The dark of the Hospital Wing seemed to echo with whispers; a castle that used to be filled with light and noise for Hermione was now filled with shadows and silence. Spending the past three weeks in the common area of the infirmary had been the worst time of Hermione's life. Sympathy had come pouring in from all over the castle against her wishes. Word of her condition spread amongst her 'peers' as well as her teachers, and by the end of the first week everyone from eighth year and every Hogwarts professor had come to pay their respects. Flowers, chocolates, and cards piled up around her, but Hermione barely noticed. In order to cope with the pain she'd detached herself; Hermione was just a shell, her soul and personality buried deep under a polished, plastic exterior.
The tragic thing is that no one noticed.
Well, almost no one.
Harry was sitting by Hermione's bedside long after visiting hours ended, his hand resting lightly over her non-moving one. The two sat in silence for hours, just as in-tune with each other's emotions as they had been for the past seven years. By now Hermione's body was almost completely healed, but she only ever got out of bed to walk with Harry. Madame Pomfrey was hoping to discharge her in the morning though, her clean bill of health giving her no more cause to stay in the Hospital Wing. There was a quidditch game that weekend, and the mediwitch anticipated that she'd need every bed for the wounded players.
Hermione knew that she should be thinking about what to do, about where to go from here, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. It was as if life was empty for her now.
Harry's voice broke the silence. "Ron dropped by when you were asleep yesterday."
Hermione's face remained emotionless, no longer feeling anything at the mention of Ron's name. "I hope he enjoyed the view," she said dryly, knowing that all he would have seen was her thin, emaciated, hopelessly scarred body. She was far too pale, her hair was growing out of control, and there were huge purple circles under her eyes. It wasn't as if she cared, though – these were just facts, considered like words and numbers written about someone else, far away.
Silence stretched on for a bit after Hermione's response, but neither she nor Harry cared; they were comfortable with quiet. It was some time before Harry spoke again; "You're not coming back to classes, are you?" he said softly, his sad green eyes meeting her brown ones.
Hermione shook her head slowly. "McGonagall said that I could stay, but I didn't see the point." Her voice was bitter and sad. "There's no way I could muster the magic to pass a NEWT practical exam, let alone work in any of my classes. I could only keep Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and History of Magic. Even if I pass those with flying colours, you need at least five classes to graduate, and I have no intention of failing anything."
Smiling in a melancholy way, Harry shook his head. "Still the perfectionist," he said kindly, watching as Hermione's lip quirked up into a miniature smile of a sort. Harry sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his face in tired circles. In that moment Hermione could really see the exhausted man that this once-exuberant boy had become, and how quickly he'd had to grow up. Although he was only eighteen, he looked like he carried the burden of a fifty-year-old. "I suppose you don't want a big production?" Harry asked, resting his chin in his hands and balancing his elbows on his knees.
Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. "No one needs to know I've left the castle until I'm long gone," she said firmly. "I'm done with tears and chocolates."
"You don't want to say good bye to Draco, then?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Silence reigned again. Neither she nor Harry had commented on the obvious rift that had formed between herself and the Slytherin – of all the eighth year visitors that she'd had, Draco had been noticeably absent – but Hermione had preferred it that way. Her actions still cut into her every time she took a breath, reminding her of the pain she had caused him and the emotional agony that she'd have to live with. For the Greater Good, she repeated to herself for what must've been the twelve-billionth time. Taking a deep breath, Hermione shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "I don't. I doubt he'd see me right now, and I have no desire to see him."
This is going to kill me, she thought, feeling another part of her soul wither and collapse.
Harry frowned, his eyes sad. "What happened to you two?" he asked, concerned. "Draco's back to being a snarky bastard, snapping at everyone, terrorizing his TA classes, and then there's you; hollow, empty. Like all the fight's gone out of you. I'm worried for you, 'Mione. I want to help you, will you tell me how?"
Listening to Harry's words, Hermione almost deflated. She came within one heartbeat of breaking down, dissolving into the tears that she'd been trying so hard to fight off, telling Harry everything. Then, she'd rush across the castle in her hospital gown, fling open the common room door, and run into Draco's waiting arms where she would happily spend the rest of her life. She almost broke, but not quite.
Latching firmly onto that famous British spirit, Hermione maintained her stiff upper lip and shook her head. "I'm just tired, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm tired of the strain, the pressure, the fear. I'm done living this way. Being an Almost has….redefined me. I candisappear now, I canjust go away – I don't have enough of a magical trace to track. I have no more societal expectations to live up to. I can go get a fresh start somewhere else. Away from here. This is good for me."
It was obvious that Harry saw there was more to her story. He frowned, but nodded, knowing that this was the most he was going to get from his very private friend. Sighing, Harry put his glasses on again. "Well, the least you can do is let me help you leave," he said firmly, trying to smile.
Hermione gave her friend a mostly-genuine smile in return. "You've always been so kind to me Harry," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Thank you."
Harry nodded and smiled again. "What else are friends for?" he asked, leaning in to give her a dry kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back later tonight – get some rest 'Mione. You'll need it."
Grateful beyond words, Hermione watched Harry sneak out of her cubicle area and slip away into the sleeping castle. You're almost gone, Granger,she thought to herself. Just a few more hours, and you can glue together the remnants of your soul. Maybe you can even be happy again.
But, deep down, Hermione knew that wasn't true. Hermione had read that according to myth humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, two heads, and two hearts. A vengeful god had split this being into two separate creatures, pushing them apart from one another. It became these humans' quest in life to find one another, this action creating the concept of soul mates; finding your missing half. Hermione had found her soul mate, and she had lost him. It was only fair that she let him move on to a better life without her Almost-ness tying him down.
Knowing she wouldn't sleep, Hermione closed her eyes. She had managed to suppress the tears decently well over the past few weeks, but every time she tried to sleep it would get worse. She would dream of him, and every morning she would wake with tears on her face and sorrow in her soul. So, Hermione had learned how to do without sleep. It would not do to show weakness. So, instead, she started writing a letter.
HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM
"Hermione!"
A quiet whisper caused her eyes to shoot open, still as awake as she'd been several hours ago. The letter stood finished and sealed in an envelope on her table, and Hermione's heartbeat decreased slightly. At the entrance to her cubicle, a silhouette with mussed crazy hair and the edge of circular glasses caused Hermione to relax fully and she whispered back, "Harry."
Taking a deep breath and focusing all of her available energy, Hermione whispered, "Lumos," and watched as a decent white-light formed at the tip of the disgusting maple-wood wand. The somewhat-feeble light illuminated Harry's tired face and slight smile, as well as a package in his arms and a large trunk that was hovering beside him. Already the magic was draining Hermione's remaining core.
"I packed and unshrunk your things 'Mione," he said softly, indicating the trunk behind him, lowering it to the ground, "and….I thought you might need this." He shoved the package in his arms at Hermione, looking away from her. "My days with it are over, basically, and…well….it's better than any disillusionment charm, and I don't know how you'll blend in otherwise."
Despite her best intentions, tears sparked at the corner of Hermione's eyes; in her arms, lovingly wrapped in old Daily Prophets and tied with brown kitchen string, was Harry's invisibility cloak. "But, Harry," she choked out. "This…this belongs to your family!" Hermione attempting to push the generous gift back at her friend. "I can't take this!"
Harry resolutely handed the cloak back to her. "You are family 'Mione," Harry said kindly. "I want you to have it. Please."
Letting a few tears escape, Hermione jumped out of bed and hugged her friend firmly, pressing her cheek against his strong chest. He rested his head by her ear and pressed a light kiss to her temple before she pulled away. "Let me know when you're settled," he said quietly, turning away as she started to change. "I don't expect you to tell me where you are, just let me know how you're doing. Maybe we can meet up for tea or dinner some time."
Hermione nodded thickly as she slipped on a thick Weasley jumper and jeans. "I expect you to keep in touch," she said. "None of these two-sentence letters that you're so fond of!" She smiled thinly.
Harry smiled back, just as sad. "I hope you find what you're looking for," he said softly, watching Hermione throw on a tuke, her Harrod's scarf, and her trainers.
She smiled and gave Harry one last hug, tucking her new wand and the letter she wrote into her jean pocket. "Be good to Ginny," she said, pulling her trunk behind her and slipping on the invisibility cloak with a flourish. She watched Harry wave to where she used to be standing, and felt herself waving back.
Silently, Hermione slipped through the castle to the eighth-year dormitory. It was already four in the morning, so she knew all the nightmare-prone veterans would most likely be up and about already. Sure enough, as she slipped past the main door she saw that Draco's door was slightly open and the room dark. Looking out the wall of windows, Hermione saw a small figure swooping and diving above the quidditch pitch. She was almost certain that it was Draco, and she could see him in her mind's eye; his hair wind-blown, eyes closed as he swooped perilously close to the ground, hands loosely clasped around the handle of his old Nimbus. Saddened, Hermione slid through the black door and into Draco's room.
Immediately, his smell assaulted her; spices, wood, and warmth filled the air around Hermione, and her knees grew weak. No! she thought firmly. Leave the letter, then go.
She was determined now, and moved towards the night side table where the letter would be obvious. However, something stopped her. Draco's smell wasn't just in the room itself…it was somewhere closer…under the cloak…tilting her head, Hermione realized that her Harrod's scarf now smelled like the Slytherin. Reality came crashing down, and the witch realized that Draco must have kept her scarf close to himself while she was kidnapped. Painful emotion bubbled up in her hollow chest, but Hermione pushed it down.
Pulling the scarf off from her neck, she carefully wrapped her letter in the green material. She looked around his room and saw nothing but a large wardrobe, a desk, his bed, a small table, and Étoile's cage. A spark of inspiration hit her, and Hermione moved over to the raven's empty home. As quietly as she could, she lifted the cage and placed the scarf and letter in the small empty space between the raised center of the cage and the table. Now Draco wouldn't find her confession until he was ready and had moved on.
Hermione nodded, satisfied, and slowly started backing out of the room. However, just as she was about to exit, Hermione froze. She couldn't forget, she could never forget him. How would she live if she ever couldn't remember his smell, his face, his mannerisms and quirks? Desperate, Hermione scanned the room once more. On the edge of the black wood desk, she spotted a pair of black leather gloves, the letters "D.M." engraved elaborately on the inside wrists. Feeling only a momentary stab of guilt, Hermione slipped the gloves on her own hands.
Taking one last look at the empty room, Hermione smiled sadly. "Good bye Draco," she said softly, closing the door with a quiet click.
Then, silently and with no witnesses, Hermione Granger left the Hogwarts campus and disappeared with a crack. She would never return to the grounds again.
A/N: Just a couple more chapters everyone, we're almost at the end of the road! Don't worry, things will get better - too much sadness isn't good for anyone. :) PLEASE PLEASE PLESAE R&R, each and every word you type is precious to me. The next update should come within the next few days, hopefully. Thanks for your committment so far, beloved readers! ~sneakyslytherin