleur sat, she could see them taking constantly in hushed tones.
Angelica clung to Ron like a lifeline, and it made Fleur feel deep affection for Ron.
Fleur hadn't always thought so well of Bill's youngest brother. When she and her classmates from Beauxbaton flew over to Hogwarts, that dreadfully gloomy place Bill had called his alma mater, she had seen fourteen-year-old Ron gaping at her, like most boys tended to do when they saw her. He was nothing, really, and she could care less if he had wanted to ask her to the ball or not. It was only much later that she learned that he was the brother of Bill Weasley, the divinely good looking and talented senior curse breaker she had been eyeing for weeks since after she first got hired by Gringotts. And even later still she realized that Bill wasn't the only Weasley whose capacity for love was amazingly devout and true.
Through the years, she had marveled at how Ron's love for Hermione remained, even when Fleur herself thought that it was a lost cause. While he had dated other women, Fleur recognized them as half-hearted attempts to divert that love to where it might actually be fully appreciated. Inevitably, each attempt failed, and Ron kept coming back to Hermione, hoping that one day, she may return his feelings.
All these years, Fleur had always rooted for Ron. She wished, with him, that Hermione would wake up one day and realize that she loved Ron with a passion. But it felt wrong to push one way or another. In the end, people felt what they felt. There was nothing Fleur can do for Ron, and there was nothing she could do for Hermione, either.
Seeing Ron with Angelica always gave Fleur that sweet ache, that Ron would make a wonderful husband and father one day-he just had to realize that he would have to give his heart to someone else.
Something moved at the corner of Fleur's eye and she realized that Hermione had stirred. Fleur leaned over and gently took Hermione's hand.
She waved her wand, shooting a nudging spell in Ron's direction.
Ron looked over at her and Fleur signaled towards Hermione, who was slowly coming out of her sleep.
Ron nudged Angelica towards them, and Angelica rushed over, dragging Ron with her by the hand.
Hermione swallowed before speaking, pushing herself up to sit. "F-Fleur? W-Where-"
"We are in ze `ospital."
"Angelica-"
"Here, mum," Angelica said breathlessly, coming up beside Hermione's bed.
Hermione took only a moment to realize that Angelica was indeed alive and well. She threw her arms around her daughter, pulling her in a fierce embrace. "Oh, my baby! Are you alright? Are you okay?" She pulled away to look Angelica over for inspection. Hermione had tears in her eyes.
"I'm okay, mum," Angelica muttered, buried once more in Hermione's embrace.
Hermione sniffed, and without letting Angelica go, her eyes fell upon Harry across the room. Her gaze shifted to Ron, who was now sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Harry…"
Ron took her hand, his eyes filled with concern. He tilted his head slightly in Harry's direction, and Hermione nodded. He helped her to her feet and Fleur watched them as they shuffled to Harry's side.
Fleur moved a bit closer, seeing the look in Hermione's eyes as she gazed at Harry's pale face and clasped his hand.
"How is he?" she asked, her voice quivering with fear.
Ron swallowed, probably unable to find the words.
"'E is alive," Fleur said to answer for him. "Zat is what's important." Though she, of all people, knew that there was a big difference between being alive and being awake. Seven years caring for Bill had taught her that, but she also knew that it was a reality that needed to be accepted over time. Hermione needed good news, and at this time, it was as good about Harry as the news was going to get. Besides that, there was no way for them to know that Harry could come out of it tomorrow, or ten years from now, or never.
Angelica nodded eagerly. "Aunt Ginny saved his life. She gave him CPRA."
Hermione blinked. "CPR…A? Don't you mean just CPR?"
"No, CPRA. Cardio Pulmonary Re-Animation. CPR is for Muggles. CPRA is Wizarding first aid."
Hermione looked dazed, as she often did when her daughter knew something she didn't. "I-I didn't even know Ginny knew how to do that…."
"Aunt Ginny learned it for me and Julian," Angelica explained. "She learned all possible first-aid measures so that when she babysat, she'd know what to do if-you know, we stopped breathing or something."
Fleur didn't quite understand how someone like Ginny would endeavor to do something as-well, boringly responsible as learning Wizarding CPR.
It appeared to begin to make sense to Hermione, though. A small smile lifted the corner of her lip. "Ah, well, I suppose she'd been trying to make up for a lot of things all these years…" she said quietly. "And I suppose… this makes Harry and Ginny even now."
"Even for what?" Angelica asked.
Fleur looked to Ron, and even he looked confused. He shot Hermione a questioning look and Hermione said she would let Ginny explain it to him.
At that moment, Fleur wondered where Ginny was. Ginny had been with them when everyone first arrived at Saint Mungo's, and then afterwards, she'd disappeared and returned with a care package for everyone.
Now she was gone again, probably off to get them dinner, or something like it.
Ginny was taking care of all of them and that made Fleur smile. Ginny was yet another Weasley Fleur didn't think much of at the beginning, but Ginny had become such a nurturing person in their lives-like Molly, only better dressed, and as Angelica would say, "Cooler."
Fleur felt the firm squeeze of Hermione's hand and Fleur looked up, surprised. She hadn't even realized that Hermione had approached her.
"Thank you," Hermione said. "If not for you, I could not have gotten in there to help Harry and Angelica. I could have lost them both."
It was oddly surprising to be thanked for such a thing. Fleur hadn't even thought about it when she decided on what needed to be done. Seeing the gratitude in Hermione's eyes was slightly unnerving, which was strange. She was Fleur Delacour. She thrived on recognition, didn't she?
Gathering her poise with her usual elegance, Fleur shrugged and smirked. "What can I say? I am fantastique at what I do."
Hermione grinned and hugged her. "And that's Fleur-speak for You're Welcome, I suppose."
Fleur squeezed her tight. Smiling and realizing, to her chagrin, that her eyes were filling. She hastily swiped her tears away before they fell.
How inelegant! I do not even have a lace-point handkerchief to cry with grace.
Ron saw her, a look of mild surprise on his face. Sniffing curtly, she shot him a glare. And perhaps realizing that she was embarrassed, he did the most uncanny thing--he flashed a half-grin, partly dazzling her with a most becoming tilt of his head, and said absolutely nothing.
It was then Fleur realized that what she said to him earlier was absolutely true, that she was her favorite Weasley, next to Julien.
Oh, and of course, next to Bill, too…
-----------------------------
Two weeks.
Two weeks and Harry had not risen from his coma. Hermione and Angelica had come by every morning and then in the evening, sometimes staying the night, sometimes staying all day, waiting for Harry to open his eyes and tell them everything was going to be alright.
Every day, Angelica came, said nothing, and waited quietly with her mother. As the hope slowly, but surely, faded from Angelica's gaze, Hermione's heart would break twice over.
When Hermione looked in the mirror, the familiarity of her expression broke her even more. She had seen the look on Fleur's face countless times-the look of mixed hope and defeat, of loss, but not quite. Of pain, longing, and dreams unfulfilled.
And then that morning, the healer came to her and told her that Harry was getting worse. His body was showing signs of organ failure. One kidney was already losing function. More would fail as the days went along. They could prolong his stasis and slow down the decline of his condition with potions and charms, but that would only be delaying the inevitable if his body did not fight back on its own.
As if that wasn't bad enough, Excalibur was nowhere to be found.
Again.
Like before, it somehow spirited itself away during a time of great confusion. But this time, Hermione did not go looking for it. The last time the sword disappeared was when Harry had died. She dared not voice this fact, for she feared that it was a parallel of then to now.
Hermione had dealt with Harry's death before. She knew the agony of losing him, but she didn't know if she could deal with it a second time. She didn't know if watching him die slowly would be any better or much worse than the brutal way he had been taken from her before.
She didn't tell Angelica. She couldn't. The last two weeks, Hermione could see the shadow of guilt, and there was nothing Hermione could say to make that guilt go away. She watched Angelica lean over her father's bed, take Harry's hand, and say, "Wake up, dad. You said it was going to be alright."
It was about as much as Angelica had said about it. She wouldn't speak of what happened when Harry followed after her. Every time she tried, something in her eyes died and perhaps, old soul that she was in her six-year-old mind, was terrified that all the pieces of her would crumble and die all at once.
Now Harry was dying and Hermione wondered how she would lift her daughter from the wrenching agony of losing her father when she herself didn't know how she would rise out of it with her own sanity intact.
She had called Ron, telling him everything, and of course, Ron came over to be with her, and it was just like Ron to sit Angelica on his lap and tell her stories that distracted from the depressing, and now hopeless, wait for Harry to get better.
Hermione listened to Angelica's giggle as she talked with her uncle Ron, and she derived comfort from it, appreciating and loving Ron for the joy he brought to Angelica's life, especially when Hermione was at a complete loss.
She held Harry's hand as he slept, wishing she could go into his dreams, if he was having them, and talk to him, convince him that he had to get better, because Angelica needed a father, because they had years to make up for, because she was miserable without him.
Stifling her tears and swallowing the lump in her throat, she was just about to ready to start accepting the fact that Harry would be taken from them a second time when the door to the room flew open.
She jerked in surprise, her gaze drawn to the threshold. What, or who she saw left her gaping.
"Fuck me," Ron gasped from his seat.
"Uncle Ron!" hissed Angelica, wide-eyed with shock.
"I am just as glad to see you Weasley," said Severus Snape in all his black-robed glory. His hair, though hanging loosely about his face, was not as oily as it used to be, and Hermione could've sworn that his eyes were not as steely, though his tone still dripped with disdain. His gaze fell upon Angelica and Hermione recognized sheer revulsion. "This is Potter's get, I presume?"
Hermione's lip pursed and she found her faculties. "Her name is Angelica."
"Granger." He said it like a curse. "Still the know it all."
"What do you want?"
"The sword…"
"Is gone," she snapped.
He pursed his lips, visibly annoyed. "I do hate it when you preempt me. The sword is in Avalon."
Hermione took a moment to reflect, trying not to burst into tears. It was exactly like before.
Ron set Angelica on her feet and stood, glaring at Snape. "Look here, Snape, you're still a wanted man, and I would really appreciate it if you take yourself away from here before they accuse us of harboring you-"
"It is typical of you, Weasley, that even when you make sense, you are still making a complete fool of yourself."
Ron moved Angelica behind him and brought out his wand.
Hermione rose to her feet, shocked. "Ron!" she hissed. "We are in a hospital!"
"Put your wand away," Snape said pertly. "Do you think I would risk capture to see any of you? No one has seen me as of yet, but if you create a disturbance-"
"Perhaps I should!"
"I came here for Potter, you fool. Excalibur kicked up quite the magical fuss, and if bringing Potter to Avalon does not quiet it, I will have to toss it into the Marianas trench."
Ron finally lowered his wand.
Hermione was not sure about letting Snape take Harry. "Well, did you try giving it back to the Lady of the-"
"Of course I did, Granger, but the sword would not let us. It is not ready to go back to the Lady."
She looked at Angelica and saw the look of fear in her daughter's eyes. She turned back to Snape. "Harry's condition…"
"I'd imagine it's not very good."
"Can the priestesses help him?"
Snape paused. "I don't know. All I know is that the sword has already brought Harry back from the dead. I can only suppose bringing him back from a coma will pose little hindrance. But he needs to be in Avalon."
There wasn't much Hermione could argue with. "You can take him, but we're going with you."
"I expected nothing less."
--------------------------------
The lake was how he always remembered it, silver, silent, rippling with little pockets of life. During the day, it was just a lake, where occasionally, the priestesses fished, sat by the bank to read, to sun, to cool. But at night, the lake was different.
At night, when the moon shined upon its glass surface and the surroundings were as silent as a graveyard, it turned mystical.
When Harry listened hard enough, he always thought he could hear the whispers of the Lady, that voice that brought him to the lake for the first time that night when the Lady gave him Arthur's sword.
This night, the river looked and felt even more ethereal. The mist around him and over the lake was thick. He could barely see past his hand and as he looked around him, in the horizon, even beyond the mist, the priestesses' tower was nowhere in site. It was like Avalon, but it wasn't. It was like there was no way back.
He stood on the bank of the river, and he looked down at himself, at his torn clothing, his battered body, the blood seeping through his shirt.
It occurred to him then.
Merlin… am I dead? Like for real this time?
It seemed absurd, yet it made perfect sense.
There was a weight in his hand. Hard, strong, and metallic.
Excalibur rested in his grip, it's simple make deceiving of the power it possessed.
Live for Justice and Courage and You Shall be Immortal, it said on its blade.
He sighed. "No such thing as being immortal, I guess," he muttered.
Something in the mist stirred then, and Harry started in a slight panic. He hadn't expected company. He had always thought of "crossing over" to be an extremely personal experience. At least, that was what he thought-if one hadn't been killed by an Avada Kedavra, he wagered.
"Think not that the words on this mystical sword can thus be so literally construed," said a voice of a man accustomed to being listened to. "But consider that to be brought from death to life twice over be not a feat for mere mortals."
Harry paused and he seriously found himself wondering whether he was actually dreaming of tiny ancient Jedis.
A gentleman stepped out of the mist, dressed in a brown leather jerkin over what appeared to be a slightly padded shirt. The belt at his waist was made of leather as well, richly accented with artful metalwork. His hair was tied back and his beard trimmed. He did not look very old, but his eyes held wisdom uncommon to men his age. He waited quietly, perhaps allowing Harry a turn to speak.
In hindsight, Harry should've wondered about the man's identity on a more linear tangent. He might have guessed Dumbledore, which would've been more plausible, but Dumbledore never really talked like that. He was old, but he wasn't archaic. The strange man's speech and inflection was from another age.
Harry wondered briefly if he should be wary but decided he was being ridiculous.
For one, the man looked harmless, and secondly, if Harry was truly dead, then he couldn't possibly be made any deader. He decided, then, that there was nothing to worry about, and perhaps the only thing that had to be done was have a conversation with this stranger.
"Sorry, thought you were somebody I knew… so, twice was it, you said? I only really remember that one time, and still, I don't remember that much of it."
"You are twice returned. My habits lean not towards lying to men in the grace and favor of Excalibur."
Harry snorted at that. "It's no picnic, being in the `grace and favor of Excalibur'."
The man smiled in agreement. He settled on a boulder, looking out to the misty lake. "Too much blood stained Excalibur's blade when last it was wielded. Learned I its lessons well, but well did I forsake the lessons learned when my and mine were endangered, though the excuse truly is no excuse at all. Forswear, Excalibur did not deign it an excuse."
Harry eyed him, for the first time wondering who he was and realizing that only one other person held Excalibur before him. "If I'm not dead, then how can I be talking to you?"
"Why do you believe discourse with me means death for you?"
"Because you don't look like a ghost to me, when you should-if I were alive, that is."
The man gestured to the sword. "Death comes not for me, this side of Avalon. Here, I walk among the living."
"And is it the same for me? Am I alive here but dead outside of Avalon?"
He grinned. "Think you it is that easy? Dying takes but little exertion, it is living that is the test."
Harry considered his words. "I don't-I don't know if I'm cut out for living. I know I have a lot of things to live for. I have a daughter, and her mother. I'd like us to be a family. I have friends. I have plans-well, had plans. But I've found that the things I want are never quite within my reach and I drag everyone else down with me. There's always something preventing me from happiness… I just assumed that this time, I really went and did it, that I've killed myself and just lost any chance at happiness that I could have had."
"Burden though Excalibur may be, it rewards just as weightily."
Harry sighed. "Fine. Let's say, for argument's sake, that I'm not dead, and that this is just some limbo that I have to settle in for a bit before I go back to living… why am I here, talking to you?"
"Surely you have questions."
Harry let that statement percolate, and he figured it was bad luck to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Okay then… why? Why would Excalibur use my daughter that way? It was Excalibur that did it, am I correct? It turned Angelica into my Horcrux."
"Did it?"
It annoyed Harry that his question was being answered by another question. "I can only assume so. It planned the whole thing. We conceived Angelica in Avalon, and that night, when the Lady gave me the sword, she asked for the `unnamed soul'. I thought it was," he paused, considering. "I thought it was Voldemort. I thought it was the Horcrux we had with us, but it wasn't. It was talking about Angelica, yet `unnamed' but already alive within Hermione. By being conceived in Avalon, Angelica forged a bond with everything around her. She became a part of Avalon, and therefore a part of the sword. It used Angelica to enable it to make my Horcrux and bring me back."
The man nodded thoughtfully. "And by assigning the daughter of your loins as the vessel of your soul… your deliverance from evil was assured."
Harry frowned, not liking the way the man said it as if the sword was only doing what it was supposed to, when what it really did, Harry believed, was what it wanted to do. "I didn't know I had a daughter when I was brought back."
"Excalibur knew that your heart would save you from yourself in the beginning and it knew that you would need a stronger power to save your soul in the end."
"If it didn't make a Horcrux for me, my soul would not have needed saving in the first place."
"That may be, however your destiny was yet to be fulfilled, possible only by your return, and the only way was through the darkness. Where a shadow is cast behind, a light shines afore. Excalibur did so ensure that upon your return, you would find your beacon through the mist. Your daughter was the beacon. Though Excalibur meant to have you fulfill your destiny by its designs, an Angel was sent forth to guide you and keep safe your soul."
Harry let the man's words sink in. And Hermione waxes prophetic. It was the irony of all ironies.
He sighed, finally conceding it. "Fine, I get it, and when Voldemort's Horcrux came calling for her, I felt the summons, just like I should've. I suppose Excalibur's `designs' were perfect."
"Any such designs will have flaws, but they were adequate, yes."
"The Lady in my vision-scape…the sword… how is it that it was summoned when I can't even summon myself?"
"Did not the Lady Sword grace your vision-scape before without your summoning?"
Harry thought on it a bit and remembered his brief and only encounter with the sword in his vision-scape. The sword had appeared to him to show him that she could help break through the wards that Angelica had placed around Voldemort's Horcrux. "Yes, but this was different. It came to me and became the sword that destroyed Voldemort, my Horcrux, and myself. I don't think I could have used it as a tool without my will and instruction. I'd already failed in summoning it for that specific purpose."
"Your reasoning is correct," conceded the stranger. "It can point the way but cannot do your will without your instruction. The Lady Angelica possessed the strength and will to instruct the sword for you."
"That would mean Angelica knew about her."
"Yes. The Lady Angelica would not have called the sword to arms if it had been otherwise, though it is prudent to suppose that she knew not what the lady sword's true form was, or she might have been less eager to call the lady sword to service."
"She never told me about any lady," Harry muttered.
"The child might have tried."
Harry had to wonder about that. He shifted his stance and stared out into the lake, "She knew a lot of things, didn't she? Angelica, I mean."
"She does."
"She can speak to snakes?"
"She speaks the language of snakes, yes, because you can. It is the nature of a Horcrux to inherit some of the traits of the soul it houses."
"She didn't like Parseltongue."
"She did not. You grew to dislike the gift, because it made your attachment to Tom Riddle-"
Harry felt his skin crawl. "Listen here, let's get something straight, I was not attached to Tom. Connected, yes, but not attached."
The man sighed, rolled his eyes and put his hands up. "Your connection to Tom Riddle all the more palpable. She not only inherited Parseltongue, she inherited your dislike of it. Snakes were not her favorite of the Lady's creatures."
Harry nodded and he had one last question. "What now?"
The man chuckled. "You will do what the wielders before you have done for thousands of years-return the sword to the Lady of the Lake."
Harry looked at him. "And how do I do that?"
"Cast it back to the lake."
Harry waited for him to say more.
The man must have seen the question in his eyes. "Ask me not for details. The casting was not by me completed when last it needed returning. A trusted friend, Sir Bedivere, undertook the duty."
"Look, it isn't that I don't know who you are, but it would've been polite to have actually introduced yourself, don't you think?"
"Too late for that, I surmise."
"Well, with all due respect, Your Majesty, you needn't be secretive on account of me," Harry muttered as he gripped the sword more firmly in his hand, pulled back his arm, and flung the sword like a weighty boomerang towards the center of the lake.
It flew into the air, turning and slicing through the mist. The clouds parted and revealed the surface of the lake where an ethereal hand, glowing with beads of silver moonshine, shot out of water the and caught the sword perfectly by the hilt.
The sword glowed, celebrating its homecoming, and as the hand descended into the depths of the water, so did the sword, sinking, disappearing, until the very tip of its blade was swallowed into the watery darkness.
"Very wicked," said Harry, mesmerized. "Don't you think so, King Ar-" He stopped upon realizing that he was alone.
Harry thought it was so typical of royalty to come and go when they liked.
He looked around him and saw that the mist had cleared, and that the forest lay thick around him. Beyond the trees and up the rocky hills, he could see priestesses' tower. It seemed like it was going to be a long walk back.
He began his journey. There was really no point in dallying.
------------------------
Harry couldn't really remember what it actually felt like to be dead. He remembered how it felt to be killed. He remembered vaguely what it felt like rising from the dead with the help of a Horcrux. But he couldn't remember being dead dead. Surely, the time between his body being separated from his life-force and then getting back together with it, his "spirit" had to have done something, even if it was just to float around like a ghost. But he couldn't remember if he'd done any floating, or waiting, or watching. It was simply a part of his death that had not found a place in his memories.
What he did recall the last time he came back from the dead, was that it was quite unpleasant and violent, like he was waking up while he was tied down on the back of an angry bull, trying to buck him off. His entire body hurt, and the worse thoughts were firing through his mind. There had been an intense need to cause pain, and he had lashed out like an animal. It was not an easy resurrection.
This time, it felt rather nice.
He was lying on a soft surface. Of that he was sure off. His head was pillowed and the temperature all around was comfortable. It was quiet but for the sound of the occasional cricket and owl.
He managed to open his eyes in the darkness. Almost everything was a blur.
Instinctively, he reached out for a bedside table. There was almost always a bedside table. And if he groped around carefully enough, he would find his glasses.
He felt the wiry plastic frames beneath his fingertips and gingerly, he took them to put them on. There was clarity, but it was dark, with only the light of the moon slanting in from the windows. Even through the haze of his sleepiness, he recognized his old room in Avalon.
Spartan and plain, the room had a bed, a bedside table, and a closet. The windows, he recalled, also had bars.
The priestesses were understandably afraid that in a fit of insanity, he would fling himself from the tower. It wasn't Harry's dark self they were afraid of-that thing had no intention of dying. It was the part of Harry that craved release that they were concerned about.
The wand on his bedside table also contained restraints. Inside his room, the wand could do no more than lift objects and turn the most harmless of spells. It couldn't get any more defensive than a Stupefy, either, outside of his room. The wand precautions were courtesy of Snape, of course, who didn't trust in him not to go berserk and attempt to kill everyone.
Harry always thought Snape was a prat for it, but in hindsight, it probably hadn't been a bad idea. He knew how powerful that darkness was. It could've overcome him. It could have driven him to pick up his wand and annihilate everyone in Avalon.
Of course, Avalon itself could've prevented him, but he was glad he was never so far gone as to have tested that theory.
Blinking back the sleepiness from his eyes, he looked around and found a mass of frizzy hair on the side of his bed, unmoving but from the slight breeze blowing through the windows and the breathing mound beneath it.
He supposed it only made sense that Hermione would be there. He didn't know if he liked that, though. The bars on the window and the sparsely decorated room would not have sat well with her. Then again, the priestesses, probably even Snape, had likely explained everything to her already, and that saved him the stress of doing it himself.
He wondered briefly where Angelica was but knew that she was safe. He had lived, died, and lived twice already. He believed he deserved happiness and that he had it.
Reaching out, he touched the soft, fluffy strands of hair, feeling it brush his fingers. Further, he placed his hand on Hermione's head.
She stirred, raising her head as she woke slowly. She yawned and looked over her shoulder at him. A gesture, he figured, that was more instinct than a realization that he was awake.
He smiled and she blinked in disbelief.
Finally, she gasped. "Harry!"
"Hey," he croaked. His throat felt dreadfully dry.
"Oh, Harry!" She grabbed his hand, squeezing it as she pressed a kiss on his forehead then his cheek. "You're awake!"
She looked at him, her hands upon his face, as if she really couldn't believe it.
She was a welcome sight. Wild brown hair, the intelligent eyes, and the gentle touch, but she looked slightly worried, even through the evident happiness in her gaze. "Y-You do know who I am, don't you?"
It was difficult to speak, but it has been years since he felt such peace of mind and it put him in a pretty good mood in spite of the slight discomfort in his body. "Mother of my child, maybe?"
She seemed terribly worried about that. It seemed she had somehow lost her sense of humor.
"Hermione, even insane, I knew who you were," he said. "What makes you think a silly battle with Tom Riddle would make me forget you?"
He could see surprise, and then relief in her eyes, and he suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that he had been out for quite a while. "How long was I asleep?"
"Three weeks." Her voice broke slightly. "I thought you would never wake up and we had no way of knowing if your mind was still intact."
Three weeks.
It was nothing, really. He'd come to his senses before and found out that three years had gone by without him really realizing it, so three weeks really wasn't quite as big of a deal. Not to him, at least.
"Where's Angelica?" he asked.
"Asleep, in the room next door."
"She's alright, isn't she?"
"Yes, but miserable. She blames herself for your coma."
He sighed. She would, wouldn't she?
"Harry," Hermione said softly. "What happened?"
"Angelica didn't tell you?"
"She refused to talk about it."
Harry didn't know if he could talk about it, either. It was upsetting, and how was he going to tell Hermione that he was willing to lose everything even if it was to save their daughter? As it was, he didn't know if Angelica could forgive him for doing what he did.
"Well," he began contritely. "I suppose… the same way you wouldn't talk about what happened that first time I died, she doesn't want to talk about what happened, either."
Hermione's lips pursed, then she sighed, her shoulders dropping. She leaned in, their faces close. "I guess… we can just get to that when we can. I'm just glad you're awake. Fleur has been trying very hard all these three weeks not to speak to me, I know. I think she was afraid that I'd take anything she said as a loss of faith that you would ever wake up. You know… because Bill never really has woken up…"
His joints felt stiff, and there was a bit of pain, but he managed to move to one side of the bed with a groan.
Hermione giggled softly. "What in the world are you trying to do, Harry?"
"Stop laughing and come here," he said, positioning himself more comfortably and gesturing to the freed-up space.
"I don't think you're ready for that," she said in a teasingly seductive voice.
He chuckled in spite of himself. "I'm the one who gets to decide whether I'm ready for that or-" his teasing tone was cut short by a flare of pain on his side. "Okay, maybe not tonight."
"I should get a healer, really."
He dealt her a glare. Surely, that could wait.
Laughing, she curled up beside him, settling in the embrace of his arms. She sighed happily.
"So tell me," he said. "How did I get here?"
"Oh, Snape came for you-at St. Mungo's."
"He must've been a sight to see thundering through the halls."
"Well, I figured when the whole Ministry hadn't surrounded St. Mungo's by the time he had come and gone, he might have done something to avoid recognition."
"He never lost his edge, I'll tell you that."
She nodded. "He said the sword demanded that you be brought back to Avalon."
"And how long ago was that?"
"About a week."
"And when did the sword disappear?"
Hermione tensed and got up on her elbows to look at him. "How did you-" she stopped and frowned. "Right. I wonder why these things still surprise me."
He chuckled. "I like that I can still surprise you."
"Harry, you came back from the dead after seven years. That's a surprise that will last me a lifetime."
"Yes, well, that was sort of an accident."
"Lord," she muttered, sinking back into his embrace. "Accidents, surprises… I don't mind predictability. I really don't."
"I intend to be as predictable as I can from here on."
She snorted.
"Well, at least after I tell you everything."
She had nothing clever to say in response and he had to wonder if she had fallen asleep, but she rose up again on her elbows, her eyebrows pinched together. "Was it like being in the Chamber of Secrets again, Harry? Frightening and terrible?"
He pushed back some of the hair from her face. "Worse. In the Chamber of Secrets, I was twelve, and I truly didn't know that terrible things could happen to people-good people. Going into that dreamscape, knowing that I can destroy my own daughter… it was beyond any nightmare I've ever had."
"And is she-" Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "I can't even say it. I'm sorry…"
Harry understood completely. "She isn't my Horcrux anymore. I made sure of that. That's why I used the sword."
"The sword?"
"To destroy Voldemort. And to destroy myself."
-------------------
Harry found himself reconsidering his earlier request for Hermione to give him and Angelica some time to talk privately.
He was, much to his chagrin, still too weak to get out of bed. Three weeks without the benefit of physical exertion can do that, but he felt vulnerable. That he couldn't even go after his daughter if she ran away from him was disheartening, but he was afraid that once everyone knew that he had come out of his coma, he would not have this time with her.
As she stood at the door, refusing to come nearer, he could see the anger in Angelica's eyes, like he had betrayed her. He supposed making her watch him basically commit suicide would be cause for anger.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Her lips pursed, and it took Harry a moment to realize that she was trying to stifle the trembling of her lips.
It did hit Harry then that he wasn't sure how he was going to explain his actions to his six-year-old child. Somehow, "I did it for you," didn't sound like it was enough. In fact, it sounded horribly inadequate, because it also meant, "I did it because of you," and considering she'd felt guilt these past three weeks, it would be rubbing salt in her wounds.
"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked.
She went to him then, a sour look on her face as she stifled her tears. She stood by his bedside. "You told me it was going to be alright."
"I did, and look, I'm here and you're okay," he said lamely. He knew what she meant, but it was difficult to tell her that by alright, he had meant that he would do what it took to get her out of it alive.
She began to cry and she wrung her fists against her eyes. "You planned to do what you did! And you tricked me!"
"I'm sorry," he said again. "It was the only way I knew how to save you. You were my Horcrux and you couldn't be. I refused to let you be."
"I didn't want you to destroy yourself," she whined. "You could have died."
He sighed, reaching out for her. He was relieved when she let him, and he picked her up, perching her on his lap. She sniffled, and every whimper felt like the sword running through him again and again.
"Listen to me, baby girl," he said quietly. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"
She nodded. "Mum explained it to me."
"Good, and did mum tell you that you were my Horcrux?"
She nodded again.
"I grew up being Voldemort's Horcrux and it brought me pain. It put me in danger. It put everyone around me in danger. I lived with guilt and I lived in fear. No one deserves to live that way, and I couldn't bear the thought that you would have to go through the same thing."
"But-But it was you."
"Yes, but I was already corrupted. I got better with the help of good people, but it was a constant struggle, and one day, perhaps when I tired of it, or maybe in a moment of weakness, I would give in. I would destroy everyone and you'd be the Horcrux of a terrible, terrible person."
"You never would've hurt the ones you loved."
Harry gave it a brief thought. "Maybe, but I would've hurt someone. It was a cursed existence, Angelica. The fact that I-I took someone's life to create a Horcrux-"
"But you didn't create it. Voldemort did. Or the sword…"
"That hardly makes a difference-"
"It makes all the difference," she insisted, eyes wide with conviction. "If it were all up to you, you would've let yourself be properly dead."
Somehow, that struck Harry as amusing. "Properly dead?"
"Yes, properly dead, without the chance to come back. It wasn't your choice to live until you-well, had to live."
Harry smirked. "I suppose you're right, but that does drill down my point, don't you see? People shouldn't come back from the dead. Those who do, or those who want to, are up to no good. And so a Horcrux is a horrible, horrible thing. That's why I had to get rid of that piece of me inside you, and it was the only way I knew how."
"Not everyone who comes back from the dead is bad," she said. "Vampires aren't all terrible."
Harry frowned this time. Who was telling her these things? "What do you mean vampires aren't all terrible? All they want to do is suck your blood!"
Angelica shot a frown right back. "That's not their fault! And ghosts! Ghosts are beings back from the dead, but they're nice enough. Annoying, I suppose, but not bad."
"Look, I didn't come back as a ghost or a vampire, and at least tell me that you understand why I had to do what I did. You do understand, don't you, baby girl? You're not going to grow up thinking that creating a Horcrux is just one of those things…"
Angelica sighed. "Of course not. Even if I would not have minded being your Horcrux, I would have minded loads if I had to be a Horcrux for someone else, and I don't think much about murder, either."
"Good. But… I'm sorry you had to see me do myself in. That wasn't something I could help."
"I'm just glad you're alive." She swiped the back of her hands across her eyes again. "Are you better now? Is-is that thing inside you gone?"
Harry nodded gratefully. "Yes. It's all gone. I've never felt so good in years…"
Angelica finally smiled, throwing her arms around him. "And you're staying with us, aren't you? Aren't you?"
"If you and your mum will have me."
"It's all mum and I ever wanted," she replied.
"Then of course I'll stay with you. It's all I ever wanted."
--------------------------
The week that followed Harry's reawakening was decidedly the most boring week of Harry's life. Priestess Morgana had endeavored to make sure that Harry was stress-free as he "recovered" from his ordeal. The priestess had assigned Bridget to make sure this decree was thoroughly exercised and Bridget was really good at being thorough.
Visitors were allowed, much to Harry's relief, so he saw more than enough of Hermione, Angelica, and Ron, but his activities were confined to long walks on the flower fields, reading at the library, whittling by the fire, quite meals, and early to bed.
Perhaps Harry might have enjoyed such leisurely activities if he had been in his previous, Horcruxed self, but with his soul and mind free, he found that he wanted to do the things he used to enjoy with abandon, like Quidditch, riding Thestrals, shopping in Hogsmeade, and keeping up with Angelica's antics. Not to mention intimate time with Hermione-a lot of it, perhaps even with reckless vigor, but the priestesses surprisingly did not think it therapeutic.
"You need strength to recover," Bridget said. "That takes up a lot of energy. At least I hope so on your part, for Hermione's sake."
Harry pushed back his feelings of mortification and said, "Isn't that supposed to be the cure-all around here? Vital energy and renewing powers and all that?"
"Nice try, Potter."
"How long do you expect me to abstain?" he had demanded.
"For as long as it takes. I don't know what the problem is anyway, Harry. You were fine without it for all the years you were here."
"A, I wasn't myself; b, I was practically psychotically obsessed with Hermione; and c, I was always exhausted from the monumental effort of fighting off my evil tendencies. This is the first time in years I've felt like a million galleons. Of course I'd be--"
"Randy?"
Harry frowned. "Full of life."
"Well, keep that life in your trousers for now. Another couple of weeks or so without it won't kill you."
The only up side to the entire arrangement was the absolute exclusion of Snape. Having known that Snape was a main source of stress for Harry, they kept the surly, sneering professor away. Just imagining Snape's irritation at being prohibited from de-briefing Harry of what happened for another few weeks, on top of the three weeks of the coma, was a balm to Harry's other frustrations.
He made the most out of his time with Angelica and Hermione, and when Angelica was done enjoying time with her dad, she would be out on the fields with the new batch of Avalon children, watched over by Zeke.
In the meantime, Harry and Hermione would take advantage of their child's preoccupation and have their intimate walks and talks. Though, try as he might to tempt Hermione into the mischief of a secret shag, Hermione refused to risk any sort of relapse. Three weeks watching the coma kill him (he was told) had scared her into temporary abstention.
He had, shamelessly, resorted to begging and accusations. "Please? You don't make it easy, you know. You wake me up in the morning in your tiny shorts and tank tops, what do you think I'll think first thing? Anyway, at the rate it's going, I don't think it will take long, honestly."
Hermione would laugh and would vainly try to give him a stern frown. "Harry, don't be a berk. Won't take long?"
"Well, I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. We hadn't fooled around in almost four weeks and you're dead sexy."
"But you were asleep for three, so really, it's more like just one week for you. And flattery won't work."
"That's one week too many, as far as I'm concerned. Tell me what will work. I'll do it. I just really need you to put me out of my misery."
She didn't relent, at least not entirely, and he counted the days to when the priestesses declared him healthy for "vigorous activity."
That aside, his time with Angelica and Hermione was of course the highlight of his convalescence.
The big surprise was Ron.
Not that he had never enjoyed Ron's company, but the events between that easy, childhood camaraderie up until he knocked himself into a coma, had built walls between them that Harry thought would never crumble.
Yet, here in Avalon, it was like he had his old best friend back, and Harry wasn't going to look a gift-horse in the mouth by asking Ron what brought on the renewed sense of friendship.
On one of Ron's evening visits to Avalon, Ron joined Harry in the library and pulled out a tall flask of Firewhiskey.
Harry conjured two brandy glasses quite eagerly. "I knew I can depend on you for contraband."
Ron chuckled, pouring the golden liquid into the two glasses in equal proportions. "Well, it was really Gred and Forge's idea, but far be it I'd let a good idea go to waste. I figured you needed a bit more than long walks, libraries, and tea. Cheers, mate."
They clinked glasses and Harry took a gulp of his Firewiskey. It was strong, flavorful, and blazed a trail down his throat, but it was a welcome respite from the wholesome recovery regimen.
As he let the alcohol travel through his system, Harry reclined on his sofa chair and sighed contentedly. "Ah, thanks Ron. You're the best. And I mean it this time."
Ron smirked, shrugging. "Yes, well, I haven't been much of a best friend since you and Hermione told me you were together."
Harry wondered briefly if this particular talk was necessary but realized that maybe it was Ron who needed this. "I wouldn't say that… if our roles were reversed, I don't know if I would have been more charitable."
Ron was quiet for a few seconds, then he started again. "I had nightmares for weeks after watching you burn," he said quietly. "And it wasn't just because it was a horrible thing in itself, but because it was you, and because Hermione was utterly devastated. But… you know, even I had to get over that, and when I did, and the reality of your being gone actually sunk in… well… it was a possibility that Hermione might actually begin to see me differently. It was that way for years. I did everything for all the right reasons and I never lost faith, then you went and came back from the dead. I confess, I probably wasn't as happy as I should've been."
Harry swallowed, and it wasn't the Firewiskey.
Ron looked at him contritely. "I couldn't imagine it ever being the same between the two of us, mate. Not anymore. It wasn't just Hermione anymore, it was Angelica, too. She's not my daughter by blood, but… she may as well have been. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," was all Harry could say. What can he say? "It's not something you should be sorry about. I couldn't ask for anything better, in fact…"
Ron gave him a thin smile before taking a deep breath. "But it was hard, watching you in that coma for so long. The coma changed things. I felt that I was losing another brother. Fleur was right. The petty jealousies and nit-picked irritations become nothing when you face the loss of the entire person."
Now Harry really didn't know what to say. It felt a bit embarrassing, even if he appreciated Ron for it-immensely.
"I reckon," Ron continued hastily. "The entire thing with Hermione-wasn't really anyone's fault but mine, yeah?"
Harry finally did find the words. "No. It wasn't your fault, either. We can't help who we fall in love with. I-I hadn't thought about Hermione in that way-seriously-before we started our hunt for the Horcruxes."
Ron looked surprised. "So you're telling me that you thought about her that way before, but not seriously, and you started thinking seriously about her in that way as early as the start of that summer?"
Harry shrugged. "It's complicated. I mean, it was only natural that I'd think about Hermione in an un-platonic sense one way or another, but before that summer looking for Horcruxes, I didn't think there was anything particularly weird about it. I'm a bloke. We were supposed to have these thoughts about any girl who isn't Millicent Bullstrode."
Ron snorted. "And Marietta Edgecomb."
"Yeah. So I figured when I looked down Hermione's blouse every now and then, I sometimes easily admitted to myself that it wasn't by accident."
"That's better than me. Whenever I got a gander by accident-and it was always by accident, all I can think was that she would be utterly furious with me."
"You did look pretty terrified, mate-yeah, I did catch you looking."
"Lord, is that why you thought I didn't like her?"
Harry paused. "Well, no. Even with the way you acted, I still suspected. You know… you showed an inclination, in your own way."
"But if you suspected-"
"I wasn't exactly sure about your feelings for her, either. You were spectacularly inconsistent."
"I didn't-well, I guess I'm pants at expressing myself."
Harry agreed but refrained from saying so. "That summer, when we started looking for those Horcruxes, I'd have these moments with Hermione, where I'd started noticing things about her-good and bad, though more of the first, I admit, and no matter what I thought, the feeling was… wickedly intense. It just got worse day to day, and I pushed those thoughts away. It was difficult, not just because I was afraid you fancied her, but it was also because I told myself it was the worse time to be thinking about wanting that from her. So I suppose that night after those Dementors almost did us in, it just came pouring out like a dam broke. I couldn't stop. I didn't have much time to think about it, and before I knew it, I was falling hard and fast, and it was easy to make excuses for your feelings. Besides, she wasn't just any girl. This was Hermione."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "So it was just like that? You were in love with her?"
Harry scoffed. "Do you even know me?"
"Right. Nothing comes easy for Harry Potter."
"Like I said, it was complicated. I just knew it was intense. I didn't know it for what it was. At least not immediately, and even then, I was fighting it. It wasn't fair for Hermione, but I didn't think I was good for her, either."
"Like you can tell her what's good for her and what isn't."
Harry shrugged. "I try."
Ron sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I always wondered if she didn't feel the same about you all along, even when she was giving you advice about Cho and Ginny."
Harry grimaced. "Hardly makes sense, doesn't it? Even confused about what I felt about her, I wasn't keen about giving her advice about you. And don't even get me started on what I felt about you when you told me you kissed her."
Ron grimaced right back. "Maybe she didn't fancy you then, but she liked to make you happy, and it did, didn't it? Hermione was all about that, and keeping you alive. She's too good for you. She doesn't deserve your sorry arse."
"And she deserves yours?"
"Well, no, but at least own up to it."
"Fine. She could've done way better than me."
"And you better believe it, too. She could've avoided all this nonsense if she hooked up with the likes of Oliver Wood."
"She would've hated it. Oliver Wood's a Quidditch player."
Ron snorted. "Please, bitch. Viktor Krum? You?"
Harry scowled. "Okay, fine. Honestly, Ron, must you bring all that up?"
Ron grinned. "And just remember that my name came up first in the article."
Harry figured Ron was never going to let him forget that one.
And so it went that Harry spent his days of recovery with Angelica regaling him of stories from school and her time with Zeke (whom she decided she would marry when she grew up), drinking whiskey with Ron in the evenings, and, when not engaged in long, stimulating conversations with Hermione, seducing her in the afternoon, in which he became more successful by the day if the increasing heat of her kisses was any indication.
-------------------------------
Harry thought he could put off seeing Snape during his time in Avalon, but then somehow, the sneaky bint had managed to convince the Priestesses that it was imperative that Harry and Angelica be debriefed.
When Hermione came to him with the news that the Priestesses had finally relented to having Snape see him, she was equal parts disgusted and amused. "I'd imagine Snape has been sharpening his Athame in anticipation of this meeting for weeks, now."
Harry didn't even bother to hide the grimace on his face. "Highlight of my day."
Hermione had laughed, patting Angelica's head as she sat at the foot of the bed, watching it all with wide, blinking eyes. "Oh, I'm quite serious. He's interested in finding out how you managed to destroy your own Horcrux and lived to tell about it."
"That figures, doesn't it?"
"I told Professor Snape everything that happened," Angelica said. "I even showed him the pictures Aunt Ginny drew for me from my dreams. I don't see how your story would be any different from mine."
Harry tried very hard not to get distracted by the snippet about Ginny and her drawings. "Does he make you call him Professor?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Is he nice to you?"
"I've never seen him nice with anyone else, so I suppose he isn't very nice to anybody. He calls me Potter's Get. I don't think he means that as a compliment."
"That figures, too."
"Well, sweetheart," Hermione said. "I'm afraid you've come by his dislike honestly, and two-fold, too. He hates your father and sometimes, I think he hates me even more."
The door to the room yawned open with a bang and Severus Snape swooped in. "She's even more of a know-it-all than you were, Granger. And that's saying something."
Preistess Morgana waltz in right behind him."Oh, Severus, must you be such an eternal grouch?"
Snape waved her complaint away. "Potter, tell me everything."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Angelica already did. I doubt she left anything out."
"Just tell me everything and let me be the judge of that."
"So, where do you want me to start?"
"Anyone with sense starts at the beginning."
Harry was just enough in a good mood to do everything he can to get Snape riled up. "Alright then, so Hermione and I were fooling around for the first time, right, and let me tell you, it was pretty awkward-"
"Harry!" Hermione gasped at the same time Snape was growling, "Potter."
If it hadn't been for Angelica, peering at him with her brightly innocent gaze, he would've gone on in that same thread, but Hermione was glaring at him, seriously this time, so he relented and starting telling Snape everything, from the moment he realized that Angelica was his Horcrux to his journey back to consciousness.
-->