A/N: Please read. This is a very personal story to me. My best friend was
diagnosed with leukaemia a few months ago and her second donor fell through
this afternoon. I decided that the best way to deal with it would be to
write about it. I have a feeling this my be an ongoing story, just to get
me through whenever I'm feeling crap and I don't want to burden her with
it. DO NOT read this if you are in any way easily upsettable (is that a
word?!)
I can't breath. I fell like someone's taken my heart and crushed it in their fist. The only thing I can think of is "how in the hell could this happen?" She's only 20 years old.
My best friend, my Hermione.
When I look back, of course I see there were tell tale signs. She was always tired, fighting off a cold or chest infection, and I'd snap at her to go and get some sleep or visit Madame Pomfrey. The guilt is gnawing at my bones, working its way out.
She's on the couch in the Burrow now, looking at me with those eyes, eyes that I've looked upon for so many years. Eyes that are so full of determination, intelligence and stubbornness. She's told us that she's not going to let it beat her, but I and Ron too, who have seen so many emotions pass through those eyes, can see fear lurking behind doggedness that is so familiar to us.
She told Ron and I this morning that out of the three of us, she's glad it's her that's contracted this terrible disease, a disease that for some reason, even the wizarding world can't even cure without a donor. She said she was glad because she didn't think she could bear it if she had to watch one of us go through it. I would gladly take it off her hands if it meant that she wouldn't go through any more pain. I take out my wand and fluff her pillows. A meaningless gesture, but I'm not sure what else I can do.
I look at Ron and can't bear to see the pain in his eyes. His girlfriend, his love, is sick, and he can't do a damned thing about it. I feel slightly out of place when she takes his hand, but she takes my hand too and we sit there, The Gryfindoor Three, aware that this is a battle we may not win. How funny it is that three children can defeat the darkest wizard of all time and yet are utterly helpless in the face of something that we should be able to fight. But there are no demons to kill here, no evil to vanquish, no parade or party when she comes from being poked and prodded by doctors who have just told her that even if she does get through this, she won't be able to have children. I'm so frustrated I could scream. I keep begging Whoever is up there, watching us, to give me something I can aim a wand at, or throttle into submission, something tangible, so I can make everything go away for her. We always joked that Hermione was the brains of our group, that I was the muscle and that Ron was the passion and the heart. That's not true. Hermione is everything and that's the only way I can describe her. She's everything.
So we sit there, mostly in silence. A random sentence escapes from our lips from time to time, sounding odd to our ears, as if now isn't the time for words, it's the time for looks or gestures. Molly walks into the room, her usual loving self, and wraps the three of us in a gentle hug. I never tire of these, ever since the night of the third task, though I'm loath to admit it to anyone.
All I can think about is "what if she doesn't get through this? What if Ron and I have to face the world without her?" The thought sickens me so I push it from my mind, not daring to let it in again. I'm not ready for that question. I hope to God I won't have to ask it of myself again. Ron and I share a look, and in that moment we make an agreement. Whatever happens we'll be there. Wherever she needs to go and whatever she needs to do, we'll be there. If it kills me, I will find a way to make her better. If it means giving up my life for a brief respite to her pain, I'll perform the killing curse on myself right at this second. If I must, I will hunt down every mediwitch on the planet and force them to work their fingers to the bone to make a cure. All these thoughts are futile, I know, but they help me feel better; help me feel as if there's something that I may be able to do. I know there isn't.
And so I watch her. My best friend. One third of me. The only person in my life besides Ron who knows me inside out and I can see that under the fear and apprehension, there's love there. A sister's love that I can only get from her. I know later on, I'll lock myself in my room and cry the tears of anguish that I just can't bear to show her, I can't cause her any more pain. Ron stands up to go and get her a cup of tea and it's just the two of us. She grabs my arm and whispers to me urgently.
"Harry, I want you to promise me something."
"Anything," I reply, eager to help her in anyway I can.
"If anything should happen to me..."
"Please don't Mione," I moan.
"Just listen! If anything should happen to me, I want you to take care of Ron. He's not as strong as you, and I need to know that he at least has you."
I shudder at the thought of Ron without his other half and look at her intently. " Hermione, I promise you. I'll be there for him, just as I know he'll be there for me. I'm not as strong as you think."
"Oh Harry," she smiles weakly. "You don't know, do you? You're the strongest one, you're our glue. You're my hero."
I choke back a sob as Ron enters the room holding a cup of tea for her and we sit in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
This is what I'll remember, I think. The three of us together, sitting in comfortable silence. As I get up to leave I kiss her on the forehead, hoping that she knows. With that one gesture, I just hope that she knows.
I can't breath. I fell like someone's taken my heart and crushed it in their fist. The only thing I can think of is "how in the hell could this happen?" She's only 20 years old.
My best friend, my Hermione.
When I look back, of course I see there were tell tale signs. She was always tired, fighting off a cold or chest infection, and I'd snap at her to go and get some sleep or visit Madame Pomfrey. The guilt is gnawing at my bones, working its way out.
She's on the couch in the Burrow now, looking at me with those eyes, eyes that I've looked upon for so many years. Eyes that are so full of determination, intelligence and stubbornness. She's told us that she's not going to let it beat her, but I and Ron too, who have seen so many emotions pass through those eyes, can see fear lurking behind doggedness that is so familiar to us.
She told Ron and I this morning that out of the three of us, she's glad it's her that's contracted this terrible disease, a disease that for some reason, even the wizarding world can't even cure without a donor. She said she was glad because she didn't think she could bear it if she had to watch one of us go through it. I would gladly take it off her hands if it meant that she wouldn't go through any more pain. I take out my wand and fluff her pillows. A meaningless gesture, but I'm not sure what else I can do.
I look at Ron and can't bear to see the pain in his eyes. His girlfriend, his love, is sick, and he can't do a damned thing about it. I feel slightly out of place when she takes his hand, but she takes my hand too and we sit there, The Gryfindoor Three, aware that this is a battle we may not win. How funny it is that three children can defeat the darkest wizard of all time and yet are utterly helpless in the face of something that we should be able to fight. But there are no demons to kill here, no evil to vanquish, no parade or party when she comes from being poked and prodded by doctors who have just told her that even if she does get through this, she won't be able to have children. I'm so frustrated I could scream. I keep begging Whoever is up there, watching us, to give me something I can aim a wand at, or throttle into submission, something tangible, so I can make everything go away for her. We always joked that Hermione was the brains of our group, that I was the muscle and that Ron was the passion and the heart. That's not true. Hermione is everything and that's the only way I can describe her. She's everything.
So we sit there, mostly in silence. A random sentence escapes from our lips from time to time, sounding odd to our ears, as if now isn't the time for words, it's the time for looks or gestures. Molly walks into the room, her usual loving self, and wraps the three of us in a gentle hug. I never tire of these, ever since the night of the third task, though I'm loath to admit it to anyone.
All I can think about is "what if she doesn't get through this? What if Ron and I have to face the world without her?" The thought sickens me so I push it from my mind, not daring to let it in again. I'm not ready for that question. I hope to God I won't have to ask it of myself again. Ron and I share a look, and in that moment we make an agreement. Whatever happens we'll be there. Wherever she needs to go and whatever she needs to do, we'll be there. If it kills me, I will find a way to make her better. If it means giving up my life for a brief respite to her pain, I'll perform the killing curse on myself right at this second. If I must, I will hunt down every mediwitch on the planet and force them to work their fingers to the bone to make a cure. All these thoughts are futile, I know, but they help me feel better; help me feel as if there's something that I may be able to do. I know there isn't.
And so I watch her. My best friend. One third of me. The only person in my life besides Ron who knows me inside out and I can see that under the fear and apprehension, there's love there. A sister's love that I can only get from her. I know later on, I'll lock myself in my room and cry the tears of anguish that I just can't bear to show her, I can't cause her any more pain. Ron stands up to go and get her a cup of tea and it's just the two of us. She grabs my arm and whispers to me urgently.
"Harry, I want you to promise me something."
"Anything," I reply, eager to help her in anyway I can.
"If anything should happen to me..."
"Please don't Mione," I moan.
"Just listen! If anything should happen to me, I want you to take care of Ron. He's not as strong as you, and I need to know that he at least has you."
I shudder at the thought of Ron without his other half and look at her intently. " Hermione, I promise you. I'll be there for him, just as I know he'll be there for me. I'm not as strong as you think."
"Oh Harry," she smiles weakly. "You don't know, do you? You're the strongest one, you're our glue. You're my hero."
I choke back a sob as Ron enters the room holding a cup of tea for her and we sit in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
This is what I'll remember, I think. The three of us together, sitting in comfortable silence. As I get up to leave I kiss her on the forehead, hoping that she knows. With that one gesture, I just hope that she knows.