So this chapter is very Hermione-centric.
Warning: there is talk of terminal illness, and there is also some adult content towards the end (although not overly explicit).
Thank you to everyone still reading this, and thank you for the reviews - they are very encouraging.
Enjoy :)
14. In My Time of Dying
20th March 2006
Hermione fluffs the pillows and straightens the starched blanket around the young patient lying insensible in the hospital bed. She's been coming in sporadically whenever she's had a spare minute, even though Ella is not her own patient. She watches the rise and fall of the young girl's chest, smooths her strawberry blonde hair away from her forehead before re-fluffing the pillows once more.
She feels inadequate; unable to offer assistance in the medical care of the tortured soul before her, and equally hindered in her attempts to help and comfort Harry in his misery. He's mostly been out of the house, hunting down the young Auror he had helped train; when he has been at home he's either been quiet and withdrawn, or irritable and prone to snapping. Checking on young Ella and making sure she is comfortable is about the only thing she feels able to do at present.
Hermione technically finished her shift 20 minutes ago, but she has been hiding in Ella's room, not at all eager to face her next visit of the day. Finally, she tears herself away from the unconscious form on the bed and makes her way down to the basement of the hospital, where the secure floo network is located.
Stepping out of the fireplace into the cosy, welcoming living room does little to ease Hermione's frazzled nerves. She's been putting off this visit for over a week, convincing herself that she was far too busy to make the trip when, in actual fact, she has just been keen to avoid the conversation she knows must come.
She had mentioned to Harry, in passing, that she would be dropping by for a chat, but he had suspected nothing of her true intentions, for which she is somewhat grateful; he certainly doesn't need any more worries added to his plate.
The house is unusually quiet, save for the hum of the muggle washing machine that Mr Weasley helped fit a few years ago (no one has had the heart to tell him that Harry and Bill had had to redo all of his hard work after his botched attempt had caused a mass flooding of the whole downstairs area).
"Andie?" she calls out, when a quick search of the downstairs proves fruitless
"Coming dear!" she hears from somewhere upstairs, followed by rapid, light footsteps that definitely don't match the voice that answered her call. Hermione braces herself for the impending impact and, sure enough, seconds later a giggling blur rounds the corner of the stairs, jumps down the last few steps and flings its small body at the young witch.
Hermione heaves Teddy up into her arms, smoothing down his bubblegum-pink hair and peppering his laughing face with kisses. She feels a wave of contentment wash over her as the seven-year-old wraps his skinny arms around her neck and rests his head against her shoulder.
Andie finds them a few moments later, snuggled together on the battered green sofa; Teddy's high, clear voice running a mile-a-minute as he explains the rules to his new favourite sport, what the muggles call football (as though she were unaware), to an ever-patient Hermione.
Hermione's smile freezes on her face as Andie come into view; although never fat, Andie had always had a full figure and round, plump cheeks. Now her frame is worryingly thin, almost skeletal, and her cheeks are sunken below her clear blue eyes.
Hermione meets the older woman's friendly gaze above Teddy's head, and the two women silently agree that they will talk properly once the little boy is not present. For the time being Hermione contents herself with being here with two of the people she cares about most in the world. She helps keep Teddy occupied whilst Andie dishes out a delicious smelling casserole for them to share.
The three share a happy couple of hours eating and laughing and Hermione marvels at how the other woman, despite her obvious ill-health, can still keep up with her lively grandson. The love shining out of Andie's eyes is clear to see but every once in a while, when she thinks she's not being observed, there's a pain and longing that creeps into her gaze. Hermione feels her heart breaking slightly every time she witnesses it and she feels almost like an intruder whenever Andie realises that she has been caught out.
Teddy is at last tucked away in bed, after Hermione has read to him for almost an hour, and the two women can finally have the much-needed discussion that both have been dreading. Without her bubbly grandson to keep busy Andie seems to deflate and her thinness and age are more obvious than ever.
"How have you been?" Hermione mentally berates herself for the question, when Andie's poor health is written clearly all over her emaciated frame. The older woman smiles wanly at the Healer and sighs despondently before replying.
"I won't lie to you, Hermione; there's clearly no hiding it from you. I'm ill; very ill. I found out a little while before our holiday. There's nothing the Healers can do," she confirms quickly, as she sees Hermione about to protest. "Believe me, Hermione, I have explored every avenue; I've even consulted a muggle physician, one Ted trusted implicitly. There's nothing anyone can do. I wanted to create as many happy memories for Teddy before the inevitable happened, which is why I have tried to hide it, until now."
Silent tears escape from Andie's eyes and Hermione moves quickly to embrace the woman who has lost so much in her life and is now facing the very real probability of never seeing her young, orphaned grandson reaching maturity. Hermione knows she is also crying, and she tries desperately to stem her tears without Andie noticing; the last thing she wants is for Andie to be having to comfort her.
"What…what is it? If you don't mind me asking." Hermione thinks she already knows the answer; she witnessed the same deterioration in her own grandfather. Andie nods sadly, as though Hermione has spoken her suspicions out loud.
"It's cancer. Liver initially, but it has recently spread to my bones. Oh, don't cry, Poppet; you'll set me off again." Andie tries to laugh through the tears blurring her vision, patting Hermione's hand where it rests against her knee. Hermione leans against the older woman, trying to convey through touch how much love and respect she has for her. Andie wraps her frail arms around the young Healer, crying into the bushy brown hair of her young friend.
Once the pair have finally stemmed their tears and got their breathing back under control, Hermione busies herself making them each a cup of tea.
"Does anyone else know?" Hermione asks, once they are both settled again on the couch.
"Molly and Arthur know," Andie confirms. "I told them after the holiday; I sometimes needed babysitters so I could go to appointments…and I needed someone to cry to at times. I know –" Andie holds up a hand to stop Hermione interrupting "- I know you and Harry, everyone really, would have helped if I had asked, but I wasn't ready to share. And I didn't want Harry in particular to be taking on another burden before it was truly necessary."
Hermione sighs, knowing she can't really argue with Andie's logic. Besides, she has no right to make demands on who Andie discusses her health with.
There's another question that Hermione feels she needs to ask but she doesn't know how to broach the subject, nor does she feel prepared to hear the answer. Andie seems to read the question in Hermione's face and the answer, when it comes is much worse than Hermione is ready for.
"A matter of months, they think, six if I'm lucky. They certainly don't think I'll see another Christmas." Andie tries to keep her voice light but there is no hiding the guttural sob that leaves her throat as she struggles up off the sofa. Hermione moves quickly to help her, but Andie waves her away. The young witch knows that Andie will spend the last few months of her life grieving the life she will no longer get to be a part of, fretting over the fate of her beloved grandson, and feeling overwhelmingly guilty every time she feels too tired or ill to play with him or take him out.
She watches as Andie bustles about in the kitchen, washing up the dishes to avoid having to look at Hermione; or, trying to make sure Hermione cannot see how upset she is. Hermione wants to comfort the older woman, but she feels inept and worried that any attempt may upset Andie further, especially as she's now going to such lengths to hide her emotions from Hermione.
Hermione resumes her seat on the tatty couch, giving Andie time to gather herself. Giving herself time too, if she's being honest.
"Aunty Mimi?" a soft voice sounds from her left, startling Hermione from her thoughts. Teddy stands at the foot of the staircase in his stripy blue pyjamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair, having returned to its natural mousy brown, messily sticking up all over his head, sending a pang through Hermione's chest as she is reminded of his godfather.
"What is it, sweetpea?" she gestures to the sleepy boy for him to come and join her on the couch, which he readily does, climbing onto her lap like he did when he was a toddler.
"Bad dream," he mumbles into her shoulder. The minimalism of his answer is enough to suggest to Hermione that it was a very bad dream indeed, and she holds his small, warm body closer to her own trying to provide him with as much comfort as she possibly can.
Hermione wonders whether Teddy is aware that his grandmother is ill; whether he has noticed how haggard her face has become, or how baggily her clothes sit upon her wasted frame. She won't ask him, of course she won't, but she knows how clever and alert he is, and how attuned he has always been to others' wants and needs. He's so much like his late parents and his grandmother; he has the fun-loving curiosity of his mother, the patient understanding of his father, and the warm generosity of Andie. Hermione feels aggrieved that with the painful blow that is inevitably coming he could lose some of his spark, some of his warmth. She dreads the thought of that heavy shadow descending on him.
"Aunty Mimi?" the small boy asks, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"Nana is sick." He says it so matter of fact that it takes Hermione a moment to realise that he's voiced her thoughts out loud. She doesn't know what to say to him, doesn't know if it's her place to say anything, so she holds him tighter against her chest, his warm body curling into her further.
"Darling, come here," Teddy clings to Hermione a moment longer before unfurling himself from her embrace and running to his grandmother, whose eyes are once again wet with unshed tears.
"Do not be afraid, my love. Nana will always be with you, will always be looking out for you. I promise."
"Like Mummy and Daddy?" His high, sweet voice is like a dagger in Hermione's heart. She has an overwhelming urge to scoop him up and run away with him, to keep him safe from any further heartache, but she knows she cannot protect him from what is to come.
"Yes, darling. Just like Mummy and Daddy."
Hermione can see Teddy trying to process what that will mean; trying to fathom a world in which his Nana is no longer physically in his life. Andie hugs her grandson, and Hermione can see how desperately Teddy clings to her neck. After a few moments, Andie leads the young boy back over to the couch and he clambers back onto Hermione's lap. Hermione can feel his hot, sticky tears wetting her collarbone. Gently, she cups his face in her hands, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. She offers him a warm smile, trying to convey all her love for him with the small gesture.
Andie is huddled into the corner of the couch, watching the scene with a sad smile on her face. The three stay together on the worn sofa, each lost in their own thoughts but feeling comforted by one another's presence.
Once Teddy succumbs to sleep once more, Hermione carries him up to bed, tucks him in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to his downy hair. She can see Andie's fatigue in the set of her shoulders and, although she wants desperately to stay and comfort the woman further, she knows that Andie needs to rest.
The two women share a heartfelt, teary farewell.
"You know -" Hermione falters, unsure of whether her next words will be welcome or not, "you know that we would look after him. We would – we would raise him, and he would be so, so loved."
Andie grabs Hermione into a strong, desperate hug and Hermione can feel some of the tension leaving Andie's body.
"I promise," Hermione tells her as she heads to the fireplace.
A few moments later Hermione steps out into the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Although they had tried to make the place more homely, the dark décor of the kitchen is a stark contrast to the warm, vibrancy of the Tonks' residence. Hermione wonders, fleetingly, as she slips out of her shoes and coat whether Teddy would come to live with them here, or whether it would be better to raise him in the house he knows and loves. She doesn't know if she should feel guilty for thinking of a time without Andie already, or whether it's wise to start planning for the inevitable now.
"You look about as good as I feel", Harry's low, husky voice breaks into her thoughts and she turns to find him leaning in the doorway, a sardonic smirk on his handsome face. A dark stubble covers his jaw, and his green eyes look tired and jaded. He motions for her to join him and Hermione gladly steps into his welcoming embrace. He smells of whiskey and sweat but she doesn't mind; just having his strong, muscled arms around her is enough to make her feel safe and warm and loved.
She buries her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He unties her hair, allowing it to cascade across her shoulders in an unruly mess as he cards his fingers through it, massaging her scalp. She moans involuntarily against his shoulder and his answering chuckle seems to vibrate inside her chest. She pulls back only enough to be able to capture his lips with her own; his are still slightly chapped but she finds herself unable to care as one of Harry's hands slides down her back and his warm fingers find the bare skin between her blouse and her trousers. She moans again as he deepens the kiss, and she can taste whiskey on his tongue.
Things quickly heat up and, before she knows it, they are upstairs and he's pressing her into the door of her bedroom. They stumble into the room, blindly tearing at one another's clothes. There's a small voice in the back of her head, as she runs frantic, grabbing hands over his chiselled chest and muscled back, that they haven't gone this far before, and that maybe now, when they are both exhausted and emotional and distressed, is not the time to take this leap. Her concerns, however, are beaten back as the feel of his hot, fevered skin against hers threatens to overwhelm all of her senses.
They tumble onto her bed; limbs tangling together, teeth nipping at exposed skin. Hermione feels elated and wired and stunned by every touch. Harry is everywhere all at once, without ever seeming to be exactly where she needs him, and she wants to scold him and instruct him but, for once, her voice fails her and she can only cling to him, digging her nails into his back and her heels into his thighs, trying to pull him further into her. Thankfully, he seems to understand her non-verbal message and soon she is falling over the edge and trying desperately to drag him along with her.
Much later Hermione lies, unable to switch her brain off enough to sleep, with Harry's head pillowed against her chest. His soft, warm breath raising goosebumbs across her bare skin. She runs her fingers absentmindedly across the smooth planes of his back, which is still slick with sweat. It's the first time in weeks she has seen him looking so relaxed; no worried frown creasing his forehead, no clenched jaw. She presses a kiss to his temple, careful not to wake him, as her own thoughts swirl anxiously in her mind. She tries to quell her worries, to just enjoy this moment of quiet bliss with the man she loves slumbering in her arms, but the fear of what's to come won't let her catch her breath and she spends the rest of the night in a feverish state of unrest.