Running From Darkness

AN/ Okay, this is my first big H/Hr story. It’s set after the Half Blood Prince. It will have time jumps, two of them. The first one (shown here) is set after the fight with Voldemort) the second (which will come up in the next chapter) is the hunt for Voldemort. The hunt will all take place in 1998, everything there after is the second time line. Honestly, just pay attention to the dates posted at the tops of each chapter.

I want to thank my beta AmyLouise for helping me with this story, she puts all my crazy little pieces into place.

Please let me know what you think.

Prologue

March 19, 1999

The intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s Hospital was the place one went to find hope. Magic was a gift and a blessing in so many ways. There aren’t many ailments that magic is unable to cure. So for anyone that ends up on the thirtieth floor of St. Mungo’s, hope is not on their side.

This is where Hermione Granger found herself on this day, as she had been for the last sixteen days. The private room was ugly, with brown walls that led to a dirty white ceiling. There were cheesy pictures scattered all about with false messages of ‘never give up’ and ‘hang in there’. There was one bed in the corner of the room between two overhanging windows.

A few feet away from that rested a work table with two chairs. Hermione sat in one, her legs crossed and head heavy with exhaustion as she aimlessly flipped through an archaic issue of Witch Weekly.

Hermione was never an overly religious person. Her parents used to make her go to church right until she was old enough to decide on her own whether or not to go. She opted for staying home on Sundays when she turned six. She would make her arguments about logic over faith. Hermione wasn’t much for beliefs over fact; however, the last three nights she’d found herself praying for sleep.

It felt wrong to sleep, as if she would be letting her guard down if she allowed that overwhelming urge to overtake her. She had to keep watch over Harry; he was unconscious and helpless in his bed. She had to protect him.

He looked so very pale, and it shook her as to how clammy his skin was. He was still breathing strongly; the healers had made a point of showing her that. The constant rise and fall of his chest had become a lifeline of sorts for her over the last few weeks.

People would come by and visit all day. It was only in these hours when the moon ruled the sky that Hermione had peace and quiet.

The fight with Voldemort had taken so many things, things that were irreplaceable and things that would take years, decades perhaps, to heal.

Of all the things Hermione lost in that fight, it was her trust that she missed the most. Anyone who stepped through this door to Harry’s room was a potential threat in Hermione’s eyes. She never let her wand leave the safety of her shirt sleeve and knew in her heart that it didn’t matter what face was attached to the person. If they threatened Harry, if they took one wrong step or showed one possible sign, she would be ready.

Hermione found her eyes trained on Harry again. He looked so serene, as the pillow seemed to have sunk to the shape of his head. He was almost buried inside the blankets above him, and his ever growing hair was dancing all around his features.

Smiling, she stood from the table and moved to his bedside. Reaching out, she touched a few stray hairs and pushed them away. “We really must do something about this, love,” she whispered to him. “Your hair is beginning to take over the bed.”

Gingerly, she knelt down beside him. “Healer Price says they’ve stopped the infection in your leg. So when you get yourself out of here, you should have no problems walking or anything like that.” She smiled, but it was fruitless and weak. “I’ve been looking—like we’d talked about—for places to go after this. I thought maybe a beach. I—I feel like I could use some consistent warmth in my life, you know? I’ve been so cold lately.”

Hermione sidled up closer to his prone frame and let her head fall between the apex of his neck and shoulder. She let out a shaky breath against him and turned her head up to kiss his jawbone.

She found herself in a rather awkward position. Her knees pulled up underneath her as she leaned against his bed. Her head was resting against the crook of his neck as she ran a hand absentmindedly over his cheek.

“Ron’s funeral is tomorrow; I—I’ve told them I won’t be going.” She was struggling to keep her composure. Her eyes began to sting as unshed tears threatened to fall. She didn’t bother to think of why they came anymore, she just accepted them. The only person around to see them wasn’t able to and even if he could, he would never judge her. “They all look at me differently; I suppose it’s because I look at all of them differently now.” Turning back to the table where her magazine lay, she let her wand slide down her shirtsleeve just a bit and caught it. “Accio chairs,” she whispered and the chairs began to slide along the tiled floor to her.

Hermione stopped them with her foot and stood for a moment. She then began to arrange them sideways next to his bed. She was thankful that they had no armrests and settled them against each other before pushing them right next to Harry’s bed.

Proud of her idea, Hermione crawled onto them, her legs hanging slightly over the second chair as her head came to rest on the small portion of Harry’s bed that was free.

She took his hand in between her own and kissed his knuckles. “I need you, Harry. We need you…I—I haven’t told anyone about any of it yet. I was waiting for you. I—I’ll never stop waiting. I promise you that. Don’t let it into your head that I’m going to leave you; I’m not.” She nestled into the feel of him, the warmth he created both externally and internally within her. “I love you, I’ll keep you safe.”

Her wand was still at the ready on her wrist as she drifted into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she next awoke, Hermione could hear voices just outside of Harry’s hospital room. She was rather comfortable; at some point she’d pulled her jacket over her waist and curled her knees up. She was quite close to him now, silently hoping that whoever was outside would just go away.

Of course they won’t, Harry’s top priority after all. Harry, you’d hate all this attention.

With remorse that could rival seeing one of her favorite books burned, Hermione pulled herself off Harry’s bed and sat along one of her chairs. She was still tired, unsure of how late it had been when she actually allowed herself to sleep. It hadn’t felt like she’d been down long, three hours if she had to guess.

Standing, Hermione pushed her wild hair back and clasped it hastily with a hair tie into a ponytail. It was a messy version, as strands fluttered about her face all the same. She hadn’t showered since yesterday morning, hadn’t changed clothes since the day before that.

Hermione refused to leave Harry alone for too long and then only with the right people. There were so few of those really, it was starting to make her worry she might isolate herself from the rest of the world.

Suddenly, a lurch erupted in Hermione’s stomach and she raced towards the bathroom attached to this ICU room and let the contents of her stomach fall into the waiting receptacle.

I’m not alone…

This violent retch had so hastily reminded her.

After letting go a few more times and washing away the taste from her mouth, she went back to Harry’s room just as the door opened.

Healer Price stepped in. His presence seemed to be a part of his personality, as he made a point to keep a smile constantly plastered on his face. “Oh, hello, Miss Granger,” he offered, pushing sleek, stylish glasses up his nose a bit. His teeth shimmered like fluorescent lights against his dark, brown skin. “Any reports from last night?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, sir, he’s mostly the same.” He’s exactly the same, you just say ‘mostly’ to keep your sanity.

“I see. Well I’ll give him the once over and reload his potion bags.” Healer Price began to move towards Harry’s bed and Hermione took an instinctive step in the same direction. She stopped herself at the bottom of the bed. She resisted telling him to ‘back off’ or raising her wand. But she was always watchful, partly hating herself for such paranoia.

Even dead, that bastard has ruined our lives.

Hermione found her hands gently caressing Harry’s feet as they pointed up through his blanket. “How many?” Hermione asked, darkly.

Healer Price’s brows furrowed a bit. “Beg your pardon?”

“How many people are here this morning… for us?”

She watched the man’s lips purse a bit as he eyed the door for a moment and then turned back to her desperate gaze. “Rather a lot, I’m afraid. I understand your trepidation about who visits, Miss. Granger…,” You understand nothing, she thought, but refused to voice such sentiments. “But you must understand that the Wizarding world wishes to greet this boy as its hero, and you hold the story. People have come from all over the world to speak with you and give their thanks. We know that Mr. Potter is in no condition to have visitors outside of anyone you approve, which has been no one yet. The reporters have flocked in from every wizarding paper and parchment, and they do respect your wishes and your desire to protect him, Miss Granger. But you can’t hide a hero forever.”

Hermione hated hearing them call Harry a hero. Mostly for him, because although she herself believed him one, he would cringe at the thought of people wishing to be near their hero. As if he was some sort of museum display for them to exploit and tell stories about.

“Only close friends,” she started, determination seeping through each word. “I’m not speaking with reporters and I approve anyone that walks through that door.”

“Miss Granger…,”

“No!” Hermione shouted, surprising herself. Silence covered the room for a moment and she settled her nerves. “You’re right, Healer… it’s my story, and I’m choosing to protect it.”

Healer Price looked at her remorsefully, as if he were trying to push some sort of sympathy on her. Then he took a breath and smiled again, his teeth blinding her as he nodded. “Very well, there’s a Remus Lupin and an Auror downstairs, they say they know Mr. Potter very well. Are they allowed?” He asked flatly, but the sarcasm couldn’t quite escape his tone.

The answer seemed so easy, it’s Tonks and Moony… you love them! Of course she did, but at this point she couldn’t find it in herself to trust them. Not completely.

“Yes, they can come up.”

The older man nodded approvingly. “Great, I’ll send for them right now.”

And with that he exited, and Hermione felt herself release a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her eyes moved up to meet Harry’s tender face. It was so serene, his eyes softly closed and the warmth of nothingness encompassing him. The only reprieve she found through his absence of consciousness was that he wasn’t suffering. He wasn’t scared or fighting with himself. No, he was sleeping… he was at peace, and she could stand to wait for him if he was granted just a bit more of that calm.

Just then, a strand of hair fell into his face and she found herself smiling slightly. “Oh that hair, that’s it… I’m cutting it.”

It took her a while to find any pair of scissors, but eventually she came across a rather dull butter knife that had been left during one of her meals. She transfigured it into a pair of hair shears and began to plot out how she was going to go about this.

For the most part, this was about trimming down the uncontrollable tresses that had taken over Harry’s head. Other than that, she could find a bit of comfort in being so close to him as his visitors came by.

She’d maneuvered a chair next to his bed at a good enough angle to assist her cutting on this side at least. She didn’t really know how to do this—her mum used to cut her and her father’s hair for them, and in her infinite quest for knowledge, Hermione had asked to be taught. The lessons didn’t go far, but she knew her fair share of length and style.

She forced back the thoughts of her parents; save it for another day, Hermione.

By the time Tonks and Remus came into Harry’s room, she’d positioned herself behind him, her knees on either side of him as his body rested against her. She held his head carefully with one hand while the other nipped at his hair slightly. She figured it must have looked odd to them, and their slight gazes of disapproval showed as much. But she didn’t care.

“Hello, Hermione,” Tonks offered first, her smile returning as she pushed back a strand of purple, flowing hair.

Hermione put on her brightest smile. “It’s good to see you both,” she offered, knowing full well that ‘leave us alone’ was far too inappropriate.

“What exactly… are you doing?” Remus asked as Hermione reached around and pushed some of Harry’s hair to the side before slicing it off.

The smile on Hermione’s face waned a bit, and as it did, the reality of what she was doing grew, the truth of her merely wanting to protect him from these people who loved him; none of this having a thing to do with hair. “He was looking a bit ghastly, really. We hadn’t cut it in so long, and well….” She then reached around and picked up a handful of her own, it hung low down her back. “I’m afraid mine is more of a lost cause these days.”

As Hermione continued to work idly on Harry’s hair, the quiet that filled the room soon grew thick with discomfort. Remus, apparently unable to hold back any longer, asked what he’d been holding in for the last sixteen days.

“Hermione, could you… possibly divulge to us what happened on your quest with Harry?”

She shut her eyes warily. Taking a long breath as she absentmindedly dropped a kiss to the back of Harry’s head. “I can’t, okay?” She asked for understanding, but wasn’t about to let her decision be altered by it.

“You cannot shut out the world, Hermione.” Remus took a step to her and stopped when she recoiled slightly. Shame washed over his face as he ceased his movements and knelt down a few feet away from her and Harry. “I cannot begin to imagine how difficult this past year has been for you. We—all of us—we didn’t have control, Hermione. You have every reason to doubt us, but if you shut out the world, then Voldemort wins.”

Hermione had let go of her scissors; she wasn’t looking to anyone but Harry. Her eyes gazed into the back of his head as she wrapped her arms around him protectively. “Then I suppose he wins.”