Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the HP Universe. No money is being made from the publication of this fic.
Longing
The most irritating experience on the planet is listening on a telephone line to someone breathing. Puffs of air obscenely whispering as they are first drawn in, and then blown out. A creepy, disgustingly unsettling shiver hissing and crawling down the ear canal like a living thing. An auditory basilisk intent upon first petrifying, then consuming the brain. This sound is more aggravating than the proverbial nails-on-a-chalkboard, not for the sound, itself, as is with the screech of the blackboard, but for what it leads one to conclude about the person with whom they are conversing.
A person who would so act on a telephone call is either smelling the receiver or breathing through their mouth, neither of which is proper telephone etiquette. The first option brings to mind someone with such lackluster wit that they probably would not know how to hail a taxicab if their life depended on the act. A person whose mentality would be so sufficiently lacking that you must have been the one to call them, as they would obviously not be able to instigate the call themselves. The second option, a mouth-breather. Enough said.
Unfortunately, such a person is now trying to talk to me. I have not been able to process a single thing he has said, as distracted and disgusted as I am about his breathing. I understand that this is likely to be Ronald Weasley, as few others know to call this number to reach me. It was also his number that showed on the caller-identification. After the fourth gibbering inanity, I interrupt him. "Weasley?" There is a strangled babbling on the other end of the connection. I sigh. "Ronald?"
There is finally an intelligible response from the person on the other end. "Harry's been hurt." An interruption of babbling causing a queasy feeling to unfurl from my stomach, the basilisk of telephone-amplified breathing beginning to feast on my rapidly diminishing powers of thought.
"Where? What?" The single-word questions an affront to my carefully groomed powers of communication.
Through the dry scaling claws that drag through my ears, I manage to decipher a location.
Saint Mungo's.
Another day, another hospital. Damn. I was hoping that I'd wake up at home today, but no. Oh, well. I will admit it's been almost three years since I was hurt bad enough to have to be treated at a hospital. Even so, though, I've spent entirely too much time in white rooms that stink of antiseptic and floor-polish. I try to open my eyes to find that there is something keeping them closed. I wince as my right arm sings in pain when I try to move it, so I use my left and find that there are bandages covering my eyes. I wonder if that last curse Malfoy sent my way has blinded me. I hope not. I like my sight, especially since I got rid of the glasses when I turned eighteen.
If my sight is gone, though, I'll adapt. I won't be able to be an Auror anymore, though. The thought stings. Thirty-five is time to start thinking about retirement, anyway. Almost twenty-five years is long enough to be hunting dark wizards and witches, don't you think? I wonder what I'm to do with myself if I am blind. I suppose I can always take up writing. I chuckle a little, the sound is morose and hurts my throat. I wonder how long I've been unconscious.
I jump a little when a voice addresses me, "Harry?"
"Yeah. Who's there?" I cough a little as my voice slowly works its way back into the habit of working.
"It's Hermione." I feel something cool press into my lips just before the faint scent of water hits me. "Here, drink." I take a couple of greedy swallows and cough some more.
"Did anyone get the plate number of the truck that hit me?" I smile, though I know it probably looks more like a grimace. I'm sure the same expression is mirrored on Hermione's face.
"Lucius is back in Azkaban. You've been out of it for the better part of three days, this time."
"Good. And three days? Hell. I know Shacklebolt was telling me I needed a vacation, but I doubt this is what he meant." I laugh a little. This time I don't cough. After a few moments of silence, I finally ask, "How bad is it?"
I hear Hermione take a little breath and I know in that moment it's bad. "Malfoy's hex has fried most of your nerves. You're making remarkable progress, but we don't know when or even if you'll make a full recovery." There was a pause and an almost inaudible sniffle. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"What for?" I ask. I know, though, what she'll say next.
"For not being good enough to fix this for you."
"Don't worry about it, Hermione. Not even you know everything. When will everyone else be by?" My question sounds over-eager even to my own ears.
"Ron will be by this afternoon after he finishes up at Gringotts. That roommate of yours hasn't left since you were brought in. I finally had to put a sleeping draught in his coffee. He should wake in an hour or two."
I smile. "Yeah. He always did worry too much."
There's the sound of a clearing throat. "I believe you misjudged the draught, Healer Weasley. Though, it is to be expected. It isn't as if you had asked if I had a tolerance for sleeping potions."
"Leave her be, git." I tease.
"Perhaps I should be going…" I can almost hear the blush in Hermione's voice. I don't know why she acts like that around us. It isn't as if we're dating. Hell, we don't see each other that way. We're just friends. I've told her this thousands of times, yet I don't think she believes me.
There is the sound of a door closing. I feel a hand brush my own. "Why do you keep insisting on these situations, Potter?"
"What situations? Doing my job? Or taking paid-time off in the hospital?" I grin.
"Placing yourself in danger time and again, rushing in without thinking…" he trailed off.
I sigh. "You know I don't really have a choice. I have to help people, just like you have to be sarcastic. It's a part of who I am. Though, if it makes you feel better, I am considering retiring from the field. Perhaps take over a class of recruits or two."
"Perhaps that would be best, Potter." I can hear the hope behind the sarcasm.
I spend three weeks watching him slowly recover whilst surrounded by white. I wonder if he knows why I still stay with him, even though the terms of the probationary period ended four years ago. When I speak with him, I know he doesn't realize. It is better that way. Safer for both of us. This way we may remain friends, if nothing more.
He, I know, has probably never thought of me as anything other than his friend and roommate for a long time. There was a period of five years where I was his charge and responsibility, penance for being a Death Eater, but that time is over. Somewhere between that first day, where he warded me in his house, and the last day of the probation, where he returned me to my wand, I had fallen for him. It took me the better part of three years to admit it to myself. I know I will never be able to tell him.
He's still not over Ginny. Anyone that knows him knows this. They married shortly after the fall of the Dark Lord. That had been on New Year's Eve, 1999. We began the new millennium with hope that all would be well in the world for a while. And it was. Harry married Ginny that summer. It was June. By the end of August, I was serving my probationary sentence with them. Ginny found out she was pregnant in November. There were complications, and she and the child – Harry named him Jonathan – died the following June. It was on their first anniversary.
To my knowledge, he hasn't been with anyone since. Every now and then, usually once a year or so, he'll go on a blind date to appease Hermione, but his heart isn't in it. He always comes home alone. I wish I could offer him some comfort. He blames himself for her death, as well as the deaths of so many others. I just wish I could make him see that it isn't his fault at all. There was no fault in Ginny and Jonathan's deaths. It just happened.
It hurts me to see him hurt.
But I will always be here for him, in whatever capacity he'll have me.
A/N: Don't quite know where that came from. Doesn't matter though. I think it's one of my better efforts to date. Please let me know what you think!
July 15, 2007 : Chapter edited to account for a couple of grammar issues not previously caught.