Unofficial Portkey Archive

The following morning brought yet another glorious sunrise to Hogwarts. As Harry proceeded along the corridor to the hospital wing, he could not help but notice the dawn of what promised to be a beautiful day. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky and as the sunlight cascaded in through the east windows his attention was diverted by the golden beams as they cast a yellow hue over the rubble and the destruction that was evident throughout Hogwarts at the moment. He could clearly see the dust as it drifted aimlessly around him and as he and Ron passed from the shadows between each window he could feel the warmth of the rays on his face. It was a beautiful late spring morning and the world was at peace.

But the world was also mocking him, he decided. It had no right to look so beautiful on such a day.

If the weather were to accurately reflect his current mood then Hogwarts would be swamped by a raging tempest. He walked in silence next to his friend but inside him a storm had brewed. He had not slept - how could one sleep at such a time - and he still wore the clothes from the previous day. His hair was even more dishevelled than normal and when he glanced at Ron he saw that his friend was in the same condition. Despite the fine weather, both men looked as if they had been battling the elements.

He clenched his fists by his side as he walked, the anger threatening to erupt at any moment. The problem he faced was that he had no one to rage against - no target for his frustration and despair.

Minerva had come close, though.

Once it had become apparent that the worst had happened, Minerva had insisted that Harry and Ron depart for the night. In the face of their furious protestations, she had quietly explained that she and Poppy were the best people to deal with Hermione in the morning because they were more removed from the situation than either himself or Ron. She had spoken in a clipped tone, but he had recognised her distress and knew that she was not that removed from the situation herself - that Hermione meant a great deal to her too. It was then that Minerva had played her trump card.

`It must be left up to Hermione to decide when she wants to face the two of you. When she changes back she may not be in a…respectable state and so you cannot be present. Poppy and I will see to her, do not worry. I will let you know as soon as you are able to see her. You can't do anything for her right now but she will need you both tomorrow.'

He had wanted to argue, to shout and to scream but this was not the fault of Minerva McGonagall. He had seen the sense in her words and the compassion in her eyes and so had reluctantly acquiesced to her plea. In silence, he and Ron had slowly made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

He closed his eyes as he remembered. Ron had sensed - and shared - his mood and had vacated their room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Ron had obviously wanted to be alone too. So he had sat on his bed gazing out of the window, raging impotently at the fate that had cursed the life of his dearest friend.

And he had raged.

He did not know how long had passed before he had lost control. He had screamed obscenities into the night. Had cursed the fates; cursed all gods; cursed everything and everyone - not least himself. After everything they had endured to finally defeat Voldemort, fate had played one last, cruel trick on them all. He had turned away from the window and had vented his rage on the room. Nothing had been left untouched. He had not used his wand; instead he had used his bare hands and his feet to wreak a trail of destruction in his sleeping quarters. He had overturned tables, smashed objects against the wall, kicked over anything that wasn't nailed down, before finally crumbling to a heap on the floor. He had known that despite everything he had endured in his short life, this latest horror was the worst - this one could break him.

He had finally stopped feeling sorry for himself shortly before dawn. Emotionally spent, he had finally realised that he did not have the luxury of self-pity - that his anger was selfish and futile. So he had roused himself and had made his way downstairs to the common room where he had found Ron sitting alone in an armchair in front of the fire. He too had been surrounded by destruction and it was obvious that he too had spent the night raging against the fates. The two men had exchanged their first words since hearing Hermione's screams.

`Doesn't help, does it?' his red-haired friend had asked, without looking up.

He had shaken his head solemnly. `Not really. But I suppose it gets some of it out of our system.' He had glanced around the room. `Hermione will kill us when she sees what we have done to this place though.'

The two of them had finally shared a rueful smile at the thought of Hermione's reaction to the destruction wreaked on her beloved common room. Both were aware that they would repair the damage before she did see it but that didn't detract from the brief moment of grim amusement both of them felt.

`You didn't damage any books, did you?' Ron had asked with a smile.

`I wouldn't dare.'

`We'll be fine then. She'd skin us alive if we had. She'll understand the rest.'

Now as they neared the hospital wing, Harry felt a deep gratitude that he had such a friend as Ron. He didn't feel quite so alone and realised that he had been selfish; that Ron too would be feeling exactly as he did - probably worse. Hermione was his girlfriend and he knew that Ron faced a burden greater than his own.

He looked up as he spotted Minerva outside the door of the hospital wing almost as if she was standing guard. When she spotted the two of them she quickly made her way towards them, a look of concern on her face. Harry felt his heart beating in his chest and tasted the metallic tang of fear in his mouth as he awaited the news.

`She doesn't want to see you. Either of you,' said Minerva, without preamble. Her voice was stern but he could see the lie of this façade in her eyes. She was feeling this as much as anyone.

`She doesn't want to see us?' repeated Ron incredulity in his voice.

The headmistress turned to him. `She says she just wants to be left alone to deal with things. I think she is feeling ashamed. Which is understandable, if a little foolish' she added hastily. `We must respect her wishes in this matter, however. Perhaps it is for the best if we leave her for now?'

Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously. `You don't believe that for a minute, do you?' When he received no reply he continued. `She is hardly in the best position to decide what is best for her, is she?' he asked, pointing at the door to the infirmary. `If we let her mope then she could do herself some damage. She needs her friends right now.'

`You forget yourself, Mr Potter,' replied Minerva. `It is up to her to decide whether or not to see you. As acting headmistress of this school I cannot allow you to interfere with the well being of one of my students.' The tone of her voice was fooling no one.

"Mr Potter," is it? he thought to himself. That usually means trouble. But not this time; there's too much at stake.

`No, Minerva. You are forgetting yourself. Neither I nor Ron nor Hermione are students at this school any longer. We left at the end of sixth year.' He was speaking softly. He had too much respect and affection for this woman to take his anger out on her. `You know - you know - that she needs us right now despite what she says to the contrary. I appreciate what you are trying to do for her - she's lucky to have you - but Ron and I are going in there right now to see her. You know this is the right thing to do. Please do not try to stop us. Please do not make this more difficult than it already is.'

For a few moments that seemed like an eternity to Harry, Minerva stood and regarded him, her lips thin. She seemed to be having an internal dispute and Harry waited patiently as his teacher and friend came to a resolution. Finally she nodded.

`Just be careful, Harry; you too, Ron. She's rather…fragile at the moment.'

Harry reached out and touched her arm. `We know,' he whispered. `And thanks. You won't regret this.'

`See that I don't, Mr Potter. See that I don't,' she repeated before turning and heading away down the corridor. Harry and Ron shared a look.

`Ready?'

Ron nodded. `As I'll ever be.'

***********

Hermione Granger lay in her hospital bed crying quietly. She was screened on all sides by the curtain that Poppy had thoughtfully pulled closed around her after making sure she was settled and comfortable. She could not face the world right now and she fervently wished she could live the rest of her life behind a screen.

I'm a monster. A beast!

She recalled only too well the pain - the overwhelming agony - that she had endured during her transformation. Not even Bella's torture could hold a candle to the agony she had experienced and she wondered mutely how it was that Remus had never uttered a word about the physical trauma of transformation. Every single book she had read on the subject had failed to prepare her for the experience and for once in her life she felt as if books had let her down. It was akin to being betrayed by a friend.

Her memories after she had transformed were vague and she did not want to go down that route right now. She'd had a tenuous awareness but she had not been in control. That was something that terrified her and something she did not want to deal with at the moment. She closed her eyes.

Right now I don't want to deal with anything.

`Hermione? Are you awake, Hermione?'

That was Ron's voice. What the hell is he doing here? I specifically told Minerva I didn't want to see anyone!

`Hermione?' Ron asked again.

`Go away,' she finally replied. `Just…go away, Ron.'

`We need to talk, Hermione. Can I come in?' he asked tentatively.

Is he stupid? Or deaf?

`I said go away, Ron! Can you not understand plain English? I don't want to see anyone. Now go away!' she almost shrieked the last three words.

`No,' came the reply and it wasn't Ron. She'd recognise Harry's voice anywhere and she made to berate him too when the curtain was suddenly whipped back with a speed that terrified her. She glanced up briefly and saw Harry standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes blazing. Ron stood just behind his right shoulder, a more contrite look on his face. She turned away from them both.

`Go away,' she mumbled into her pillow, her tears falling anew.

There was no reply to her demand. Instead, she heard only footsteps and for one fleeting moment she thought they had finally obeyed her until she felt someone sit down on the bed behind her. A hand began to gently stroke her hair and she assumed it was Ron. She made to retort angrily when the person beside her began to speak.

`Do you honestly think we would leave you now, Hermione?' said Harry softly.

She found herself unable to reply such was her feelings at that moment. Anger, shame and sorrow fought within her but Harry's simple question caused a feeling of such relief and gratitude to overwhelm her that for once she found herself unable to muster a response. She said nothing and turned away from him even further.

`Go away,' she repeated but her voice sounded hollow even to her ears. `I'm a monster,' she added, this time with more conviction.

`Don't be ridiculous, Hermione,' replied Harry and she could detect a touch of reproof in his voice. `What you…became last night is not you. It's not the person in front of me right now and not the person who is my friend.' He sighed and shifted slightly and she could sense his movements; she instinctively knew he was looking at the ceiling and probably rolling his eyes as he tried to work out what to say next. Despite herself, a small smile cracked on to her face and she became aware that he had not stopped stroking her hair.

`I'm going to speak plainly to you, Hermione, and I make no apologies for doing so,' Harry finally continued. `This does not affect how Ron and I feel about you. You are still you, regardless of the change. I want you to know that. I need you to know that. Now you may think that what you are doing is for the best. You probably think you are protecting us in some way - it's what you have always done for us. You probably think that by cutting us out you are making things better for us. But that's not your decision to make. It's mine and it's Ron's and both of us know that things could never be better for us unless you were part of our lives too. I don't think I need to add anything, really.' He paused for a moment. `I'm going to go now. I'm going to give you and Ron some time to yourselves but before I go I want you to know that I don't care what your thoughts on this are. You're not cutting me out. I won't allow it. So you can ignore me for now but we both know you can't ignore me forever. Whether it takes an hour or a year for you to see sense, I'll still be here when you finally decide to speak to me. I don't care about what you were last night. I do care about the girl in front of me right now, though. So you just let me know when you have finished being silly, OK?'

With these final words, she felt the removal of his hand and the shift of weight on the bed as he stood to leave. She closed her eyes for a moment, cursing herself. She finally turned.

`Harry?' she called to his retreating back.

He paused and slowly turned to face her and she could detect a hint of amusement in his eyes. She found herself unsure of what to say now that she had his attention.

`Thank you,' she finally managed in a small voice.

She watched as his face lit up into a broad smile.

`Don't mention it,' he replied before turning and heading out of the door.

Hermione blinked back some more tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before finally turning her attention to Ron. She managed a tremulous smile.

`How are you?' she asked in a too bright voice.

Ron didn't reply. Instead, he moved swiftly to the bed and took his girlfriend in his arms as she finally let herself go and sobbed her heart out.

************

Ten minutes later, Hermione sat crossed legged on her bed and gazed out of the window. She had finally cried herself out in Ron's arms and now she sat in thoughtful silence as Ron fussed around her like a mother hen. She smiled to herself as she considered the question Ron had just asked her. While she would be the first to admit that he had actually managed to surprise her with the sensitivity and compassion he had displayed thus far, she also knew that he was still capable of moments of crassness. His latest question had been one such moment.

What was it like?

How did one even begin to answer such a question? How could one who had undergone such a trauma possibly describe the experience to someone who had not?

How can a werewolf describe what it feels like to a non-werewolf? It can't be done.

Her recollections were vague but she realised that what she remembered most was the smell - or rather; the smells. She actually remembered seeing smells and it was disconcerting to realise that some of the things she had taken as absolute no longer applied. Although she had been locked in her cell behind thick stone walls and a stout wooden door, she had been able to sense the people in the corridor outside. Although the beast had been in control she had even been able to determine who was sitting where merely through each individual scent and the truly astonishing thing was that she had been able to partially determine the emotional state of each person. Anxiety, despair, worry - it had all been there and she had recognised each for what they were. And fear. Above all, there had been the fear.

But how did one describe this? How could one possibly explain how each individual scent seemed to create a different colour in her mind; how each of her friends cast a different hue? A signature as distinct as one's Patronus? One couldn't describe it, she realised. It was like discovering an eighth colour of the spectrum and trying to describe it to people who could only see seven. The words just did not exist.

Even now she could sense Ron's discomfort. While she knew enough about him to recognise his mood through visual clues, she could tell that he was nervous and worried that he had upset her with his question even though she wasn't looking at him. It was subtle but it was there nonetheless. All her senses were heightened but particularly her sense of smell. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could smell the flowers outside in the castle grounds; the food being prepared in the kitchens. She could even smell into the past. The scent of Poppy, Minerva and Harry were still very much in evidence even though each of them had long left the room.

No wonder Remus never spoke of this. He couldn't possibly explain what it was like.

And then there was the transformation itself. She closed her eyes and suppressed a shudder. Her last full human memory was of looking on in horror at the claws growing on her hands. And of course, there had been the pain. A pain like nothing she had ever experienced as her body had been torn apart by the magical forces at work. Muscles had been stretched to breaking point; tendons and sinews elongated beyond their capacity. Nothing had been left unchanged and the process was agonising.

And I need to go through it again tonight. And the next night. And for three nights a month every month for the rest of my life.

`It was horrible,' she finally managed to reply. She turned as she realised that Ron had stopped fussing over the various oddments on the bedside cabinet. `It was horrible,' she repeated. `It's too difficult to explain, Ron. I feel…different. I can't put it any better than that. The world is a different place to me now.'

Ron nodded his understanding. `And you can't explain how?'

`Not to a non-werewolf,' she confirmed.

`Can't you even give me a hint? I hate to ask but I thought…I thought that if I could understand - even a little - then I might be able to help.'

Hermione paused before replying. `I appreciate that, Ron; I really do. But you can't possibly understand how I can smell everything. You can't understand how I know you are nervous right now. You can't understand how I know that someone has burnt toast in the kitchen this morning and you can't understand how I also know that Professor McGonagall will walk into this room in about ten seconds,' she added with a nod to the doors. `I don't understand it myself,' she added softly.

Ron looked agog for a few moments before turning his attention to the door. After a silence that seemed to last forever, the double doors finally swung open and Minerva McGonagall strode into the room, a determined look on her face. She glanced up to be met by a look of astonishment on the visage of Ron Weasley.

`What?' the Headmistress asked, her curiosity evident.

But no reply was forthcoming. Instead she watched as Ron turned to Hermione, a questioning look on his face. For her part, Hermione just shrugged and turned once again to look out of the window.

Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?

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