* * * *
Chapter 9: . . . Gives You Courage* * * *
The infirmary was dark and still. As Harry pushed the door open, light spilled from the hall, casting strange shadows onto the only occupied bed. A familiar form lay there. There was no sign of Madame Pomfrey. Ginny took out her wand and murmured something at it. A halo of dim light appeared near the ceiling above Hermione's bed, giving them just enough light to see her and each other, but not enough to be noticed by anyone who might pass by the door.
Harry closed the door behind him and looked around the empty infirmary. He didn't know where the nurse had gone off to. Wasn't that irresponsible of her to leave a critically wounded patient alone in the ward? He guessed it was lucky though, or else the three of them would have been chucked out for bothering Hermione. As if Hermione, whether their plan had worked or not, could really be bothered by them right now. A thought occurred to him, and he realised why Madame Pomfrey wasn't in the ward.
You don't have to monitor a body.
Bodies aren't going to get any better.
Harry shivered. The quiet of the infirmary wasn't peaceful now—it had the restlessness of a mausoleum. He hoped that he was just exceptionally good at the charm—good enough to fool the school nurse. Otherwise—
"How do we know if it worked?" Ron asked. His voice was subdued and he sat down, slumping in the chair nearest Hermione's bed.
"We wait," said Harry shortly. "There's nothing else to do." The chill of his previous thoughts hadn't left him yet.
"Eight hours. No, less than that now . . .maybe six . . . " Ginny was looking out the window. "Do we just get to keep turning time every time someone dies? When we make a mistake, can we always go back and find a way to fix it?" She sounded as if she was speaking from very faraway. "And if we don't go back for everyone, who picks who we go back for? What if it was someone like Parvati who was killed? Would we go back for her?"
"I don't know," Harry said. He wondered, too. Could someone have turned time and tried to save his parents? And if so, why didn't they? And what about Cedric? Why hadn't he thought of finding a Time-Turner to go and warn himself and the Hufflepuff Seeker to leave the cup where it was? Was he even more responsible for Cedric's death than he'd thought?
(It's still a Hogwarts victory . . . Let's just take it together.)
"Well, we obviously can't use that particular Time-Turner to do it anymore if we could." Ron's voice broke into Harry's thoughts. He sounded irritable. His hands were at his temples.
"It just seems too easy. I almost wish . . .I mean, I don't, but I do. I don't want Hermione to die, but I don't know if I'd ever do that again. I know it was my idea, and I'm the one who got the Turner, but . . ." Ginny looked down at the floor. Her eyes had a tired, hollow look in them. Harry wished he could erase it for her. He didn't know how much his eyes echoed their expression.
"So from now on nobody get themselves killed." Ron's mouth quirked up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. There was a pause and he burst out
"It was—it was an execution." His face was unreadable. "She knew it was." Angry incomprehension seemed to shake him. "How could you know that you were going to die, I mean absolutely know what was going to happen to you, what they would do to you, and still keep going like that?"
Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't have any answers that he could put into words—he himself never understood exactly what made him get up again and again when he didn't want to do anything but quit. And how could Ron, who had stood up, shattered leg and all, to protect Harry in the Shrieking Shack; Ron, who had pushed Harry out of the way, not once, but twice in the last month and nearly killed himself, ask that question? He should know as well as any of them.
But Harry also didn't want to say the other part of what he thought.
"You are the thickest human being alive." Harry had never heard Ginny Weasley use such a gentle voice with her brother. The boys looked at her, surprised. Tears shone in her eyes and there was something unsettling about the expression on her face. "Ron, she knew what would have happened if she didn't." Harry looked at the ground. For the second time that night, he didn't want to see the expression on his best friend's face. But Ginny didn't stop to let this sink in. She continued
"Do you really want to know why she got that detention?"
The momentary unease broke, and Ron snorted. "She went to meet some bloke at night and Pomfrey caught her, we already know that. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"Good. As usual you've managed to miss all of the important points."
"Damn it, Ginny, what are you talking about?"
"I cannot believe I'm spelling this out for you—when did she have detention?"
"Just a couple days ago."
"When did she get the detention?"
"Before that, I reckon. Look, how d'you expect me to know when the blasted nurse gave her the detention? Like Hermione told either Harry or me the truth about it. And anyway, that was while I was out cold in the infirm—" Ron froze.
The silence that surrounded them now was no longer simply restless. It was alive, malevolent, and the light above the bed flickered for a moment as Ginny dropped her head and her spell wavered.
Harry closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He spoke, changing the subject, trying to get rid of this new presence.
"Did you hear her out there? Swearing at those Death-Eaters. I barely knew she could use that language. And that Detonius Charm? Brilliant." Ginny looked up gratefully.
Ron nearly smiled, a real smile. "Told them where they could stick it, didn't she? Stark raving mad, that girl. They were furious."
"Yeah. She was really something there."
They lapsed back into silence; but the quiet now was somehow better than the one that had come before it.
* * * *
Ginny's head rested on the arm of Harry's chair. She was asleep, red hair falling across her face. He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. She jumped.
"Wha—what? What's happening? Is she awake?" Harry shook his head.
"Still have a bit before we know." His voice took on a less grim tone. "You should go up to bed. We'll come get you if—when she wakes up."
"I'm staying then. I'm waiting too."
"Ginny. Go to bed."
"I," she said indignantly, "am old enough to stay and wait with one of the best girl friends I've ever had. I was old enough to do this, and I'm old enough to see if it worked. And neither you nor my brother can make me go." Ginny looked as though she would have stamped her foot had she not been so tired.
"It's nothing to do with you, Ginny."
She glared at him. "Nothing to do with me?" Wow. That was a look he'd only gotten from one Weasley before. He hoped he'd never do anything to get it again.
"That's not—that's not what I meant and you know it." Harry caught a glimpse of Ron, still staring at the girl on the bed, unaware of anything else. There were ashes on Hermione's forehead from landing in Hagrid's fireplace, and Ron reached over as if to brush them away, but his own hands were still stained from the hearth, and he only succeeded in tracing more across her face.
(You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?)
Ginny followed Harry's gaze.
"All right," she relented. "I'll go. But make sure you get me."
"I promise." Ginny rose and tapped Ron on the shoulder. He looked up.
"I'm going back to Gryffindor. Go with me. I'm not walking there alone." Slowly, he stood, nodded and the two of them left the infirmary.
Harry watched them go. He walked over to Hermione, still and ghostly pale on the bed. He sat down next to her. The room was quiet for a few minutes as he watched his friend's body for any sign of life.
"Hey there," he said softly. "Can't believe you did that. That took—well, Ron would say that took real stones. But I can see your face if someone ever told you that, and I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that look." He shifted. "I suppose I just wanted to say that you better wake up. I don't know what I'd do without you, and I think it'd kill Ron. And that would defeat your whole valiant rescue thing anyway. So you don't really have any choice here." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I thought you should know, Hermione, I did talk to Cho Chang. For a few minutes. It felt good. You were right." He smiled. "You were right about that spell, too. I'll never complain about extra Charms work again. Er, not in the near future anyway." Harry looked down at her hand. His smile faded.
A hand clapped on his shoulder. Harry looked up. Ron gave him a tight smile. They didn't move for a few seconds.
There was suddenly a low moan in the room.
"Told you to talk to her, Harry."
Harry's eyes widened. Something grasped his hand.
And Hermione sat bolt upright in bed. Her eyes opened. She shuddered involuntarily. "Hurt so much," she gasped, shaking. She pulled her hand out of Harry's and ran both of her hands up and down her arms.
She took a deep breath, seemed to gain control of herself and looked at Harry and Ron standing around her bed.
"Harry. You did it. I knew you would." Hermione smiled. "That was close. But I knew you'd manage it."
She punched him playfully on the arm. Harry leaned in and hugged her. She was real, alive, and she hugged him back.
"Good to see you're awake, Hermione. We were getting worried." She smiled again.
"I never thought I'd be excited to see the inside of the infirmary." There was a pause while she looked at her friends. "There was a bit where I really thought that was it—that I was a goner. I don't even know how I got lucky enough to miss that last—" Hermione suddenly clenched the sheet between her fingers. "Well, it doesn't matter much, does it? Everything came out all right in the end." Ron's grip on the end of the bed was white-knuckled. Harry's stomach twisted, but he said
"Must be one of those weird 'Hermione's been knocked on her skull too many times' feelings." She laughed, but gave him a slightly suspicious look.
"Anyway," said Ron airily. "You're awake. And I need help with that Potions homework for Wednesday. So when you're feeling up to it—which, by the way, would be tonight, whether you are or not—you can give me a hand with that stuff. Otherwise, well, you'll just be sending me to Snape completely unprepared, and I don't think you could live with that on your conscience, recovering wreck of a girl or not." She shot him a glare that would have left most people quivering. He smirked at her, but his tight hold on the rail didn't change.
"Whose fault would it be, might I ask, if a certain someone failed Potions? Because I think that blaming it on me would hardly be fair, considering how very, very little that someone puts his mind to anything."
"Well, you think about it, then. But you just remember what will happen if Snape gets hold of me. You do what you feel is right."
"Out!" Hermione shouted. "OUT! Now! Arrogant, completely idiotic . . . Here I am sick, just woken up and you ask me to finish your homework. As if I didn't have enough to do myself!" Ron grinned.
"Let's go to breakfast then, Harry. We'll get her after she's had a bit more Madam Pomfrey than she really wanted." He looked at Hermione. "You'll be begging for the company, you know it. Just remember your detention." She threw a pillow at him as he turned and left. Harry followed him, the knots in his stomach untying themselves, and as long as he didn't think about what had happened, or rather what had not happened, it seemed like everything was the way it was before.
* * * *
As they walked towards the Great Hall, Ron turned to Harry.
"Whether or not you believe it, you really are the hero, do you know that, Harry?" Ron shook his head. "You saved her life. That was something else."
"Did I?" Harry said slowly. "It doesn't seem that way to me. You saved me. Hermione saved you and me. And then you, me and Ginny together saved Hermione. I think that makes us pretty even. Except for your sister, who didn't need to get saved by anyone, and so I think she's ahead here." He grinned weakly, and then paused for a second before looking back up at Ron. "I think," and his voice was very quiet, "I think we all ended up heroes this time."
"Maybe." Ron stopped for a beat and smiled, then narrowed his eyes at his best friend. "So I reckon you were the one who beat up Pig." Harry winced. He had forgotten all about the incident with little owl. "Suppose it was a good thing, too. He doesn't seem to be any the worse for it. Still the old pain the ass he always was. And if you hadn't practised that spell, then—" Ron stopped suddenly. He said faintly
"I can't believe how stupid I am."
Harry raised an eyebrow. Hastily, Ron explained. "That just reminded me. I completely forgot my Charms notebook back in the dormitory. We've got it right after; remember? The midterm? Flitwick's probably not going to let us miss. Look, I'm going to go back for it."
"I'll wait for you."
"No, no, don't worry about it. It'll probably take a bit to find the ruddy thing. Go down with Seamus and Dean. Hey, and go find Ginny—we forgot to do that and she'll kill us if we don't. Great Heroine or not, she'll be happy to take our lives herself. Anyway, I'll be down in a minute or so."
Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself. See you down there." But Ron was already hurrying back up the steps. Harry continued down when something caught his eye. Ron's wand. It must have fallen out of his robes. Harry picked it up, hesitated, and went back towards Gryffindor. He muttered the password ("Niffler mines!") at the Fat Lady, went in the portrait and up to the boys' side. He opened the door, but no one was inside. Ron's things were, as usual, strewn about the room. A stack of notebooks was the only pile sitting neatly at the end of Ron's bed. It didn't appear to have been touched in weeks. Harry left and went down through the portrait. As the door swung shut, he asked the Fat Lady
"Did Ron Weasley come through here recently?"
"That tall red-headed boy? Not since early this morning. He ran past a few minutes ago, but he hasn't gone up." The Fat Lady looked at him curiously.
"Well, it's just—he dropped his wand, and I thought he'd come back up this way. Doesn't matter, really." Harry tried to sound nonchalant. He supposed he'd just hang on to it until Ron got down to breakfast. Something occurred to him suddenly, and he changed his mind.
Harry walked down through the halls of Hogwarts. Everything was quiet. Most people were down at the Hall for the meal. A couple first-year Ravenclaws passed him. Huh. He shrugged and turned to go back down to the Great Hall. Then he heard muffled voices from the infirmary. One seemed to be comforting the other.
"Shhh, it's all right, isn't it? What's gotten into you, then? You're all right, really. You don't have to do this—I was going to help you with Potions anyway. Do you have another concussion? That was a nasty gash." Harry glanced around for Madam Pomfrey in the hall, but she didn't seem to be nearby. He opened the door and had already taken a few steps into the infirmary before he looked around.
Hermione was sitting up. She was hugging Ron, patting him gently on the back. She looked a little puzzled, but concerned. He, on the other hand, had his arms wrapped around her tightly and was sobbing great wrenching sobs into her shoulder, where he had buried his face. Harry realised he'd never seen Ron cry before. Not even when Ginny was kidnapped. And he hadn't cried at all last night. Not even when they thought . . .
Hermione met Harry's eyes. "He's gone mad," she mouthed. Harry smiled and shook his head. She shrugged and smiled too, mouthing "Go. Before Pomfrey catches you and we're all in trouble." He motioned to Ron. She rolled her eyes. "They let the ones with brain damage stay." Harry almost laughed out loud, but stopped when Hermione looked pointedly at Ron and back at Harry and sternly put her finger to her lips. They both grinned and Harry started to back out of the room slowly, hoping not to be seen. Ron took that moment to look up. He didn't seem to notice Harry behind him. Hermione's face, pale and still bruised around the mouth, softened.
(I mean, is he blind? Can't he see that—?)
"You're alive," Ron said.
"I know," she said simply. "So are you." Her hand went to the cut on his temple. They stayed like that for a moment, not moving. Then Ron slammed his fist down on the bed. Harry started.
"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing? Could have been killed—nearly were killed—scared Harry and me out of our minds! Are you completely daft?"
Harry edged backwards more quickly, trying to be inconspicuous. This was neither his fight nor was this really a moment for him to be intruding on.
"I was just, you know, applying something somebody taught me." Hermione giggled, and she looked very much like a little girl who had just played a marvellous joke. Ron didn't appear to think it was funny.
"What? Somebody taught you—were you reading old notes from Lockhart's class or something?"
"Queen takes rook over knight? That sound like Lockhart to you, Ron?"
By this time, Harry had closed the door to the infirmary as quietly as he could, so he barely heard Hermione's answer. He didn't see that she'd finally burst into tears and that now Ron was the one holding her, nor did Harry hear Ron mutter half to himself, a little admiringly
"You really are an utter know-it-all. Always trying to get the last word in."
* * * *
As he went back down towards breakfast, Harry passed the great glass windows on the stairs, and he noticed how very blue the sky was. The rainy weather that had seemed to swallow October whole was gone. It would be a perfect day to play a little Quidditch. He would ask Ron to come out and scrimmage a little.
That is, after Ron found his notebook.
* * * *
"After winter comes the summer.
After night comes the dawn.
And after every storm, there comes clear, open skies."
~Samuel Rutherford
