"If you're gone, maybe it's time to come home, There's an awful lot of breathing room, But I can hardly move, If you're gone, baby you need to come home, come home" - If You're Gone by Matchbox Twenty
"You need to go home, mate." Ron's weary voice broke through Harry's reverie and his emerald eyes snapped open.
"Sorry, what?" With a heavy hand he removed his crooked glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pain waking him slightly.
"You can't stay here. It's been days, Mum says the healers have your Floo and will call if there's been any change. You can't live here." Harry's eyes tightened in disbelief and shot up to study his friends gaze, deep blue and fringed with worry. "Get home, get some rest. They'll call if something changes."
Harry snorted, shaking his head and shrugging Ron's reassuring palm on his shoulder. "She's here because of me, Ron. The Burrow's not home. Grimmauld is not home. She's home. I'm not going anywhere."
Ron's thin lips flattened into a tight line and he gave a final nod. "Alright, mate. I'm gonna head home and get cleaned up. You need anything?"
"Maybe bring her trunk," Harry replied, his eyes trained on the dingy stained tile between his feet. "When she comes to she'll want her things – a few books too. Here," The messy haired wizard dug into his pocket for a few spare galleons and handed them to his friend. "Stop at Flourish and Blotts, she'll want some new books."
Ron's eyes flashed, the edges crinkling with well placed concern but he pocketed the galleons and left through the swinging doors at the end of the hall without another word.
This was his fault. His fault for being born Harry bleeding Potter but worse – for falling in love with Hermione Granger. He knew that loving her was never a risk for him; he would thrive under her affections. The years since the end of the war had been the happiest of his life, a swirl of memories crashed behind his clenched lids.
Christmas morning when she'd lifted the lid to a perfectly wrapped box, a curious white Kneazle kitten peeking over the edge and the resounding hiss from Crooks. The two of them cradled in the window as she read aloud to him from her favorite book of poets, her curly hair resting back on his bare chest, tendrils tickling his cheek. The way she danced barefoot in the kitchen and cooked everything by hand, the tail of his favorite t shirt dusting over her long, bare legs.
"Fuck!" he hissed, running his hands through his hair and tugging painfully.
The Auror department had been tracking this particular ring of Dark Wizards for months and the closer they got, the more paranoid Harry became. They were no Death Eaters, but they were certainly pushing the limits between small time criminals and a very serious threat to society. When the department was raided and dozens of personnel files – including Harry's – had gone missing, a sinking pit spread into Harry's gut.
Robards had reassured him the wards would hold, there was nothing in that file worth stressing over other than his test scores and an address that couldn't be found.
Bullshite.
And when Harry stepped through the Floo that night, his heart had splintered. The house was destroyed, couches toppled over and books ripped from their happy homes. There was shattered glass and her ten and three quarter vine wood lay in the middle of the chaos.
"Hermione!" Harry had shouted, dropping his bag in a thud and rushing from room to room. "Mione?" His voice cracked and hot, unwelcome tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
With loud thuds, he stormed up the stairs and searched every corner of every room until he found her.
He had found her.
A flood of relief washed over him but as he stepped further into their bathroom, a tremble settled into his limbs.
"Mione, are you alright?"
She was curled in on herself, curls wild and her thin body quivering, tucked into the nook between the toilet and wall.
He knelt slowly next to her, his fingers lifting to her bare shoulder, a shared shock of electricity jolting through their touch and she flinched away from him.
With a quick turn of her head, Harry knew. Her eyes were scared, unknowing, untrusting.
"Who are you?" her lips curled into angry snarl. "What do you want?" her voice gave way, a sob cracking through her chest as she attempted to flatten herself against the wall. "Where am I?" The last question was almost a plea, soft and barely there, mostly to herself.
"You're home, love. You're with me. I'm your– I'm your–" Her eyes were ride and round, studying his face as if he were a stranger, as if they hadn't looked at each other everyday for ten years. "I'm Harry."
Of all the things Harry Potter cost the world, Hermione Granger was the one he couldn't forgive himself for. He should have just been a bloody desk jockey, had he not seen enough adventure for a lifetime? What was this insatiable pull to put himself in the limelight and his loved ones in harms way.
"Mister Potter?" A young healer stopped in front of him and Harry jumped to his feet, shoving his glasses back onto his face and smudging them in the process.
"Yes? Is she awake?" The words tripped over themselves as hope surged through his body.
The young wizards lips twitched downward, his eyes clouding. "Unfortunately, no. Quite the opposite. We've given her some potions to help her rest and if you'd like to sit with her for awhile, it might be the best time.
"Oh. Thank you." Harry felt the disappointment everywhere, drenching his muscles until his steps were sluggish and heavy.
He pushed the door open and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her because despite being very much in need of being at the hospital, she looked exactly the same. It was the same sight he'd woken up to for over three years, curls splayed and lips parted.
He summoned a chair to her bedside and cradled her limp hand in his own, kissing each of her knuckles and letting the tears spill down his cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. Should have—" he shook his head, his voice weak from pain. "Shouldn't have— I'm just so sorry. I'll do anything it takes to get you back, I hope you know that. But, if you're in there, if you can hear me, I need you to find your way back to me too. No one fights harder than you, Hermione. Come home."
For Harmony + Co's Lyric Llama Drabble Challenge.
This fic was inspired by the lyrics from from the song, "If you're gone, maybe it's time to come home, There's an awful lot of breathing room, But I can hardly move, If you're gone, baby you need to come home, come home" from If You're Gone by Matchbox Twenty. I claim no ownership of it, I only used it as inspiration.