Harry muttering incoherently and thrashing his head is what woke her this time. It took her a moment to realize where she was and where the movement was coming from. Harry's face was contorted in pain and his hand clutched the fabric at her hip.
Hermione sat up and stroked his cheek, the stubble rough under her fingertips. He came to with a jolt, sitting forward so quickly he almost banged his chin into her head.
Harry was breathing erratically, and he didn't seem to notice she was there. Hermione didn't want to spook him, but she was worried. With a quick shake of his head he snapped out of wherever he was and the color drained from his face.
He all but pushed her legs off of his, stumbled hurriedly from the bed, and made straight for the bathroom.
The door banged open in front of him and then she heard the unmistakable sounds of retching.
She went to him immediately. His hunched form kneeling on the floor was heartbreaking, and she quickly wet a flannel and dropped next to him, wiping his neck and face.
When his breathing was under control he sat back on the floor and rested his arms on his bent knees avoiding her gaze.
"Sorry," he said finally. "I just...I guess talking to Ron about all of that dredged up some old memories. I was...I was seeing all of them again." She knew he meant he was seeing all the people he had killed.
Hermione didn't say anything, just brushed the fringe away from his forehead and then leaned in to press a kiss to his scar. "You're a good man, Harry Potter," she whispered fiercely and felt him shudder.
When some of the color had returned to his face, she got ungracefully to her feet and stuck a hand out for him to take. It took him a moment but he did slide his hand into hers and let her pull him up.
She let go when they were back in the bedroom and dropped unceremoniously into the chair. "You should be in bed," Harry said in protest, but she waved him off.
"I've been in bed too much, I'm sick of it," she said wearily, not wanting to have the conversation she knew they were about to have.
Harry stood in front of her patiently. For some reason that made her angry, but she quashed the feeling down. She pressed her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears that had appeared. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not looking at him as she continued, "I'm so, so sorry. I thought it would be alright. I thought I'd be able to slip away for an hour and it would all be alright." She chanced a glance and his face was blank, betraying no emotion. "You'd been gone for so long, and I was here all alone, and..." she trailed off, knowing that her excuses couldn't justify what she had done.
Hermione chewed nervously on a thumbnail and turned her head away. Then there was a hand on her knee and Harry was crouched in front of her. "You couldn't have known," he said quietly, but she turned further away, feeling she didn't deserve his comfort.
"No," his voice came out stronger and then he was turning her head back towards him. "Look at me. You need to hear this. They were waiting. Whoever this is, they were waiting for one of us to show ourselves. That's the only way this was possible. We were all attacked at the same time. This was planned, very carefully, and they were willing to wait as long as it took until they got their moment. What happened was going to happen. So, you cannot blame yourself." Harry's eyes locked with hers and she knew he meant what he said.
Before she could say anything there was a knock at the door. Ron's red head was poking through. "You lot decent?" he asked lightly, and she was so relieved to hear him sounding more like himself.
Ron came in anyway, and although he looked tired and his jaw was tight he seemed much better than he had before.
"Good timing." Harry said. "I was just trying to talk some sense into this one," and nodded his head in Hermione's direction.
"Yeah, well, you're good at that." Ron replied seriously. "Thanks, mate, for earlier."
Harry just nodded, and Hermione swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Ron made his way over to the bed and sat down. "Let me guess, she thinks this is all her fault, and if she hadn't gone on walk-about we wouldn't be having this conversation?"
"Pretty much," Harry confirmed. Hermione refused to look at either of them.
Harry got to his feet and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to give him her attention. When she felt she could, she looked his way.
"Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened once you left the house: Who you talked to, where you went, what you saw...anything that seemed off or strange even if it's only in hindsight," Harry said, the Auror visage back.
She stared at him before beginning. "I left in the afternoon. Only planning on going to the bank, Madam Malkins, and the bookstore. I apparated right behind the Leaky Cauldron and walked down to Gringotts. I didn't see anyone I knew or anything strange. There weren't many people when I arrived at the bank and they took my key quick enough. Although..." she trailed off, remembering something she hadn't really noticed before. "Usually it doesn't take long for a goblin to access your vault, however, that day I waited nearly twenty minutes. They apologized and said because I hadn't used it in so long it had been moved and that's why there was a delay, but...maybe that wasn't it?" Harry hadn't said a word, just listened to her, although she could tell his mind was working.
"Because it took so long at Gringotts I decided to skip Madame Malkins and go straight to Flourish and Blotts." She saw Ron give a smirk but chose to ignore him. "I ran into George outside the shop." Harry's eyes rose at this.
"Did he call out your name?" Harry asked.
She thought for a moment before answering. "No. We spoke in the street for a couple of minutes he was trying to convince me to come in and see the shop and I finally relented." She searched her memory trying to recall if there had been anything strange but she couldn't think of anything. "There was nothing off that I was aware of. We weren't inside longer than a few minutes before the patronus came from the Burrow."
Ron's face got tight and he was silent.
Then Harry broke the quiet. "What happened next, `Mione?"
She drew her feet up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, unconsciously making herself a smaller target. "You know what happened next," she stated.
"I know some. I know what George and Bill have told me," he said evenly
She thought about that afternoon, and didn't know how she'd ever be able to relive it all. "I can't Harry....I just can't..." She dropped her head to her knees and hid.
She heard Harry take a long breath and most likely exchange a look with Ron. She knew it was hypocritical, but more than Harry needed to hear her tell him what had happened at Diagon Alley, she needed to know what had happened to her afterwards. She needed to know the extent of her injuries and what had happened while she was unconscious.
"I'm sorry. I'll tell you...I just can't right this moment." She gathered the courage to lift her head, but only saw Harry's accepting face.
"But...I need to know. My injuries? What happened?"
Ron and Harry both reacted to that. Harry took his glasses off and rubbed a hand across his eyes while Ron sat straight up like he'd been prodded with something sharp. Neither of them looked like they wanted to talk about this.
"You were bad off and now you're fine, Hermione. Isn't that enough?" Ron pleaded, his discomfort obvious.
"I'm sorry. I have to know. It's me. You know I have to know what happened." She was almost pleading now, the unknown eating at her.
Harry stared at Ron. After the longest time, Ron cursed and ran a hand through his already messy hair before he lurched from the bed and paced in front of her chair. Harry took Ron's place on the bed, looking deflated. He very purposefully did not look at her.
Her hands twisted the fabric over her knees, and now that she was about to hear, she wasn't completely sure she was prepared.
Ron stopped and started a few times, then leveled a look at Harry. "You can't expect me to, mate." Hermione watched their interplay. Harry looked away and mumbled, "I can't. You know I can't." She was left wondering what had been so terrible. Ron tried again and finally he was successful. "What's the last thing you remember?" he directed at her.
She took a shaky breath, "The library. I was on the table. Your mum was working on me." Her face scrunched in effort as she tried to pull the foggy memories to the surface. "You were giving me a potion, and then...then there was noise in the hallway and Harry was back. That's the last thing I remember."
Harry's eyes were shut tight and Ron swore again under his breath. She got the distinct impression that was not the last time she had been awake, but it was all she could remember.
"Hermione, it was bad, you know that. Bill was covered in your blood and it wasn't stopping once you were on that table. Mum tried the normal spells and healing charms but they weren't having much of an effect. The wound itself looked better, but you just wouldn't stop bleeding," Ron explained, and his voice betrayed some of the desperation they must have felt.
"Bill said you were hit twice," Ron said and she nodded in confirmation. "He didn't know what the first one was, but it took you to your knees. He wasn't close enough to see the wand movement, but he though he saw…"
"Purple," they said together. "It was purple. Just like at the Department of Mysteries," she finished, one hand unknowingly coming up to cover the scar Dolohov had left with her.
Ron's head bobbed in agreement. "Madame Pomfrey said it's a weaker form of the Killing Curse. It causes internal damage, which normally can't be seen or detected, except..."
"Except for the other spell I was hit with," she finished for him. "It was Sectrumsepmra, wasn't it?" she asked, unable to look at Harry, but she saw him flinch when she said it.
The tightness in Ron's shoulders and the way he wouldn't meet her eyes let her knew she was right. "The wound in your side was so terrible because the first curse was preventing healing. We were pouring blood replenishing potion into you constantly but...we couldn't keep up at the same rate you were losing it. And you kept screaming, and it sounded just like with Bellatrix, and..."
Harry scrubbed his hands across his thighs roughly and stalked from the room. "I'm sorry," he said tightly before the door slammed shut behind him.
"What aren't you telling me, Ron?" she asked, a feeling of dread beginning to fill her at Harry's abrupt departure.
"Don't make me." He said it in such a small voice that she was reminded of a child.
"Please, Ron. I have to know," she begged, knowing it must have been terrible.
He paced the width of the room three times and then faced her, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes locked on hers and she couldn't have looked away if she tried. "You died. For a few minutes. Your heart stopped."
"Oh," was all she could manage, and for a moment she thought that perhaps her heart had stopped again.
"How..." she stopped, unsure what to ask.
"How are you still here right now?" Ron said for her. At her distracted nod he continued. "Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give up. She gave you a combination of potions and then cast some sort of spell on you I had never heard of before. It took a few tries but the last one took."
It was silent as she processed what he had just told her. Dead. Truly dead.
"How was Harry? How did he..." she trailed off at the wild look in Ron's eyes.
"How the hell do you think he was?" he responded bitterly and she felt tears prick her eyes.
"He lost it. He was already upset, walking in and seeing you like that, but when Madame Pomfrey said `We've lost her.'...Harry...His magic exploded, he took out half the windows in the library. George and Bill had to hold him back and Charlie had to threaten to stun him before he just sort of collapsed," Ron relayed.
Both her hands covered her mouth in shock. She couldn't imagine what he had gone through. `Yes you could,' a voice said in her mind. `You watched Hagrid carry him out of that forest.'
Then Ron was talking again, as if he just wanted to get this finished. "Once Madame Pomfrey got you back, it was touch and go for hours. She didn't even dare move you off the table. Harry sat in a chair by your side and didn't move. He wouldn't even respond when someone talked to him. That's when she did some diagnostic spells on him and found out he'd been hit with Crucio multiple times, but he wouldn't let her treat him. That's the only time he moved, to brush her off."
Hermione was mute. She could barely think right then, much less form words.
"Every hour that passed where you were still alive gave Madame Pomfrey hope. Eventually she said you were stable enough to be moved."
"I remember," Hermione said in a faint voice.
"You'll have scars on your side since it wasn't able to be healed properly right away, but other than that you'll be fine." Ron finished in a rush, clearly glad to be done with this task.
"What's another scar," she said with a watery shrug.
"Bloody hell, Hermione. Don't ever make me do that again," Ron said raggedly and she shook her head furiously, not knowing if he meant telling her something that awful or watching her die, and she decided it didn't matter.
He took pity on her and hauled her from the chair, wrapping her in a bone crushing hug. She just clung to his shoulders and took a few shuddering breaths before her stomach let out a low and prolonged growl that caused both of them to dissolve into laughter.
He pushed her back into the chair. "I have a mission now. Once I tell Mum your stomach is growling, she'll be cooking up a storm."
"And you won't benefit from that at all, will you?" she said with a smile
"Well, I'm not a man to pass up a good opportunity," he replied
"No one could ever accuse you of that," she countered with a smile.
Ron was already heading towards the door. "I'll send Harry back up, even if I have to give him a foot in the arse first."
"Thanks, Ron," she called as the door shut, but didn't hear if he responded.
She sank back into the chair, letting it fully support her weight and tried to process what Ron had told her.
She had died.
Dead. Ceased to exist.
How does one come to terms with that?
She was so deep in her own thoughts, she didn't Harry come in, stop before her chair or eventually sit before it. He waited for her to come back to the present.
When she pulled herself out of her reverie, she saw the top of Harry's head and watched him pick at his trousers absentmindedly.
Hermione quietly laid her hand on his head and let her fingers pull through his dark hair, mesmerized by how the hair filtered through the same way over and over again.
His head tilted sideways until it pressed against her knee and then she felt one of his arms wrapping around her calf.
"You were gone, `Mione," he said so softly that she had to strain to hear him. Her hand faltered for a second and then resumed her ministrations.
She didn't dare speak. She knew Harry needed to purge this from his psyche.
"I felt it. Your heart wasn't beating and...I knew. I don't know if it was magic or what. But I knew. It was like half my soul had been extracted and I couldn't even begin to imagine what it meant."
He was quiet again. She closed her eyes deliberately and wondered if it would be the same for her if Harry died.
"And then you were back again and I wasn't drowning anymore. Whatever it was that had been ripped out of me had been put back." He turned swiftly and was on his knees before her. His hands scrabbled around behind her hips and pulled her forward until she was forced to slide off the seat and land on the floor in front of him.
He clutched her to his chest. "Don't ever do that again," he said brokenly.
She cupped the back of his head and held him to her. "I won't. I promise. I promise," she crooned so many times she lost count. And then, before she could stop herself, the story of what had happened in Diagon Alley poured out of her.
She told him everything: How George had taken one of them down. How Bill had pulled her out of the street after she'd been hit the second time. How he'd had to cast enervate on her so she could help him fight. How the explosion she'd cast had taken out the building. How she was sure she'd killed two of them. How she didn't think she'd make it back to Grimmauld. How the boys had gotten her back alive. How the last thing she wanted to see was him.
His grip on her was desperate and only became tighter as she told her tale. When she finished, the only sound was his ragged breathing and the frantic thumping of her heart.
He held her until his breathing evened out, and then lifted her by the elbows, setting her on her feet.
"Get dressed and we'll go get something to eat. You're about to waste away," he said firmly.
She recognized that he needed a sense of normalcy, so she whispered her agreement and forced herself to step away from him.
The bathroom light was bright and she squinted against the intrusion before taking a good look in the mirror. Sweet Merlin, she looked like a ghost. She'd never been this pale, not even in the darkest part of the Scottish winter. Her cheek bones were more prominent than they had ever been, and the purplish-black skin under her eyes looked paper thin.
The low counter held a change of clothes for her. She wasn't sure who had put them there but she sent them a silent thanks. By the time she had washed up, changed clothes, and brushed her hair, she was exhausted and grateful to see Harry waiting for her on the other side of the door.
Her hand slid into his automatically and she was glad to see he looked like he was doing better. However, right before they stepped into the hallway, she reached out and shut the door in front of him. At his quizzical look she put her hands on his chest and pushed until his shoulders hit the door with a smack.
"Before we go down there we need to clear something up." She started boldly. Gryffindor courage. He was clearly confused but she didn't let that stop her. "I need to know what this is," she said and gestured between them. "We've been apart for four years, and before that it was one night, one amazing night that I have never forgotten, but still one night. Since you came back, it's been one insane moment after another and people keep trying to kill us and I feel like we haven't had a minute to take a breath much less have a proper discussion about what we are, or if we are anything. I just would very much like to..." but her ramble was cut off by Harry's mouth on hers, and she whimpered as he somehow turned them so she was now pressed against the door, his hands heavy on her hips.
When he was through, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I've always wondered if that would be an effective way to shut you up," he said with a rakish grin. Her inability to respond just made his grin wider.
His hand came up to stroke her cheek, ghosting over her ear and neck and sending shivers up her spine. "This is what we are `Mione. Four years haven't changed that. I love you, Hermione Granger," he whispered as their noses touched and breath mingled.
Finally she found her voice. "I love you too. Always have." His eyes slammed shut as she rose on her toes and kissed him back. When his mouth wrenched away and began to explore her neck she knew she was in trouble. She swayed and then just as suddenly he was holding her securely between his chest and the door, a worried expression on his face.
"You sure know how to knock a girl off her feet, Potter," she said breathlessly.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have gotten carried away. You need to eat," he said apologetically.
"Don't apologize," she insisted and gave him a look that made his eyes darken.
She saw him struggle and felt how his hands clenched her waist before he pulled her towards him, wrapping an arm securely around her waist. "Come on. If we don't go now we may not make it out of here."
"Would that be so bad?" she threw back, feeling reckless.
His head fell down to her shoulder blade and she could tell he was fighting for control. "Stop it," he commanded, and she had a pleased smile on her face as they made their way slowly down the stairs.
Everything in the house was quiet until they reached the hallway. The door to the library was firmly shut and she resolutely turned her head away it, not sure when she'd be able to go back in there again.
She heard the din from the kitchen and it made her happy. Harry gave her hand a squeeze and then pushed the door open.
There was a cacophony. Cries of her name. Hugs and kisses. Little Victoire wrapped her arms around Hermione's legs and refused to let go. She crouched down, gave the girl a hug, and answered in French that she was all better now. In the corner doing a swaying dance was Luna with the baby.
Mrs. Weasley waded through the sea of red hair and took her by the shoulders before directing her to a chair closest to the stove. Hermione stopped her and searched the room for the one face she hadn't seen.
Hermione found Fleur and locked eyes with the woman. Somehow, she had a feeling Fleur knew what she was thinking. "Where's Bill?" Hermione asked, blocking out the rest of the room.
"He is in the library," Fleur answered softly, clearly concerned for her husband.
Hermione turned to Harry, right behind her. "Make me a plate? I need to see Bill." Harry nodded understandingly. "I'll be right here," he said, and Hermione gave him a quick kiss before wading through the crowd.
George stopped her before she made it out the door. She launched herself at him, wrapping him in one of her famous hugs. "Thank you, George," she whispered fiercely.
"Anytime, Hermione," he replied and set her down. "I think Bill needs to see you." She just nodded, not trusting her voice.
She paused outside the door to the library, realizing the irony that she had just wondered if she'd ever be able to go back in the room. Now here she was about to do just that.
Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The curtains had been drawn and the only light in the room was from one small table lamp that cast an eerie glow along the tall shelves. The shadows appeared longer than they should have been.
Bill stood with his back to the door, arms folded across his chest. In front of him was the table where she had been treated. When she got closer she could see that it hadn't been cleaned yet and was scattered with empty potion vials. The remnants of her blood soaked clothes, stained cloths, and torn tablecloth were bunched at one end. Looking closer, she saw a dark area on the carpet under the table where the blood must have run off. And just there, on the edge of the wood, was what looked like fingernail marks.
She felt faint for a second and reached a hand out to grab Bill's arm for support. He startled, clearly having not heard her enter. When he realized who it was, he gasped out her name and then hauled her towards him. She just let him hold on to her and then she was being set back so he could study her.
"Alright, Bill?" she asked carefully.
"Better now," he answered truthfully.
"Thank you. For everything you did. You were brilliant," she said with conviction.
But he waved her off and turned his head away. "I practically got you killed," he said bitterly.
She looked at him, mouth agape. "Are you daft? You saved my life! More than once," she sputtered, not understanding how he could think he had done anything wrong.
He turned on her, famous Weasley flush across his face. "Poppy told me. Enervating you was the worst thing I could have done!" he growled, guilt eating him. "She said it caused the effects of that curse to be more widespread. It's most likely why your heart stopped." He forced himself away, stalking to the other side of the table.
"Bill Weasley. Enervating was the best thing you could have done," she said in the sternest voice she could manage. "If you hadn't I wouldn't have been able to fight with you. Do you think we would have survived if that had happened?"
He didn't answer her, but she saw the tightness in his shoulders lessen some.
She walked over to join him. "We can't do second guesses and what ifs anymore. Whatever is going on is big, and we're too much in the dark. We have to trust that we make the right decisions in the moment and move on, damn the consequences."
The silence stretched between them and then Bill let out a breath and came over to her. "We can't lose anyone else, the family can't take it," he said honestly, and her eyes smarted at being included in his definition of family. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. "We're not going to lose anyone else. I simply won't allow it."
When they entered the kitchen again, her eyes immediately sought out Harry and she was glad to see him already heading towards her. Bill, likewise, was on a collision course for Fleur and she clung to him when he reached her.
Harry took Hermione by the hand and led her to the table where there was a bowl of soup and fresh bread waiting for her. She gave Mrs. Weasley a kiss on the cheek as thanks and then they all tucked in.
When bowls had been pushed away, quiet gradually made its way around the table and one by one all eyes turned to Harry.
He took a deep breath and then looked out at everyone. "I've had to keep quiet about my job. Until now, you all have thought I was an Auror, and that is mostly true; however, it is not the entire truth. Now, recent events have changed what I believe to be important. The attacks on Ron, Hermione, and I are bigger than we had previously believed and I've been unofficially/officially assigned this mission." Eyes were wide, but no one dared to speak.
"What we thought was more isolated is in fact a much larger, much broader campaign. The reason I know this is because when I was attacked I had been crucio'd several times and was mostly unconscious. I was incapable of apparating." Harry paused, clearly waiting for someone to ask the obvious question.
Ginny was the one who spoke up. "Harry. I heard you on the front stoop. You must have apparated."
Harry turned to look at Hermione before he answered Ginny. The look in his eyes let Hermione know that what he was going to say was about to change everything.
"I didn't apparate. Fawkes brought me here. The Order of the Phoenix is back."