Summary: Towards the end of the war, Harry finds that he has nothing more left. Unfortunately, his original plan to die in the final battle didn't go through. What is he to do next? How do his loved ones cope? Seen from different POVs.
A/N: I honestly have no idea what prompted me to start this but I did and I'm practically done with it all. Well, I suppose it's because uni starts in three days or so and I won't be able to read fanfics much (pretty depressing) so this might be called my tribute. There are to be 3 parts in all. I just need to look over the other two. Anyway, enjoy!
EDITED ON 05.11.08
Life is not always a Gift
PART ONE – The Battle
The reason why finding a job within the medical profession was incredibly controversial was that no matter what, you're required to help anyone and everyone in need of your assistance. At graduation, all graduates had to pledge absolute neutrality for all patients, among other things, the wizarding version of Hippocrates' Code. Normally, this wouldn't prove to be much of a problem but since the Second War of the wizarding world was in full swing and it didn't look like it was getting better anytime soon, it deterred many potential mediwizards and witches from pursuing the field.
Of course, there were exceptions and a certain Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley was one.
Hermione, being from a muggle household, found wizarding medicine intriguing and she felt that she had to know more. The fact that a war was coming up only helped her study harder and more rigourously in her NEWT year in order to help more Light advocates when they were injured and, hopefully, it would surpass the number saved in the Dark side. Her boyfriend at the time, Ron, was adamant about her not taking the internship at St. Mungos'. That was also when she was the optimistic Head Girl.
People changed. Everyone changed. Hermione had changed.
As war became more brutal and life resembled a miracle rather than a gift, Hermione pushed herself to her limits to see the war through – and only for that. She planned to take up the position as the new Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts after the war in order to spend more time with her friends and remaining family, as her husband of about three years had died in a battle, just a mere six months before, leaving her with a three year old toddler and pregnant with twins. In fact, that was the main reason for her change in future plans. Meanwhile, she would do her best while at the end of her second trimester on the sidelines, only coming out when the battles had ended for the time being.
This was such a time, as Hermione made her way through the blood bath with the rest of the healers clad in their crisp white, blue, and maroon uniforms, a place that was once a field full of peace and life. There were pools of blood and gore everywhere and the stench of rotting and burnt flesh permeated the air. Cries of pain and moans of the dying carried well through the impenetrable silence that was the aftermath of the carnage. The dimming light from the setting sun only helped to create a morbid picture as everything was tinted an orange-red glow.
It was all old for Hermione for she had seen too many scenes just like this. She had acquired a professional mask over the few years that she was a certified mediwitch that kept her a world away from the death and despair that greeted her. It was the only thing that kept her sane – and since this was going to be one of the last battles she would partake in before she had to stop due to her condition, she was going to do it perfectly and set an example for the healers-in-training out on the field that day.
She hefted her Healers' bag for a more firm hold as she steeled herself for the first patient for the day as she advanced towards him. The healer-in-training who was assigned to her stumbling behind, an arm momentarily pressing across his belly in order to hold in his food, a greenish tinge to his face. It was to be his first day out in the field.
It was the reason why Hermione had decided to approach the nearest black robed person sprawled out on the ground in order to make a point right from the beginning.
"Do you know why we're tending to him, Smythe?" She said, barely sparing him a glance as they neared the man enough to hear his faint moans. The student gave a quick nod. The teacher's eyes narrowed, the only feature on her face that belied what she was thinking. "I didn't hear that."
"B- because we tend to everyone, no matter their battle orientation, Healer."
Hermione gave a sharp nod as she kneeled next to the prone figure. With a swift movement, she peeled off the white mask, trademark of a Death Eater to reveal glazed, brown eyes and a face contorted in pain. He wasn't that much older than the student beside her. She hardened her face before turning towards her charge.
"Cut his robes off." Smythe gulped before doing as she ordered as Hermione turned towards the Death Eater.
"What happened?" The Healer placed two fingers at his jugular only to find a faint, sporadic, thready pulse. His breathing was shallow and there was a faint gurgle with every breath. She refrained from cursing as she realized that the man didn't have long left in this world.
"S- some g- guy cu- cur—" He suddenly stopped, his face going slack and a trickle of blood made its way out of his mouth. Hermione glanced at his chest which had several deep gashes going across it. She nodded to herself. The curse probably tore through the man's chest cavity and into his delicate lung tissue. There was also a great possibility of it damaging his heart as well. She reached over to cover the dead man's eyes as she nodded to Smythe to stand up and move on. His eyes were wide.
"He's dead." Smythe said unnecessarily. Hermione's eyes softened a bit before clasping a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes. Now let us go before more die." She replied softly. He nodded jerkily before standing.
The pair passed five more victims of the war that was too late to save before coming across someone that could be saved. Seeing that he wouldn't die anytime soon, she deemed it was time to start some hands-on instruction.
"What do you do first?"
"You take off the mask in order to establish a patient-healer relationship and to communicate better. You can also help determine his diagnosis by watching his face for unnatural pallor and—" Hermione cut him off with a small nod.
"Very good." She waited as he gingerly touched the mask in order to take it off. "It isn't going to bite, you know." She added dryly as he took his time. Smythe blushed before taking it off. Hermione looked down only to come face to face with Draco Malfoy. Her eyes widened briefly in recognition. She continued her quizzing.
"Now what?"
"Check the patient's breathing, pulse, and skin color." Smythe replied promptly before doing as he said.
"And…?" Hermione prompted him.
"He's knocked out. Possibly by a blow to the head, but most likely from a stupefy. He also probably has some minor injuries." An incline of her head was his affirmation that he was correct and a soft 'enervate' was heard next followed by a low groan. Hermione took a deep breath before looking at the Death Eater and former fellow student again.
"How do you feel?" She quietly asked. His head swiveled to hers as a soft gasp escaped his lips. With eyes narrowed, he replied in a hard voice.
"Fine." He made to get up before being pushed back by two pairs of hands. A cry of pain erupted from the irate man. Hermione's eyes swept the figure on the ground before pinpointing the problem. Malfoy's midsection was soaked in blood. Three cutting charms later had Malfoy's torso free of its confines and revealed two long cuts across his abdomen.
"What happened?"
"What's it to you? It's just a cut so you can just go, Granger." He scowled. Hermione bit her lip before anything… inappropriate came out. She succeeded for the most part.
"Malfoy, just tell me. Does anything else hurt?" Hermione said with a growl. Malfoy made to answer but before he did, Hermione realized that her student was currently staring at the two with his mouth slightly parted.
"Smythe! Get a pain relieving potion and a healing potion for me!" She snapped. Turning back towards Malfoy brought her face to face with a pair of amused grey eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." His lips quirked a bit before settling down, amazingly without his trademark sneer. "You've changed." He added softly. She made a noncommittal noise before dumping two vials of potion down his throat and sat back to watch the effects. Hermione smiled a bit in satisfaction before getting up to leave.
"I have." She said softly to him as she glanced back. Malfoy expression was surprised that she actually had an answer to what he had said. "But I'm not the only one." He laid there on the ground for a moment before he realized what she had meant.
The next couple of patients that Hermione and Smythe came across steadily became more gruesome and bloody. With Hermione's experience, she knew that it would inevitably lead to the heart of the battle. In short, it lead to the core participants of the war, namely a certain Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort. As with the previous jobs on the field, it took all of her willpower, and more, in order to not rush through her patients before she could tend to her best friend, Harry. This time, however, it didn't take her as long and when she did find him, she saw that she wasn't alone.
In fact, there was a rather large crowd. She suppressed a growl.
"Out! Out of the way!" She barked. The crowd parted for her after they recognized her as a mediwitch. When she reached the centre of everyone's attention, whom she now realized were from both sides of the war, she was shocked. In fact, it was all she could do to not fall down in a faint. Off to the left was the prone form of a skeletal thin Voldemort. Off to the right was the bloodied form of her best friend.
'Oh, so that's why these people aren't still going at it.' She thought to herself. She decided to hold off on checking Harry first since she could see he was breathing. First, she was going to do the one thing she had wished for all these years: she was going to confirm Voldemort's death.
With a skip to her step, she went up to the most feared Dark Lord of their age, kneeled down beside him, and took his pulse with an eye on his chest and a hand over his nonexistent, sorry excuse for a nose. Her heart skipped a beat but before she announced him dead, she had to make sure. She braced herself and lifted an eyelid up to look at his eyes only to see dull, blank ones; bright crimson turned into a muddy maroon. Sliding her wand from her robes and with a whispered lumos, she checked to see his papillary reaction only to find he had none. And for the first time in six months, she smiled.
Slowly, she got to her feet and looked at everyone's expectant faces still staring at her, some of which were healers themselves. She opened her mouth and she swore that she could feel them holding their breaths and shouted, "Voldemort's dead!"
There was a moment of shocked silence before many in the crowd cheered and whooped, stomping their feet and making as much noise as they could. Some of the Death Eaters even had smiles upon their faces. Hermione turned around to Harry to tend to him, her most highly anticipated patient.
"Smythe!" She called. The noise suddenly came to a halt as the health of their hero and saviour came to the front of their minds. Hermione spotted an old schoolmate, Dean Thomas, crossing his fingers and she rolled her eyes. The crowd parted for Smythe and two other healers to come through.
As the four adults reached the young man, they realized several things: Harry was breathing, Harry was bleeding, and Harry was dying. The most important thing, however, was the fact that there still was a chance of him being saved. His face was smeared with dirt and dried blood and his infamous scar blazed red on his forehead. His battle robes were filthy and torn with one hand deep inside its folds. Hermione swallowed hard as she got to work.
"Mr. Potter?" Came a tentative voice next to her, a healer named Elyssa Marigold. Harry's eyes appeared. They were dull with pain and something else. Something Hermione couldn't put a finger on – or maybe it was that she didn't want to. Harry's hand that was tangled within his robes appeared to clench as he recognize the people around him. He closed his eyes as clenched his jaw, the muscles working furiously.
"Please." He rasped. "Please." Hermione stopped from furthering her visual assessment of him. The other healers quit cleaning the blood from his face to help assess any possible injuries.
"Please what, Harry? What do you want?" She asked him, almost pleading. His eyelids parted to reveal jaded, green eyes. At that, the other healers hurried to cut his robes away from his body.
"Don't." He softly whispered in a hoarse voice. Hermione was nearly panicking now.
"Don't what, Harry?"
"Don't…" Harry trailed off as he focused on someone behind her, his face unreadable. Hermione spun on her heels to see who it was that prevented her from knowing what it was that Harry wanted. To say she was surprised was an understatement.
There, before her in Death Eater regalia minus the mask, was Draco Malfoy. The person that seemed to have a gift with being there when he wasn't wanted. Like now.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" He was still staring intensely at Harry like there was no tomorrow. She stood up so he would have to meet her face to face. "I repeat: What do you—" His face snapped to hers.
"Nothing. But Harry wants something." Hermione growled at the use of Harry's first name and, in part, her frustrated self of not knowing something when it was so close.
"I know that Malfoy! He was trying to tell me when you got here!" She spun around to ask Harry again who was currently doing his best to prevent the healers from cutting apart his robes any further. It was a rather amusing scene to come to, if somewhat inappropriate and morbidly so.
"Harry, they're just trying to help you." She said, trying to placate him.
"No." He grunted. She sighed.
"No what, Harry?"
"No." He said again. He raised his eyes to hers and she saw that same unknown emotion that she just couldn't place a finger on.
"I swear! If there was a wall here, I could just bang my head against it!" Before she could continue her tirade, a shout interrupted her.
"Don't you get it? He doesn't want any help! He wants you to let him be!" Malfoy's hair was disheveled as if he had just run his fingers through it in pure frustration. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in puzzled thought.
"But why? His injuries aren't that bad!"
"For being the so-called brightest witch in our class, you certainly don't act it!" He took a deep breath and finished calmly, face free from all emotions. "Just let him go." Hermione's eyes widened with realization. As everyone else around her caught on, she turned slowly to Harry. The healers around him had stilled their motions at the proclamation by Malfoy.
"Harry? Is that true?" Harry's eyes were sad.
"Bye 'Mione." He looked past her and gave a faint nod. "Draco." Hermione's tongue got caught in her throat.
"Bye? What do you mean bye!" Hermione practically screeched. She mouth shut as he raised a hand to his mouth, a small pill between his forefinger and thumb. As he dropped the poison in, his eyes asked for forgiveness. In the brief moments before his eyes closed forever, she faintly heard him say something but the only things she caught were the words "journal", "floorboard", "sorry", and "bye".
Then she suddenly realized what that look was in Harry's eyes. It was a look of despair and pain rolled up all into one. It was the look of someone who no longer wanted to live.
Harry, the saviour of the wizarding world and her best friend, no longer wanted to live. It finally hit her that he had succeeded and she collapsed to the floor, her frame wracked with sobs. The only thing running through her mind was, "Why Harry? Why?"