Author's note: (will delete this eventually)
I won't bore you will all the many reasons why this took so long… illness, writer's block, travelling around the world, you name it…and I've been haunted by not posting this the whole time! Oh the angst. My new rule is to fully finish any story before I post it, otherwise I get thrown off. I hope posting the whole thing, fully revised (fine tuned each chapter as best I could, some small changes) and finished makes up for it a little (if you're still even interested - I'd say you'd have to reread to remember!). This chapter, the next and a small epilogue will be posted all at once to have it finally complete.
I'm actually scared of reviews for this one; some of u won't like where I go with it judging by your reviews but after much thought I finished it exactly how I'd originally planned in my head. I hope it makes sense. Anyway I gotta get over all of that- I'm releasing it into the wild now! Thanks so much to everyone who followed my story and offered encouragement.
Warnings: Fluff factory.
Disclaimer: Some small excerpts from canon in here so just to reiterate - HP not mine, JK's, just playing.
Chapter Eleven
Something to Hold
Morning birdsong woke him, his eyelids opening a crack to take in the hospital ward, brilliantly bathed in light.
Harry was warm, he noticed a blanket had been pulled over him and he felt sure the bed was surrounded by some kind of warming charm, given the size of the airy room.
His mind had instantly thrown up all the images from the last night and a heavy dread weighed on him. He could feel Hermione's small hand in his but he wasn't ready to try and discover more yet -admitting to himself he was again too scared to check her.
Eventually he closed his eyes and detected the soft rise and fall of her breath and the slight warmth of her body against his. Relief flooded him and he finally moved his head on the pillow to look at her face.
Colour had returned very slightly to her cheeks and her breathing seemed calmer than the night before. His relief magnified - and he allowed himself the thought that she might even pull through. He heard short and quick footsteps echoing on the hard floor, and half considered that he should get out of the bed before realising that Madam Pomfrey was probably the one who had lay the blanket on him. She rounded the corner holding a large tray and smiled at Harry.
"Good morning."
He sat up carefully, trying to avoid disturbing or hurting Hermione at all. Making to get off the bed, Madam Pomfrey put a hand out, stopping him.
"Now don't get up on my account." She sat on the edge of the bed and took Hermione's wrist - completing all of her observations of her patient as she spoke. "I've not seen anything like it."
She looked directly at Harry. "Whatever you're doing for her darling boy, keep it up. I would have laid my healers badge on her not making it through last night - she'd lost too much blood." She brushed absently at Hermione's hair with her fingers.
"But every time I've checked her this morning, she's improved." She stood and looked down at him, her hands on her hips. "I've no doubt your nearness is something to do with it. I can't explain it - just that I know that everything I've given her isn't working. So it's something about you that is."
She turned and picked up the tray, Harry noticing for the first time it held breakfast. "From a rather odd little house elf" she commented, frowning. She held out the tray until he took it and placed it on his lap.
"So. Whatever you do, I suggest you don't stray too far just now."
He nodded, and smiled at her gratefully. "I'm not going anywhere."
He managed to eat all of his breakfast -although he didn't feel like it with his stomach so twisted with anxiety- but he knew for certain now that he needed to keep strong for her. He spent the day at her side only leaving to go to the bathroom. She remained unconscious; her eyelids still as she lay on the bed and Harry felt his optimism from this morning begin to fade. Kreacher brought him some clothes to change into and his lunch, and, of his own accord, some of Hermione's books from her room, which struck Harry as such an unexpected and touching gesture that he found he nearly cried.
The hospital ward grew gradually darker as the day wore on. Leaning back in the chair next to her bed, he let his head drop back to look at the ceiling. He laid the book he'd been reading aloud to her on his chest and rubbed his eyes. Deciding to shed some light on things, he touched his wand to the bedside candles.
He hadn't delved too deeply into the few stray thoughts he'd had of Ron, his whereabouts and what he was feeling. He knew it was something that would come up eventually, but right now nothing outside of this hospital ward seemed to exist. He didn't want to consider life past the minute he was in just yet. Besides, despite all, he felt a twinge of bitterness that Ron wouldn't even try and put aside his own hurt when Hermione was in a life or de…. He didn't want to finish the sentence, even in his head.
Looking at her in the flickering light, he had a flashback to the time he'd sat next to her bed when she had been petrified by the Basilisk. He wondered idly if this was the exact same bed - it almost seemed so. He remembered touching her hand then, it had been icy cold, her whole body unnervingly cold and stiff. He'd found the note telling him how to defeat the Basilisk trapped in her fist, now she still held the Elder Wand in that same hand. He'd thought of moving it but decided against it - wondering if maybe the wands power was contributing in any way to her healing. He frowned at the cruel irony that the wand would no longer be his to use just when he needed it so desperately now.
He leaned forward with his elbows on the bed, running his hands through his hair. If only she had a note telling me what to do this time he thought, his forehead resting on the bed, the distinct sterile smell of the hospital sheets filling his nostrils. He needed her brilliance now more than ever.
Suddenly a thought caused him to whip his head up, and look at her in the dim light.
Maybe he could ask her.
The last times he'd entered her thoughts, it had been easy, he had simply been caught up in his emotions and it had just happened. He thought back to Dumbledore's words - with the power of Legilimency came the responsibility to use it wisely.
He looked out of the window at the first star appearing in the sky. How did he know if it was right or not? He thought briefly of going to Dumbledore but aside from not wanting to leave her, he had a feeling in his gut that this was between him and Hermione. He had to decide what was best.
Gently picking up her hand, he rested her knuckles against his lips and stared at her thoughtfully.
He hadn't had a chance to tell her how he felt. Just when he'd finally been able to lower his guard - let her glimpse his feelings, it was ripped away from him. He frowned as the guilt overwhelmed him; it seemed all her suffering was always because of him. She gave everything to him, no matter what it cost her, and sometimes it seemed all he'd ever given her back was pain. And yet she loved him, he had felt it when he'd journeyed into her mind at the dance. She loved him, deeper than he had known anyone could love.
The thought hit him with force. He understood how deeply she felt - it was exactly how he felt for her.
And I have to tell her. The thought was clear in its simplicity. It's the only thing that matters, that she knows this.
He pulled himself up onto the bed to lie next to her, his head lying on his own arm as it curved around the top of hers on the pillow. If she had turned in towards him, she would've been in just the place that she'd been lying the last few nights, pressed into his chest. The thought made him ache. Looking down at them, he registered how small she seemed against him. Somewhere along the line, he had gotten much taller than her he mused, looking at his legs clad in jeans now, stretching down longer than her small form covered by blankets.
I've done such a terrible job of protecting you Hermione he thought. If you come back to me now, I'll look after you forever.
"I'll never let anyone hurt you again." He said the last aloud before pressing his lips against her temple, and closing his eyes.
Concentrating all his thought towards her, he tentatively entered her mind.
He found himself adrift - opening his eyes, he saw that he was floating, in warm light, white and formless. He waited patiently - noting a wry thought in his brain that he was getting very used to instantly adapting to alternate realities. Vapour clouds began to bubble in front of him and curl outwards into nothingness, looking like they were trying to form, but falling apart before making any thing of substance.
Instinct led him to call out her name.
The white vapour began to swirl faster, and when he called out again it changed colour, from greens to blues and hints of red. He watched as it moved in spirals, settling into forms he was beginning to recognise as trees.
The sharp smell of the lake came to him before it materialised in front of his eyes, looking around he saw himself standing at the shore of the body of water he knew so well from all his years at Hogwarts. He looked around, searching, vaguely recognizing this part of the shoreline as the place he had lay next to Sirus, surrounded by Dementors. At the memory, he turned to the spot where his Patronus had come from on that night, and then he saw her.
Sitting on the ground right by the water line was Hermione. Her bare feet were just visible poking out the bottom of her white hospital gown as she hugged her knees tightly. Her hair was out and full around her face and Harry could just make out her eyes, staring at the water over the top of her knees. He made his way around the bank towards her.
She didn't move as he approached and he felt a flutter of nerves. He stopped a few feet from her.
"Hermione?"
She continued to stare at the lake as he slowly moved forward, watching her carefully. He lowered himself to sit at her side. Her face was still pointed to the water but he felt she knew of his presence.
"Can you hear me?"
Her eyes turned slowly to him, filled with tears. Some spilled out as she finally spoke.
"Harry? Where am I?"
He resisted a strong urge to reach out to her, unsure of how it would affect her. "I think… well, we're by the lake."
She was searching his face and he waited.
"Why are we here?" She looked so vulnerable it was nearly killing him to stay still but he forced himself to concentrate, not wanting to startle her.
"I don't know - it's just where you've brought us. We're in your mind Hermione."
He watched her digest that information and felt a huge relief as she smiled softly.
"This is my favourite place - the lake." He watched her take a deep breath as she looked out at the water again. "I was right here when you cast your first Patronus. And I thought then that you were the most amazing person I'd ever meet." She turned her face back to him, still smiling faintly but with a deep sadness in her eyes. "I was right."
He shook his head. "Hermione. I need you. Please don't leave me."
She closed her eyes, forcing more tears out and down her cheeks. "I'm trying Harry. I just can't hold on."
He reached out very slowly and touched his hand to her hair. Emboldened when she closed her eyes and pressed into his hand, he moved it to her cheek, brushing at her tears with his thumb. The sensation felt one hundred percent real and he felt confused as to how the tears could seem truly wet on his skin. That thought brought back Dumbledore's words from Kings Cross, the last time he was in a situation like this. Just because it's in your head, doesn't mean it isn't real.
He shifted closer and braved a kiss on her forehead, then pulled back to look into her eyes.
"I'll show you." She looked confused and he laid her head on to his shoulder, reaching to hold her hand as he spoke. "I'll show you what you have to hold on to."
"At the dance, I looked into your mind. And I felt everything you've ever felt for me - every feeling that you've never told me." She didn't say anything but flinched and shifted in his arms in what he could only assume was embarrassment and he pressed her close. "I know that was unfair and I didn't mean to. But all I can think to do now is to show you the same."
Gently he held her away from him again and cupped her face in his hands as he looked down into her eyes. "I want to show you how I feel about you… how I've always felt about you. Do you think you'll be okay?"
Her eyes were wide and almost fearful but she nodded. He smiled at her as she closed them.
He looked down into this face that he loved beyond all others and felt a nervous thrill at what he was going to do. Then he closed his eyes too and concentrated.
He sent her everything - slowly, so as not to overwhelm her- everything he'd ever thought and felt for her. He transmitted it all, from the beginning, hiding nothing now.
She received the pictures from his point of view, seeing herself in his memories, through his eyes.
Gasping, she realised she was able to feel what he had felt as she watched the pictures gently flicker through her conscience like a movie reel.
Countless moments from their first year to the present time played out to her - making clear the true nature of his feelings. They were all similar moments of confusion - some coming through more recognisable to her than others.
Some were obscure, like a moment in their third year that she had to fight to remember exactly where and when it was, but it seemed significant to him.
"Can I sit down then?" he said.
She pushed a stack of parchment off the chair, not looking at him but answering, "I suppose so".
He looked around at the cluttered table and then at her, noticing how exhausted she looked. He watched her as she reread an essay, intrigued by the pout she adopted as she frowned in concentration. Suppressing a smile, he considered whether she knew she did that. He wondered if she knew how it made her look kind of pretty. His insides flipped as he realised his last thought and he shook himself, brushing it away…
Others she remembered vividly, but had never imagined what he was thinking at the time, like his realisation that the pretty girl next to Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball was her. The flash of physical attraction disturbed him and she noticed that after that, he became very good at squashing any confusing thoughts about her by immediately reminding himself of the feelings he suspected Ron had towards Hermione. A perfect example was the moment where he came to her for advice on the fallout of his date with Cho.
"And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am too" she said as an afterthought.
He frowned at her - why did she say that? He studied her for a moment as she went about her business, not looking his way. In the slight pause that followed, a flurry of thoughts assaulted him. He knew instinctively she hadn't said it to search for a compliment, in fact, unfathomably, he suspected she actually thought it was true. Maybe she did think he thought she was ugly. How could she think that? He felt a pang of something he didn't recognize before he formed a reply in his head - 'But I think you're pretty.' His conscience - pricked into life when a flash of Ron's face crossed his thoughts - just stopped the sentence on the way out and amended it at the last second.
"But I don't think you're ugly…"
Hermione watched as the images moved on to when he first latched on to his initial attraction to Ginny. It was obvious he was genuinely attracted to Ron's sister, but deep down he acknowledged that the part of the appeal was the distant idea of one big happy Weasley family.
And his confusion about Hermione never fully went away.
He needed her - to the point where it often irritated him, which explained the many times he had snapped at her when it was unwarranted.
But these were all feelings that he was very strict with himself at leaving unacknowledged, dismissing them as soon as they arose. When Ron and Hermione had their falling out about Ron's relationship with Lavender, it seemed to be the definitive moment when he realised, truly realised, how deeply Ron felt. And so, in his mind from then on, she became his.
He even tried to pull away physically, resisting any touch that wasn't necessary. He found it difficult when he wanted to comfort her - but he knew instinctively that that was when he needed to keep his distance the most.
He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, and Harry admired her spellwork, perfect as always, even as distressed as she was from witnessing Ron & Lavender suctioned together in the common room in front of everyone. He hated her looking so vulnerable and sad -he thought of moving over to hug her but thought better of it at the last moment.
He chewed his lip in thought.
Why did he even question giving her comfort? Surely, as her friend, he was allowed to hug her. They had hugged a few times before. But they were always quick, safe, friendly hugs. He knew from them that she was petite, delicate, but with some kind of warm strength about her physically. She always smelt good. He wondered sometimes how it would feel to hold her longer, let her rest against him. Some part of him knew it would feel kind of…right.
Which is why his feet remained glued to the floor.
He tried to make light of the scene she'd just witnessed but she wasn't having it.
"Don't pretend you didn't see him," said Hermione. "He wasn't exactly hiding
it."
Her brow was creased with hurt and he'd almost decided he could cross the distance. Fold her in his arms for just a moment, that wouldn't be too bad would it? Considering the circumstance. She looked small and vulnerable and starkly attractive in her fragile state. His stomach did an uncomfortable slow flip. His feet took a step.
The door behind them burst open. Ron came in, laughing; pulling Lavender by the hand.
And his loyalty to Ron was unwavering in every moment. Time moved on and he gradually made peace with the fact that Hermione obviously held a special place in his heart, but Ginny was the girl he was supposed to be with. He convinced himself to emulate Ron and Ginny's relationship - a brother and sister relationship, with Hermione, as the best way of approaching her.
But he still had lapses where his thoughts showed that she didn't always fit perfectly into the sister role for him, as he showed her with a seemingly insignificant moment that she'd known nothing about, between him and Ron during their time at the Burrow before they left on their Horcrux hunt.
Ron was flicking through a book she'd never seen before - the title read '12 Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches'. He followed some text with a finger and frowned.
"I just wish I knew what her favourite colour is."
Harry answered without hesitation or thought. "It's blue."
Ron's nose screwed up as he whipped his head up to Harry. "How d'ya know that?"
Harry found his mouth opening again. "It's obvious isn't it? She wore a blue dress to the Yule Ball and she has loads of blue jumpers." A voice in his head was speaking in a panicked high pitched tone - 'What are you saying… stop stop! Why are you saying this?' His mouth seemed to have run away from him though, and kept going. "And her favourite quill is that long blue one. Plus she loved those blue flowers Bill gave Fleur…"
The voice's nagging finally got to him and he trailed off, looking at the ground. He could feel that Ron was looking at him strangely and he steadfastly stared at the floorboards, trying to think of a subject to change to. "So how many people are coming to this wedding do ya think?...
But aside from a slip up when he accidentally caught her eye at Bill and Fleurs' wedding, causing a moment of nerves, he seemed to have accepted that Ron and Hermione would eventually become a couple. He was uncomfortable around them as they became closer to being boyfriend and girlfriend, but he assumed that was like a brother who didn't want to hear about his sister's relationship. He kept up a steady stream of inner commentary to himself about how right Ron and Hermione were for each other but an unexplained irritation gnawed at him every time they got close. As they traveled around on the Horcrux hunt, he became good at ignoring the whole situation. Then came Wales, and the moment Ron left them.
He had desperately wanted to comfort Hermione that night - had lain awake for hours listening to her cry. But he knew not to trust himself. It would only make everything worse, if he started launching confused feelings at her, so he just tried not to question his natural reaction to be as distant as he could. Besides, her response to Ron disappearing confirmed to him that she was truly in love with Ron.
Hermione frowned at this memory, struggling in protest. He quieted her, drawing her closer, still cupping her face, and kept the stream of thoughts flowing steadily.
He went on to show her the moment when Ron had come back, including seeing the Riddle Harry and Hermione entwined in an embrace, and how transfixed he'd been by the image. But most importantly she saw his ultimate act of friendship to Ron - to make the declaration that would save him questioning his feelings for Hermione forever.
The sword clanged as Ron dropped it. He had sunk to his knees, his head in his arms. When Harry realised Rons' shoulders were shaking from his sobs and not the cold, his guilt assaulted him mercilessly. Every wayward thought he'd had to train himself to suppress seemed like a betrayal to his friend, now that he saw how devastated Ron would be if Hermione wanted to be with him, Harry. And so he spoke.
"After you left, she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see." He thought back to the last few weeks, and his initial elation that she had chosen him - when it came to the crunch, she had chosen him. Now it seemed a hollow victory, and nothing to be proud of, considering the hurt it was causing his best friend - the closest thing he had to a brother.
"There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone…" Harry immediately buried a thought of him and Hermione, as husband and wife at his parents' graveside. Of how well she knew him, of how much he needed her. But he would always have her; she would just be Ron's. He took a deep breath.
"She's like my sister." The words rang out in the clearing, the taste of them instantly bitter on his tongue. "I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me." He hoped his voiced sounded sincere to Ron's ears. Not empty and artificial as it sounded to his own.
"It's always been like that. I thought you knew…."
As the images moved on she saw he assumed that Ron and Hermione were going to get together as expected, and everything would be as it should. She realised he even took comfort from it, the more that Harry thought he may not survive his looming confrontation with Voldemort, the more he felt assured that things were as they should be, if his two best friends had each other.
Then, at Malfoy Mansion, he and Ron had been forced to hear Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix, while locked in the basement and unable to help, and it cut through him to his very soul. The intensity of his feelings had frightened him, but with so much going on, he was able to push it to the side for the most part. When he showed her the moment that Harry watched Ron and Hermione share their first kiss, the feelings pressed forward, but were firmly buried again until the moment of his death.
She started to shake slightly as he projected the last thoughts that had crossed his mind before Voldemort had raised his wand to perform the killing curse in the forest. He'd been waiting, knowing it was coming and his thoughts had flown inexplicably to Hermione, a fleeting vision of her eyes, looking into his, and how he imagined she might look before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Then they were racing forward, past the final face off with Voldemort in the Great Hall and on to the moment Hermione had found him pinned to the ceiling of the common room.
She was crying behind her closed eyelids by the time he finished showing her how her closeness, and the situation of them sleeping in his bed together, had been just too much for even his disciplined thinking. His guilty anticipation of their nights together and the fire that had lit inside him when she was lying in his arms was so clear to see, she smiled, realising it was the exact same feeling that had awakened in her.
But most startling was the realization he had been struck with in Dumbledore's office. The certainty that flowed through him was so powerful that she was completely awed by it, and by the fact that it was this conviction that had finally allowed him control over his new powers. She cried as she felt the pure beauty of the love he now allowed himself to feel.
And so, she opened her eyes.
Both of them were disorientated for a moment, in a colourless limbo until Harry felt her tears on his neck.
He became aware of his hands on the back of her head, her body turned and curled into his. He opened his eyes and they focused, very gradually, on the dimly lit hospital ward.
His heart leapt to realise they were no longer in Hermione's mind. He slowly pulled back to look down at her.
Her hair was covering her face and he took one arm from its tight embrace of her body to brush the hair back. He forced himself to go slowly, the torture of which was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes tightly for one more silent prayer and then he looked at her.
Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears but her eyes, they were open. They looked up at him scared, fragile, but very much alive.
With huge effort he kept himself still, waiting for her to be ready to speak. She glanced around, fearfully, taking in the tall windows of the hospital ward, and then looked back into his eyes. He smiled a tentative smile.
"Harry." Her voice was barely a whisper. He nodded and pressed her tighter to him, stroking her hair softly.
"You brought me back." He smiled again and then kissed her forehead gently.
"Shh, save your strength."
She nodded feebly and he again felt a wild impulse to yell out, or to jump from the bed for help. Instead he summoned his wand from the side table and silently sent a Patronus down the ward to Madam Pomfrey. He pressed her closer against him, feeling her breathe.
"Harry."
He looked down at her again. Her lip was trembling as her eyes spilled over with tears. When she spoke next, her voice was just a fraction stronger.
"I remember. I remember everything."
He nodded, and stroked her face, unable to speak.
"And I love you. I love you Harry."
He squeezed his eyes closed and his own tears fell on her as he pressed his lips firmly into her hair.
"I love you too" he whispered. "I always have."
~*~