Unofficial Portkey Archive

So, the next chapter, in which Hermione wakes, Ron and Harry come to blows, and Harry makes his decision. I tried to resolve the issue of speech that somebody had with the story, I hope it helps. Thank you for all the support. The response has been truly amazing. I have been sick again, thus the delay in posting. I will reply to reviews as soon as possible, right now I lack the energy.

Enjoy.

I don't own them.

Harry waits for Ron to leave before he enters Hermione's dimly lit room. He counts the heavy footsteps as they echo down the hall, and only when he's entirely certain that Ron has locked the bedroom door behind him, does Harry take his place by Hermione's side.

He keeps vigil over her broken body, and his soul aches. It breaks him too, because if he squints, just enough, he can see her body swollen with the signs of life, his flesh and blood moving towards excellence as his son grows, pursuant to the miracle that is life. The birth of a new hope, cause for celebration.

But his good deeds have been erased, like wands at dawn, a round of unmentionables aimed at his chest, like the killing curse straight through his heart. It is irrevocable and irreversible.

He stops hoping to see the world through the eyes of his child, instead he wonders about the purpose of life. Nobody wants to suffer, to experience pain or loss so infinite that it leaves you dying inside, a hermit existing in a derelict shell because of the great gaping chasm that mars the soul.

Harry is immobilized by the gravity of his grief, but the fact that it was his fault, that he was unable to prevent the inevitable from happening, that is the noose that cinches tightly around his neck, that constricts slowly, like agony, because he knows that there is nothing that he can do to stop it, the situation is hopeless and the world still slips into darkness.

He must have presented himself with the scenario a thousand times. They hadn't known that Hermione was pregnant. Of course, the possibility had presented as an option, but reality affected them all. He cannot be what he is destined to be until she is what she is destined to be, but even the world of actuality has its limits.

The what-ifs are varied. What if he had died with his parents? What if Hermione had decided to stay behind? What if Ron had never left? What if their child had survived?

What if she will never forgive him?

They grate on his nerves sometimes. So he closes his eyes.

Maddening.

Still her chest continues to rise and fall, a snort of contempt in the face of fear. Externally, the scars are healing. He examines her face carefully, his finger tracing the flaws for emphasis. The ripple that mars her face has faded, but he finds beauty in the twisted patch of tainted flesh. It means she is alive, even though she is likely devoid on the inside.

Suffering makes for a strong soul, to that he can attest.

Her wounds have closed, but the revival of her soul remains to be seen. Her womb will forever bear the deepest damage. There is always the danger of a relapse.

"He looked just like me. I am sure of it," Harry whispers to the wind that raps on the windowpane.

"And brilliant too I'm sure, Hermione."

As she exhales, her breath remains even and she continues to slumber. It tickles his hand as he cups her cheek.

"I'm surrounded by death," He continues, his thumb stroking her impossibly smooth skin.

"My parents were taken, and then there was Sirius, Dumbledore, the list got longer as I got older."

He swallows thickly, checking names off on the fingers of his free hand.

"James, I think we would have agreed to call him James. In fact, I think you would have insisted."

Harry extends his pinkie and the lump in his throat inflates.

"And James was taken too soon, Hermione."

His words are cold and flat.

"What if it's me, Hermione? What if I am the Master of Death? What if I can bring him back? If I can find the Elder wand, I'd do it you know."

He misses the twinge of Hermione's brow as it furrows.

"You've always believed in me, Hermione. I think I can do this. I can find the wand, I can defeat him. I can defeat Voldemort."

His next sentence is unexpected, but it has been gnawing at him for some time now.

"I have to continue on alone though. Do you understand what I'm saying Hermione? Of course you don't. You'll chastise me for my hero complex and I'm really not looking forward to the slap you'll be wielding."

Unconsciously, he cradles the side of his face.

"But it's up to me. We all know that I am the only one who can do this. Too many people have had to die at my expense, and I've made up my mind. I'm going to end this; I'm going to make it better."

"No … Harry. No." Hermione rasps, trying desperately to push herself into a sitting position, but her abdomen burns as the pain tears through her being. Her eyes are wide now and Harry struggles to console her. He is defiant.

"It's okay. I'm right here, just calm down Hermione."

"James. Who is James, Harry? Your father?"

Harry remains silent. He cannot lie to her.

"Who is James?" She repeats the question.

"Our child. He is the boy you lost, Hermione," He seethes, throwing back the heavy timber seat that he has just vacated and standing to his full height. The despair in her eyes breaks his heart. She's going to ask him to tell her that it's not at all true. He knows that she is going to declare him insane and that the two are merely dreaming, she will blame the Horcrux, even though it has already met an untimely demise. And then she will find clarity, she will calm, and she will hold it all inside.

He knows her. He knows Hermione.

But she can't escape the tears that fall. The conversation is worthless, pointless, but he will have it for her.

"Hermione, you are … so beautiful. I … It wasn't meant to happen like this."

"Harry?"

She's not confused, she understands, she's far too bright not to, she just does. But she needs him to speak the words that will ignite the her heart, that will fuel her collective sigh, the inner exuberance that erupts through her skin and joins the energy that created the world, that created her son.

"Hermione … He … I …"

The words are interrupted by the squeak of shoes as they round the corner at a hasty pace and Ron bursts forth through the door like a rescue squad on twenty-four-hour call to anywhere dispute and conflict may erupt.

"Hermione," Ron pants. "I heard voices. What's going on?"

"Hermione just woke up," Harry endeavours to explain the current predicament. "I was telling her what happened. I was trying to tell her that she was pregnant, that she lost the baby, her son. That's what's happening Ron. I was trying to tell Hermione that I have to leave and that she can't come with me this time. This is my trial and mine alone."

Hermione stifles a sob and Ron lunges at Harry, his fist making contact with the corner of Harry's lip.

"What? You're just going to leave her? After everything that has happened? You bloody selfish bastard," Ron continues to yell at Harry.

Harry swipes at the trickle of crimson that spills over his lip.

"You were just waiting for me to leave, weren't you, Ron? Let's be honest," Harry taunts him with his wicked words. "You've just been waiting to pick up the pieces since we got here."

"Like you care, Harry? Like you put Hermione's wellbeing before your own selfish needs?"

Hermione watches the back and forth between the two. Her eyes do not leave Harry's face and his features do not move, his eyes, his jaw set, his shoulders pushed back as he takes up his fighting stance.

His nostrils flare and his anger is evident. But when Harry turns back to Hermione, he speaks calmly, with tenderness, the repose of passion, he repents. And that when Hermione knows, when she realises that if Harry can change the rules, then so can she.

She will sleep soundly in his arms again.

Taking up a knee, Harry kneels down beside the bed. He takes Hermione's hand and brushes the stray locks of fringe from her forehead, tucking them safely away behind her ear before he speaks.

"Hermione, I know that my timing is bad. Really, really, really bad. There is so much I need to say to you, but please, if you trust me then trust me right now. Trust me when I tell you that I have to do this alone."

Ron folds his arms across his chest, but he does not move.

"You need to rest," Harry continues, bothered by the fact that Ron will hear his declaration when it should be Hermione, solely Hermione.

"You need to rest, and I can't ask you to put yourself in a position where you could be hurt again. I know you understand. You're the smartest Witch I know. Hermione," He inhales and tries to ignore the way that Ron glares at him. "Hermione, I love you and I need you to do this for me. Can you do this for me? Please?"

Hermione nods and Harry chokes on his words.

"I will miss him. So much, Hermione. He wasn't even here and I miss him already so much."

Ron turns his eyes to the floor beneath his feet, decent enough to divert his attention elsewhere for the sake of the other two.

"And when I get back, after I defeat Voldemort, we will be okay, because I need you, Hermione. You are what I've been missing in my life."

If Harry realises that Hermione's mind is plotting, that she too plans to move forward without looking back, he says nothing.

Hermione has always insisted that productivity is never an accident, that it is the result of commitment to excellence, intelligent planning and focused effort. This time, they're both taking a page out of her book.

"I will be here waiting," She makes her promise, if only so that she can manipulate it to serve her own purpose after the fact.

Harry leans forward and his lips brush gently against Hermione's. There is no urgency, no hesitance. He clings to her, for now.

"I need to shower and change," Harry says reluctantly and sighs. "I will have to leave soon, the journey is challenging, but I will not leave you just yet."

"I understand," She assures him. "It's fine, Harry. I am okay. It's just going to take time."

Time I don't have, He does not tell her.

"I'll be back," Harry speaks softly, inaudible to anybody but the occupants of the small room.

"I'll be here," Hermione replies in kind.

Harry does not acknowledge the presence of Ron as he leaves the room with his head hung and his grief evident, his loss like a choke hold, starving the life from his weary body.

Hermione does.

"Ron, do you really love me?"

"Cripes, Hermione," Ron starts. "Is now really the time to get into that? If it bothers you I can take it back. I can take it back and pretend that my dolt of a brother never even mentioned it. I'm cool like that you know."

"Ron, this is important. I really need to know if you love me."

He throws his hands into the air.

"Of course I do, Hermione. Of course I love you, how could I not?"

"Good," Hermione frowns, trying to shake off the worry that gnaws away at the back of her mind. "That's good, because you're going with Harry."

"I'm what now?" He asks.

"Ron Weasley, if you love me, then you have to go with Harry. He needs you, he needs somebody."

"Cripes," Ron exhales the first word that spills from his mouth.

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