*A/n: wow, this took a whole month to put up... I blame it on being the
unlucky numbered 13th chapter. No really I really I had the most horrendous
writers block. Plus I kind of liked the end to the last chapter. I think it
would have been a perfectly nice depressing end to he story, but you know I
couldn't do that to you all :P So here it is, chapter 13 which hopefully
will be the hardest one there was to write because 14 better not take so
long. I also should mention chapter was changed a bit, to accommodate a
story ion this chapter, but its not worth going back to chapter one and
rereading it.*
13
Hermione played with the cool cloth of her bed spread. The four poster of her room seemed distant. She seemed distant. Like she was watching a version of herself playing with the bedspread, though the linen texture of it reassured her that she was real. She was here, like it or not.
And her parents were dead. She could barley whisper the word in her own mind. It was small and set back. It wasn't real. It had to be some sick lie. Someone out there thought it must be funny. All she knew that it hurt. She was too young to have dead parents, you were supposed to be at least forty or something before that happens.
Neville had dead parents though. She felt so bad for him. He always had such a happy go lucky aurora. Nothing ever had seemed wrong in the Neville side of the world. But his mother and father were dead. Well not actually, they were still alive, but it would b worse then death. Hermione imagined what it would be like if she had to go see her mother and father being taken care of like they were three. Though they were once knowledgeable and functional but stuck in a hell thrust apron them by some demented creature. Harry's parents died too.
Harry had been sent to trial for Hermione's parent's death. She could vaguely remember Severus telling her this. That it was a sure fire way of sending him away but not getting her or Ron in any trouble for withholding information about his dad's death. But that was more faded out by the other million thoughts fluttering across her mind. Because she more remembered what he had said before that.
"Hermione," Severus called out when he had spotted her. Hermione thought it was a rather stifled word, an almost pleading like cry. She had felt guilt boil up in her, because she had Ron beside her, and that they had just made out I that bed that she and Severus had just shared. She wanted to scream at herself. But Severus evidently did not see the guilt on her face because he pulled her up into a startling hug. "I'm so sorry."
Hermione was confused, why was he sorry? She had just fucking betrayed him. What did he feel sorry for leaving her with Ron? Did he think she was defenseless or something and couldn't stop Ron from coming on to her... Or maybe it was he just found out she was raped. That would make more sense, the reason why he was gently smoothing down her hair. He had changed clothes, that was a good thing because he had ran out the out hardly any clothes on. But he was holding her now, and it didn't matter clothes or not because it had felt so good. He always felt so good.
"I," Ron seemed to come out of his area away from them, Hermione had almost forgotten about him. Ron seemed to be stumbling with his words. "I didn't tell her." Hermione looked swiftly over to the blushed Ron who was carefully inspecting his shoes. "I couldn't do it."
And Hermione could feel all the guilt turn to a fear as she looked from Ron up to Severus, his eyes shining in a sympathy that Hermione knew that would only mean something horrible. She saw him open his mouth now, close it, and pull her into a hug talking more to the top of her head because he did not want to look into her eyes as he said it. Hermione wouldn't want to look in her eyes either if she was in his shoes.
"God," She felt him stumble for words, only increasing the fear in her. i I don't want to know, okay? If it was this bad why tell me, /i she felt her mind scream. i Wait till everything else is emotionally stable, so I don't feel guilt about you holding me like this. Wait till when Ron isn't glaring at you wanting to know why I was ever with you. Just stop! /i
"Harry murdered them." Severus mumbled now, as if he was wishing that maybe she wouldn't hear. But she heard perfectly well. And her mouth died up, her head receiving a dull throb. "Your parents" Hermione let out a muffled cry as she dug her head into his chest. No, she had thought that, she had known that really since he said that Harry had done it, but she couldn't believe it. It was like everything was spinning. And her thoughts in a whorl as she tried to remain grounded by clenching onto him tighter.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione."
So they convicted Harry. They sent him to Saint Mungo's though. In a special ward just for him. The jury had convicted him insane. So in all reality he did not get the punishment he deserved. He deserved to rot in Azkaban till he could rot in hell. But no, he was famous Harry Potter, something must be wrong with him to make such a famous well off boy do something like this. He just can't be a bad person. Heaven forbid if a girl now sits on her bed her eyes stinging and can not cry any more from the things he did.
Hermione lied back onto the pillow, glad that no one was there right now. Lavender had to go to divination and Hermione was allowed to take some time off it she needed it. Hermione's voice in the back of her head screamed that the N.E.W.T.s were coming up but she ignored it. She didn't need that right now. Hermione rolled onto her side finding the small stuffed sheep lying right in front of her eyes.
Hermione gently reached up to the sheep patting it. The small sheep that she had loved for so long, her parents had given it to her. She remembered their smiling faces the day she gotten it. It was a wonderful Christmas. The smell of the pine tree muffled with the sent of wrapping paper being torn. The sheep wasn't wrapped though. It didn't need all that frill for it to be special.
"Is it for me?" Hermione cried out holding up the toy snuggling her nose into the toy.
"Oh, maybe." Hermione's dad had joked a half smile playing on his lips
"Of course." Mrs. Granger replied giving her husband a playful glare. Hermione had run up to them hugging them both saying how it was the best ever. Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiling knowing that really meant that they were the best ever.
Hermione was now holding the toy up to face the tears coming again as she breathed in the scent the toy had gained in its many years of existence. It was comforting but a sorrow at the same time.
Rather like Ron. He was back now, and in full swing. And to tell the truth Hermione didn't know what she thought about it. It was all just so confusing. Like how she loved how Ron had joined the little group that they had all formed that year, but there was every time her touched her. It was like she was revolted, and she felt so ashamed for being that way. She loved Ron, at least as a friend, so why should every time he reach up to pull her into his arms she wanted to pull away and run?
She knew that if she really wanted him to be right with her now, he would. He didn't have anything in particular to do around the school. Ron was going to start his seventh year next year because it was just too hard to catch up now. And if she wanted him to be here could be right beside her holding her in her bed.
But she wanted Severus to do that.
...
Harry stood up, the dungeon filled with rows of people in front of him. Each of their faces, mostly round and chubby except for the few ones that looked nutritionally deprived, gazed at him with a sort of awe. Because no one quite ready yet to hate him. Sure few standing before him hated him a few years ago, but had grew out of that when the rise of Voldemort came. So now they wanted to know if that first hatred was justified. Because could this boy really do such a thing?
Harry licked his dry cracked lip, he thought maybe they were too sore to move. Lot of good they would do then. He would just stand here in front of the whole trial, and not say a single word. That wouldn't convince them to send him to Azkaban, yeah, sure.
"I didn't do it..."
There he had said something. But it wasn't true. They all knew he did it. They recorded him using his wand at the exact time Ron told them he killed the Grangers. A biopsy would prove the real date though it wasn't even needed. Because it was all shot to hell. Someone in the third row of the people in front of him rolled their eyes. They wouldn't understand.
"Well, I did, but - but I wasn't me."
He saw fudge knit his brows infront of him. He half-expected for them to stop him right there, say that was a confession and have him whisked away. Harry looked down the row, as if looking for an inspiration or maybe just a hope that someone could sympathize. His eyes fell to rest at Dumbledore who pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. i He could be doing better things then listening to guilty me. /i
"You see, this happened before. Lord Voldemort, he would take over my mind and make me do things, when I thought that I was just sleeping. I wouldn't mean to, it would just be, I don't know. It would be more like I was the victim."
The whole court seemed to perk up at this, instead of fiddling with their robes they looked to the boy. A tiny man with a cane lifted it looking around to the others to see if anyone was going to notice.
"But Voldemort is dead boy." There were a couple nods and a few sparse murmurs at this. But then the man looked a rather a bit dazed and looked down towards the general direction of Dumbledore "Right?"
"Of course he is dead!" A cold voice shouted out impatiently behind Harry. He knew it was Snape. He didn't need to turn to feel the rage pouring off of him. Harry involuntarily shivered. If there were 3 people who wouldn't believe this story it would be Snape, Ron, and Hermione.
"Severus please sit down." The familiar but tired voice of Dumbledore spoke "We all know he is dead, there is no doubt." Harry could tell from the collective looks of relief of the people in front of him that Snape had sat down. But if Dumbledore wasn't sticking up for him...
Harry didn't know what he was expecting with Dumbledore. He always thought the man was brilliant. So why should he think he would go dumb now and believe Harry's innocence. But it was something Harry had grown used to, Dumbledore believing in him. Dumbledore sticking up for him no matter how insane it all may sound.
"But if he's dead how is this boy hearing him?" The old wizard piped up again; rising his cane in the air as if to make sure everyone knew it was him.
"His scar maybe could still be actively doing Voldemort's work though he is still dead, since much of his power is left in that" Dumbledore replied slowly to the man, thinking the idea over for himself as he said it.
"So, he's insane?" Fudge asked to no one in particular.
"Or he's just lying" Spited out a cheery voice that Harry knew was ex- professor Umbridge. Harry grimaced with distain.
"Then he would have to be crazy just for doing it for no good reason." A sensible young witch in the back spoke.
"All who vote Harry Potter insane for the charges of murdering 2 people?" Fudge boomed out, evidently making his decision. To Harry's hearts massive pounding a series of ayes filled up what seemed to be more then half of the stand.
"And those who believe he should be fully charged in the first degree?" A lesser amount spoke this time, but it didn't reach Harry's ears because all he was seeing was the mouth of Dumbledore complying with the proposition of sending him to Azkaban. And Dumbledore was mostly the reason anyone thought he was insane, not guilty. Dumbledore thought he was guilty. And Harry was pretty damned sure at that moment he was going to hell.
And there is just something about being sure that your going to hell that changes the whole world. Maybe, Harry would think, if he weren't in this jail like room in Saint Mungo's things would be different. The white padded walls and cot, him being kept away from all "sharps". Being kept away from everything for that matter. Perhaps if he did have access to the "sharps" and the rest of the world he would be evil? Because he was going to hell anyway. Why not just make the devil happy? Get on his good side?
But since he was here he could just evaluate everything. With nothing better to do, it was a heck of a lot better then if he was angry anyways. It left him peaceful. Plus if he had been angry he might have torn up that letter she sent him. Be done with her, but now he couldn't. He owed her at least to read it. To endure the screams she would write out in the letter, leaving him alone with all his daydreams of what could been torn to shreds.
But Harry took the letter that arrived with the Styrofoam bowl that had arrived full of soup. Eying his name scribbled across the envelope.
Harry Potter... room 000... Saint Mungo's... England
Harry turned the envelope over to the seal embedded to show a wispy H. Harry slowly tore the letter open, his ears pounding at the mere sound of the paper being broken apart. It was then that he noticed how silent the room had always been. Of course that is why he avoided walking, The sound of his soft footsteps could drive him up the wall. But he choose to try and ignore the sound and pull the parchment out of the envelope unfolding it tenderly.
Harry, Why am I writing to you? Maybe, I don't know. I could give you an answer and it would make perfect sense once we all thought it over. It would sound like an intelligent Hermione thing to say. But it wouldn't be the truth. I mean that, as much as I hate you, you were once my best friend. And I could tell you stuff. I could cry onto your shoulder when Ron and I had a fight. Like the time he said he was glad Crooksanks died, remember that? Well, I could cry to you then. And maybe I still can.
Cause Harry, though you cause most of these problems I'm still stuck on this idea, that maybe Harry might understand. And that concept was whispering away into my brain, until you raped me. And then I just hated you. I could live with you killing that guy. But then you skewed yourself over. Why the hell did you do that?
If you thought I would love you were so wrong, because I loved Ron then. But now I'm not so sure. Because I think, I think I don't love Ron. Instead I want Severus. And I have no idea what to do about it. And I sit and imagine every possible scenario of what I could try and do. So now I think of what you say if I asked you. If I asked you before that summer. And you would say, "Go do it Hermione, go tell Severus that you love him. And everything with Ron will work out. Because Ron is a good guy." Right?
Or, maybe now you think Ron's a bloody basterd. And so am, and of course Severus is. Ha, Yeah if I told you then I wanted Professor Snape over Ron I think you would have a heart attack and try to send me to a therapist. So you would never had said that. Ever. Would you? I'm sorry I wrote you.
Hermione Granger
...
Hermione was gloomily staring into her oatmeal thinking how she had potions next. Wondering how she was going to deal with him. Her stomach rejected the food she tried and feed herself. But a tiny gray owl flew down into her oatmeal instead. So instead of eating she picked off the scroll attached to its leg. Absent mindedly patting the owl witch was now eating the oatmeal it was sitting in.
Hermione opened the letter with her name written on it that was sent from saint. Mungo's. Probably telling her they couldn't give him the letter do to his conditions. When she opened it to a pointy scroll very unlike Harry's, she thought her suspicions had been confirmed. But instead it better then that....
Dear Ms. Granger I was told to send you the following reply from Patient Harry Potter:
Tell Him.
Sincerely, Jane Fedler, assistant healer
13
Hermione played with the cool cloth of her bed spread. The four poster of her room seemed distant. She seemed distant. Like she was watching a version of herself playing with the bedspread, though the linen texture of it reassured her that she was real. She was here, like it or not.
And her parents were dead. She could barley whisper the word in her own mind. It was small and set back. It wasn't real. It had to be some sick lie. Someone out there thought it must be funny. All she knew that it hurt. She was too young to have dead parents, you were supposed to be at least forty or something before that happens.
Neville had dead parents though. She felt so bad for him. He always had such a happy go lucky aurora. Nothing ever had seemed wrong in the Neville side of the world. But his mother and father were dead. Well not actually, they were still alive, but it would b worse then death. Hermione imagined what it would be like if she had to go see her mother and father being taken care of like they were three. Though they were once knowledgeable and functional but stuck in a hell thrust apron them by some demented creature. Harry's parents died too.
Harry had been sent to trial for Hermione's parent's death. She could vaguely remember Severus telling her this. That it was a sure fire way of sending him away but not getting her or Ron in any trouble for withholding information about his dad's death. But that was more faded out by the other million thoughts fluttering across her mind. Because she more remembered what he had said before that.
"Hermione," Severus called out when he had spotted her. Hermione thought it was a rather stifled word, an almost pleading like cry. She had felt guilt boil up in her, because she had Ron beside her, and that they had just made out I that bed that she and Severus had just shared. She wanted to scream at herself. But Severus evidently did not see the guilt on her face because he pulled her up into a startling hug. "I'm so sorry."
Hermione was confused, why was he sorry? She had just fucking betrayed him. What did he feel sorry for leaving her with Ron? Did he think she was defenseless or something and couldn't stop Ron from coming on to her... Or maybe it was he just found out she was raped. That would make more sense, the reason why he was gently smoothing down her hair. He had changed clothes, that was a good thing because he had ran out the out hardly any clothes on. But he was holding her now, and it didn't matter clothes or not because it had felt so good. He always felt so good.
"I," Ron seemed to come out of his area away from them, Hermione had almost forgotten about him. Ron seemed to be stumbling with his words. "I didn't tell her." Hermione looked swiftly over to the blushed Ron who was carefully inspecting his shoes. "I couldn't do it."
And Hermione could feel all the guilt turn to a fear as she looked from Ron up to Severus, his eyes shining in a sympathy that Hermione knew that would only mean something horrible. She saw him open his mouth now, close it, and pull her into a hug talking more to the top of her head because he did not want to look into her eyes as he said it. Hermione wouldn't want to look in her eyes either if she was in his shoes.
"God," She felt him stumble for words, only increasing the fear in her. i I don't want to know, okay? If it was this bad why tell me, /i she felt her mind scream. i Wait till everything else is emotionally stable, so I don't feel guilt about you holding me like this. Wait till when Ron isn't glaring at you wanting to know why I was ever with you. Just stop! /i
"Harry murdered them." Severus mumbled now, as if he was wishing that maybe she wouldn't hear. But she heard perfectly well. And her mouth died up, her head receiving a dull throb. "Your parents" Hermione let out a muffled cry as she dug her head into his chest. No, she had thought that, she had known that really since he said that Harry had done it, but she couldn't believe it. It was like everything was spinning. And her thoughts in a whorl as she tried to remain grounded by clenching onto him tighter.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione."
So they convicted Harry. They sent him to Saint Mungo's though. In a special ward just for him. The jury had convicted him insane. So in all reality he did not get the punishment he deserved. He deserved to rot in Azkaban till he could rot in hell. But no, he was famous Harry Potter, something must be wrong with him to make such a famous well off boy do something like this. He just can't be a bad person. Heaven forbid if a girl now sits on her bed her eyes stinging and can not cry any more from the things he did.
Hermione lied back onto the pillow, glad that no one was there right now. Lavender had to go to divination and Hermione was allowed to take some time off it she needed it. Hermione's voice in the back of her head screamed that the N.E.W.T.s were coming up but she ignored it. She didn't need that right now. Hermione rolled onto her side finding the small stuffed sheep lying right in front of her eyes.
Hermione gently reached up to the sheep patting it. The small sheep that she had loved for so long, her parents had given it to her. She remembered their smiling faces the day she gotten it. It was a wonderful Christmas. The smell of the pine tree muffled with the sent of wrapping paper being torn. The sheep wasn't wrapped though. It didn't need all that frill for it to be special.
"Is it for me?" Hermione cried out holding up the toy snuggling her nose into the toy.
"Oh, maybe." Hermione's dad had joked a half smile playing on his lips
"Of course." Mrs. Granger replied giving her husband a playful glare. Hermione had run up to them hugging them both saying how it was the best ever. Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiling knowing that really meant that they were the best ever.
Hermione was now holding the toy up to face the tears coming again as she breathed in the scent the toy had gained in its many years of existence. It was comforting but a sorrow at the same time.
Rather like Ron. He was back now, and in full swing. And to tell the truth Hermione didn't know what she thought about it. It was all just so confusing. Like how she loved how Ron had joined the little group that they had all formed that year, but there was every time her touched her. It was like she was revolted, and she felt so ashamed for being that way. She loved Ron, at least as a friend, so why should every time he reach up to pull her into his arms she wanted to pull away and run?
She knew that if she really wanted him to be right with her now, he would. He didn't have anything in particular to do around the school. Ron was going to start his seventh year next year because it was just too hard to catch up now. And if she wanted him to be here could be right beside her holding her in her bed.
But she wanted Severus to do that.
...
Harry stood up, the dungeon filled with rows of people in front of him. Each of their faces, mostly round and chubby except for the few ones that looked nutritionally deprived, gazed at him with a sort of awe. Because no one quite ready yet to hate him. Sure few standing before him hated him a few years ago, but had grew out of that when the rise of Voldemort came. So now they wanted to know if that first hatred was justified. Because could this boy really do such a thing?
Harry licked his dry cracked lip, he thought maybe they were too sore to move. Lot of good they would do then. He would just stand here in front of the whole trial, and not say a single word. That wouldn't convince them to send him to Azkaban, yeah, sure.
"I didn't do it..."
There he had said something. But it wasn't true. They all knew he did it. They recorded him using his wand at the exact time Ron told them he killed the Grangers. A biopsy would prove the real date though it wasn't even needed. Because it was all shot to hell. Someone in the third row of the people in front of him rolled their eyes. They wouldn't understand.
"Well, I did, but - but I wasn't me."
He saw fudge knit his brows infront of him. He half-expected for them to stop him right there, say that was a confession and have him whisked away. Harry looked down the row, as if looking for an inspiration or maybe just a hope that someone could sympathize. His eyes fell to rest at Dumbledore who pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. i He could be doing better things then listening to guilty me. /i
"You see, this happened before. Lord Voldemort, he would take over my mind and make me do things, when I thought that I was just sleeping. I wouldn't mean to, it would just be, I don't know. It would be more like I was the victim."
The whole court seemed to perk up at this, instead of fiddling with their robes they looked to the boy. A tiny man with a cane lifted it looking around to the others to see if anyone was going to notice.
"But Voldemort is dead boy." There were a couple nods and a few sparse murmurs at this. But then the man looked a rather a bit dazed and looked down towards the general direction of Dumbledore "Right?"
"Of course he is dead!" A cold voice shouted out impatiently behind Harry. He knew it was Snape. He didn't need to turn to feel the rage pouring off of him. Harry involuntarily shivered. If there were 3 people who wouldn't believe this story it would be Snape, Ron, and Hermione.
"Severus please sit down." The familiar but tired voice of Dumbledore spoke "We all know he is dead, there is no doubt." Harry could tell from the collective looks of relief of the people in front of him that Snape had sat down. But if Dumbledore wasn't sticking up for him...
Harry didn't know what he was expecting with Dumbledore. He always thought the man was brilliant. So why should he think he would go dumb now and believe Harry's innocence. But it was something Harry had grown used to, Dumbledore believing in him. Dumbledore sticking up for him no matter how insane it all may sound.
"But if he's dead how is this boy hearing him?" The old wizard piped up again; rising his cane in the air as if to make sure everyone knew it was him.
"His scar maybe could still be actively doing Voldemort's work though he is still dead, since much of his power is left in that" Dumbledore replied slowly to the man, thinking the idea over for himself as he said it.
"So, he's insane?" Fudge asked to no one in particular.
"Or he's just lying" Spited out a cheery voice that Harry knew was ex- professor Umbridge. Harry grimaced with distain.
"Then he would have to be crazy just for doing it for no good reason." A sensible young witch in the back spoke.
"All who vote Harry Potter insane for the charges of murdering 2 people?" Fudge boomed out, evidently making his decision. To Harry's hearts massive pounding a series of ayes filled up what seemed to be more then half of the stand.
"And those who believe he should be fully charged in the first degree?" A lesser amount spoke this time, but it didn't reach Harry's ears because all he was seeing was the mouth of Dumbledore complying with the proposition of sending him to Azkaban. And Dumbledore was mostly the reason anyone thought he was insane, not guilty. Dumbledore thought he was guilty. And Harry was pretty damned sure at that moment he was going to hell.
And there is just something about being sure that your going to hell that changes the whole world. Maybe, Harry would think, if he weren't in this jail like room in Saint Mungo's things would be different. The white padded walls and cot, him being kept away from all "sharps". Being kept away from everything for that matter. Perhaps if he did have access to the "sharps" and the rest of the world he would be evil? Because he was going to hell anyway. Why not just make the devil happy? Get on his good side?
But since he was here he could just evaluate everything. With nothing better to do, it was a heck of a lot better then if he was angry anyways. It left him peaceful. Plus if he had been angry he might have torn up that letter she sent him. Be done with her, but now he couldn't. He owed her at least to read it. To endure the screams she would write out in the letter, leaving him alone with all his daydreams of what could been torn to shreds.
But Harry took the letter that arrived with the Styrofoam bowl that had arrived full of soup. Eying his name scribbled across the envelope.
Harry Potter... room 000... Saint Mungo's... England
Harry turned the envelope over to the seal embedded to show a wispy H. Harry slowly tore the letter open, his ears pounding at the mere sound of the paper being broken apart. It was then that he noticed how silent the room had always been. Of course that is why he avoided walking, The sound of his soft footsteps could drive him up the wall. But he choose to try and ignore the sound and pull the parchment out of the envelope unfolding it tenderly.
Harry, Why am I writing to you? Maybe, I don't know. I could give you an answer and it would make perfect sense once we all thought it over. It would sound like an intelligent Hermione thing to say. But it wouldn't be the truth. I mean that, as much as I hate you, you were once my best friend. And I could tell you stuff. I could cry onto your shoulder when Ron and I had a fight. Like the time he said he was glad Crooksanks died, remember that? Well, I could cry to you then. And maybe I still can.
Cause Harry, though you cause most of these problems I'm still stuck on this idea, that maybe Harry might understand. And that concept was whispering away into my brain, until you raped me. And then I just hated you. I could live with you killing that guy. But then you skewed yourself over. Why the hell did you do that?
If you thought I would love you were so wrong, because I loved Ron then. But now I'm not so sure. Because I think, I think I don't love Ron. Instead I want Severus. And I have no idea what to do about it. And I sit and imagine every possible scenario of what I could try and do. So now I think of what you say if I asked you. If I asked you before that summer. And you would say, "Go do it Hermione, go tell Severus that you love him. And everything with Ron will work out. Because Ron is a good guy." Right?
Or, maybe now you think Ron's a bloody basterd. And so am, and of course Severus is. Ha, Yeah if I told you then I wanted Professor Snape over Ron I think you would have a heart attack and try to send me to a therapist. So you would never had said that. Ever. Would you? I'm sorry I wrote you.
Hermione Granger
...
Hermione was gloomily staring into her oatmeal thinking how she had potions next. Wondering how she was going to deal with him. Her stomach rejected the food she tried and feed herself. But a tiny gray owl flew down into her oatmeal instead. So instead of eating she picked off the scroll attached to its leg. Absent mindedly patting the owl witch was now eating the oatmeal it was sitting in.
Hermione opened the letter with her name written on it that was sent from saint. Mungo's. Probably telling her they couldn't give him the letter do to his conditions. When she opened it to a pointy scroll very unlike Harry's, she thought her suspicions had been confirmed. But instead it better then that....
Dear Ms. Granger I was told to send you the following reply from Patient Harry Potter:
Tell Him.
Sincerely, Jane Fedler, assistant healer