That night he did come for her, more than once, and true to her word, Ginny was there each time, waking her gently and then holding her until exhaustion claimed her once more.
Sunlight finally filtering through the window again, Hermione rose from a deeper final few hours of sleep than she had experienced in some time. At first, she didn't recall the events of the previous night, as her just woken mind was still tumbling into wakefulness. But then she opened her eyes to stretch, and saw Ginny's form, curled up beside her and fast asleep.
In that moment, it all came rushing back--the limerick, the bathroom, the Medical Wing, Ginny's arms around her as she struggled to break free of her most recent dream . . . Someone knew. Yet, as Hermione allowed that thought to overtake her, it was no longer seemed quite as bad as she once had felt it must be.
She remained firm in her belief that anyone else would have hated and blamed her for the knowledge Hermione had shared, but for some strange reason that she couldn't comprehend, she honestly felt that Ginny didn't. It was as if a great weight, one that had compressed her whole body more and more each day for months, had well . . . not been lifted, but had started to lift, to lighten all the same. Ginny knew, knew everything, and Ginny did not hate her.
As she dressed quietly, Hermione decided that she would let the younger girl sleep. There were no classes on Sunday, and breakfast would be half over by now anyway. She knew what exhaustion felt like, knew that sensation by now perhaps better than any other, and she would not have someone else unduly suffer more of it because of her. She couldn't imagine how much sleep the young red-head must have lost already, watching over her most of the night.
Pulling the covers over her friend as gently as she could, Hermione left the dorm, to fulfill the promise Ginny had given last night and seek out Ron and Harry on her own. She didn't have to look far, for the minute she entered the common room, two figures rose from chairs by the fire and rushed over to her.
"Feeling . . . erm, better?" Ron asked sheepishly as Harry gave her a quizzical look and lightly touched her shoulder.
"Yes," she said simply, shocked by her immediate realization that the utterance had been true. She wasn't feeling "good;" she wasn't feeling "happy," or even "okay," but "better," however meagerly, was an accurate description.
As they plied her with pieces of toast they had pilfered earlier from the Great Hall, they attempted to convince her to leave off homework for one morning and join them in accepting an invitation to visit Hagrid. Surprised that she agreed so easily (instead of panicking in her attempt to find an excuse for refusal) Hermione asked only that she be given a minute to fetch something from her dorm.
Once upstairs, Hermione penned Ginny a quick note and left it tucked sticking out from her pillow where she couldn't miss it.
Ginny~ Off to visit Hagrid with Harry and Ron. Didn't want to wake you or make you worry. Join us later if you'd like. And thanks, Ginny, thanks for everything. ~Hermione
Ginny hadn't joined them though, not once in the two hours they spent sitting around Hagrid's scarred Bolivian-Rosewood table, drinking strong tea and politely avoiding the teeth-breaking orange-spice cakes he offered them.
As they visited, Hermione still found herself missing the feel of a book on the lap of her robes, still found herself tempted to recite her notes in her mind rather than listen. But she did listen, at least here and there, to the friendly banter around her, only occasionally finding it tuned out and overtaken by worries of what might happen now that her secret was less of one.
"But yer not one fer such si'lance, ar ya 'Ermin'ee?," Hagrid laughed, winking at her from above the cake crumbs in his bushy beard.
"S-sorry," she squeaked out, looking from one friend to the other and trying to force a smile, "not usually, no."
"Ain't been feelin' well, the lads here tol' me, maybe this'll help a bit, eh?" he said, pouring more tea into her cup.
"Thanks, Hagrid," Hermione replied, trying to ignore the renewed concern on Ron and Harry's faces, "I'm much better now though, really. I just like listening . . . Tell me more about these, what are they?
"Bristle-stallions, an' right rare they are," Hagrid continued, telling his young companions about the whole herd of thumb-sized, multi-hued horses he had discovered encamped in the far corner of his garden the morning before. As he regaled them with tales of how intelligent and thrifty these minute beasts were, Hermione found it easier and easier to hear his words and block out her own thoughts.
"Can they really breed that quickly then?," she found herself asking at one point, surprised that she had joined the conversation without prompting.
"Sure kin," Hagrid continued, widening his smile at her sudden interest and proclaiming legends of how, not even two hundred years before, the whole forest floor used to be littered with the blessed little things, before the hawks found out how good they tasted.
The trio waved back to Hagrid once more from the garden path, and swung their bags of leftover cake-pieces over their shoulders to lug them to a more discreet discarding place. While they walked, Hermione found herself laughing with Ron and Harry over Hagrid's enthusiastic repopulation plans for the newly found species.
The mirth was still half-faked, and it did not quite unfreeze the pain even now stiffening around her heart. But as Ron mimicked little horses crawling all over Fang with his fingers, Hermione found it was closer to the real thing than any of her feigned happiness had been before, since . . . since her parents, and Jacob.
And, as they made their way back to the castle, each of the boys with an arm draped low on her shoulders, Hermione found her mind clearer than it had been in months. Suddenly, she was able to notice the breeze, and was amazed by how light it felt on her skin. She could heard the laughter of her best friends ringing in her ears, and her heart panged with her realization of how much she had missed that sound, and being a part of it.
Was this all because she'd told Ginny? she wondered. Or was it still relief that she had finally found the strength to end her life if ever it was called for? Granted, the latter seemed less and less a tempting idea as the day wore on, for reasons she had not yet quite worked out. But surely, some of her lifted burden must still be springing from its availability as an option . . .
No, she thought. It might be a bit of that, but not mostly. She wasn't happy, wasn't at peace, might never feel either or those two things again, and yet, she did feel something similar that once been a part of her, something she had lost without knowing when or how.
Companionship. That was it. For though she had often not been alone since school started, the realization that Ginny was in her room willing to comfort her if she needed it, that Ron and Harry were still spending time with her no matter how depressing she'd become . . . she had always felt alone even in their presence, and now, her thoughts drifting back to the red-head and her words of comfort, she knew she wasn't.
It didn't fix things, but for the moment, and maybe only for the moment, it made them the slightest bit more bearable.