Hope
Hermione carefully clasped the empty bottle of pills in her bony hand. She smiled and odd smile and set the bottle down next to Ginny's bed, where she had found it when it was full. Hermione felt the greif and pain she had felt seep away as the last pill made its way to her mind, fogging it. She only felt a euphoria of artificial bliss surround her, as if she were that same Sixth Year student with two best friends on the Quidditch Team.
'Why do you do this, Hermione?' Ginny had asked her. 'You're just hurting yourself. That head clearing potion tastes like rat poison.'
Hermione had just looked away from her. This girl they call Ginny, who was she? She had the same clear, blue eyes as Ron, she had the same red, flaming hair as Ron, but who was she? She was not Ron. And no one resembled Harry. No one, except the man in the picture. They had given her all of Ron and Harry's possesions. But she did not want them. What good were their possesions if they were not there? She remembered holding Harry and Ron's journals in her hands. Should she have read them? Private thoughts of the dead should be respected. She had opened a page in each just to look at the handwriting once more. It was imperfect, and so many things were abbreviated and spelled wrong. Normally, Hermione would've been appauled, but now, she admired it. She ran her hand over it.
Then, she gave them to the flames.
Hermione had so many bad memories of that day. She had been standing, shoulder bleeding, ready to kill the bastard that killed so many. Before, they were confronted with three doors. Each took a door, not knowing what was behind them. Secretly, Hermione hoped that she didn't get the right door. But, she did. And the scream she heard herself scream was not about to be stifled. They came running. They ran to her, to protect her, to comfort her.
To die for her.
She remembered screaming until she tasted blood. She remembered the green light and the malignant laugh. Trapped within the green, she thought it was her to die. She thought she would be the one that the spell would choose to kill. And when the green was gone, she was to remember no more.
What she did see, was nothing. She was alone in the room, with no one. She had racked her head, to remember why, why why? Why was there no one here? Had she dreamed it? She stumbled. About to curse whatever had stood in her away, she picked it up, about to hurl it away in anger, in frustration, in greif. But her eyes caught it. A prefect badge. Hermione clutched it close against her body and felt the cold metal in her hands and fingers. The light had not chosen her. Harry and Ron were dead. She had not the heart to search for their corpses. She lay on the ground and closed her eyes, not wanting to be.
The Aurors came. They found her on the ground, thinking she was dead. They found her heartbeat. Then, they put her on a stretcher and brought her back to Hogwarts. She remembered laying in the bed, with so many people, so many voices she did not hear, asking,
'Where are Harry and Ron?'
She could tell them. They are locked away. They are safe. Leave them be. But she could not, because they were still with her, in her mind. She had discovered them one day, when she had a terrible headache. She took the whole bottle of pills in her greif to wish away the pain and horror still left in her brain. And then, she saw them. They materialized before her eyes, and she knew had taken too many pills. But, rational thought was overcame by a deep want within herself. The want to see them again. The want to laugh with them again. She had reached out her hands to touch them, and they disappeared.
Everything I touch dies, she thought. I am the bringer of all of this pain. I am the tears that Ron's family cries for him. I am the greif brought to Dumbledore for Harry. I deserve this pain. I deserve it all.
Hermione hated the pills. But, her heart was so broken and her greif so immense, the distaste for the pills went away after a while. They merged with her tongue until she could no longer taste them. And when the pills were done, she would know where they were. She went to them. And they sat beside her and they talked to her. It was a happy time. Most often, they sat in the library, just talking. She could never touch them, for they would disappear. She ignored the looks of awkwardness when others caught her talking to them. They said she was crazy. They said she needed help. But Hermione knew she didn't need help.
And now, after she had taken Ginny's pills, which were so much stronger then hers, as Ginny had many bad nightmares of Tom Riddle. Hermione descended the stairs towards the Common Room. And they sat. They smiled to her as she entered. She sat next to Ron, careful not to touch him.
'How was your day, 'Mione?' he asked her.
'Fine, it was great.' she replied.
'Bummer that we're not on the Quidditch team anymore.' Harry said. 'We would've beat those Hufflepuff's in a heartbeat.'
'Yes, you two were a great asset to the team.' Hermione smiled.
'Big words, Hermione.' Ron laughed.
'Not big words, Ron, small brain.'
And then they laughed. Hermione tried not to close her eyes when the drowsiness of the pills came, because she knew if she did, they would go. She did not want them to go. Because, when they went, she always woke up in the Hospital Wing, a stomach cleansing potion being shoved down her throat. Hermione felt herself grow cold and thought to retrieve a sweater, but knew she only had limited time with Harry and Ron.
'Go to sleep, Hermione.' Harry said.
'You know, it's almost as if you can read my mind.' Hermione laughed.
Ron laughed too. Laughter was good. And the laughter kept ringing through her head. It sang her to sleep when she closed her eyes. The drowsiness overcame her desperate want to stay with her friends and made her sleep. It always hurt when she woke up. Her body felt as if it had been hit by many trains. But, her mind was never at ease.
It is my fault, she thought. It is my fault that they are gone. I killed them. I killed them. Bloody, filthy, dirty murderer...
'Miss Granger, what have you done?' Madam Pomfrey was standing over her, the familiar stomach potion in her hand.
Scolding, scolding, always scolding. Why did they need to scold? It was enough to hear the malignant laugh of Voldemort in her head all the time. It was enough to walk by a sullen looking Ginny every day. Why scold? Scolding has no use. Words are only words. They cannot hurt you, as long as you take the pills. The pills always make everything better. The pills can make you feel happy. But, it is a funny thing. For, no matter how many pills you take, the scolding will always return. Why does it return, when all you wish is to bid it away from you? Why do the people promise that they will always be there for you, when in the end, they will leave you anyways?
Hermione sat in the hospital wing, wishing more then anything that she could have Ron and Harry sitting near her, to tell jokes, to tell excuses, to tell excuses. To tell lies. Lies were bad, very bad. But, how can something be very bad, if it is all that your life is? A lie. Hermione is the smartest girl in school! They say. Hermione is so perfect! They say. Hermione does not like the lies. There are good lies and bad lies. The bad lies are the lies told by 'them'. The good lies are told by Ron and Harry. When they do not do things, they lie. And it is a good lie, becauase it is an honest lie.
'Scabbers ate my homework.' Ron says, smiling.
'I dropped mine playing Quidditch.' Harry says, trying to be serious.
Hermione smiles and laughs at the lies. She can hear them, although she cannot see them. All she needs are the pills now. And when the pills meet her tongue, she will go down to the library, where she can see them again. They will talk about nothing. They will talk about everything. They will talk. And they will tell lies. And Hermione will believe them, and pretend they are the truth. If you tell yourself a lie long enough, then it becomes the truth. But the truth hurts. Hermione hopes no lies become truth anymore.
Hermione does not attend classes anymore. They keep her in Hogsmeade. They brought her to Hogsmeade to a room with pink curtains. They would not give her pills. Hermione cried for the pills, as she wanted to take them. She felt so alone without the pills. She would never see Ron or Harry again without them. She needed them. The people that watched her tried to talk. But she did not hear them. Hearing would be to accept the truth. The truth that Ron and Harry are dead.
Lies are better.
~-~-~-
Dumbledore wandered listelessly down to the basement of the Ministry. He was greiving for Harry. Like the son he never had, Harry had been courageous, like a true Gryffindor. Dumbledore was proud everytime Harry acheived something. Dumbledore loved Harry as a father would a son. And he greived for him. Why was it not him to die? He was so much older, and his life would have ended eventually anyways. Harry had his whole life, a bright future. Dumbledore sighed and wiped away the lone tear that leaked from his eye.
No matter how much he greived, he knew that there was someone who greived more then him. The girl, Hermione, she was a total wreck. Her mind used to be so quick, so sharp, and now, it was drowned in greif and tears and morphine. She hallucinated. She was in so much pain, it was hard to be near her without feeling an aura of deep sadness within oneself. Dumbledore wished to comfort the girl, but it was as if she heard no one. She talked with herself, often. She claimed that she saw Harry and Ron and it was them the conversation was with. They would all nod and let her be.
Mumbling.
He hear mumbling. It was like a distant, desperate screaming muffled by bricks. Dumbledore knew it was probably his imagination, but went towards it, concluding he had virtually nothing better to do. He came upon a brick wall. He flicked his wand and it was gone. His old eyes widened with shock as he saw what it revelead.
'Finally!' Ron said. 'We thought we'd die in there!'
'Thank you so much, Professor Dumbledore!' Harry said.
Dumbledore studied them carefully. Both covered in dirt and dust, and dried blood. They both seemed perfectly fine, despite their appearance. Dumbledore tried to control his happiness, but let it show. He let a wide smile come to his face.
'Now, Professor, do you happen to have any food?' Ron asked.
'Why?' Dumbledore inquired.
'I'm starved!'
~-~-~-
No more pills, no more pills. Pills make you sick, Hermione. No more pills.
Why did they keep saying that? Hermione did not hear them. She kept asking for the pills. She needed Harry and Ron. She got down on her knees and prayed to the one they called God to send her pills from his heaven. She begged the doctor. Her body seemed to be rotting slowly from the inside. She needed the pills. She could not remember what their faces looked like and it hurt her. Her heart ached with a dull throbbing. And the tears poured from her eyes like rain. Nothing could make it better. She layed on her bed. She didn't get up. She didn't eat. She didn't sleep. Sleep would not come to her without the pills. Sometimes, she closed her eyes and dozed off for an hour or two. But, when her body was so dead tired she needed to rest it, she would hold her breath and make herself pass out.
It was the only way.
The pills would make reality go away. The pills would make it all a lie. Reality. What was it? Reality was dead Harry. Reality was dead Ron. Reality was living Hermione. Why was she not the one to die, instead of them? Why was she not the one to die? Why did Voldemort let her live, when they were to die?
I am selfish. Hermione thought. I offered their lives in my mind. Their lives were sacrificied at my whim. It is all my fault.
Hermione listened to the impatient tick of the face on the wall. It stared at her, as if the ticking were commanding her: "List-en, List-en" And she did as the ticks said. Would the face on the wall give her the pills she desired so much? Hermione lay in bed, still. Time seemed to slow down. One day, the doctor came in.
'You've gotten better.' He said. 'I think you can handle taking your own medication.'
He handed her a bottle of pills. The pills came back. Hermione took the pills in her hand. She felt the cool glass beneath her fingers and remembered Harry and Ron in the Common Room.
'Now, there's a spell on those pills.' the man said. 'Two at a time.'
The man left. Hermione sat there, and took the wand from underneath her pillow. The man was not aware that she was part of Dumbledore's Army. She whisped her wand and then the spell was gone. She poured the pills onto her bed. The clashed one another. Hermione's mouth formed a smile. She would see them again. Ron and Harry, they would be there waiting at the end of this long line of pills she had to take. And one by one, she took the pills. She closed her eyes and turned behind her and saw nothing. She looked out her window and saw nothing.
Where were they?
Where did they go? The pills would make them come. Without them, what was her life? She was worthless without them, where did they go? Hermione stood in the middle of the room, frantic. She had taken the pills. She had taken them, where were they? Hermione sat back on her bed and lay down, waiting. After some while, the nurse came in and injected something in her arm.
Morphine.
Painkiller. To kill the pain, is it not? Then, why, after so many hours, did the pain remain? Why did Harry and Ron not come and hold her, and tell her that they were just playing hide and go seek for all these weeks? Why was there still this heavy pain in her head, if the pain was supposed to leave? Hermione felt herself slipping. It was as if she'd been holding on to something. Holding on to that chance of seeing Harry and Ron again. But now that it was gone, what reason was there to hold on? Hope? Hope that Ron and Harry might still be alive?
Hope is a myth.
~-~-~-
Ron and Harry entered the Great Hall and received a hero's welcome. Ron's family was there, and each Weasley embraced him and cried over him, except Percy, who hid his crying with intense coughing. A feast was dedicated to them.
It turns out that Ron and Harry had been trapped when Avada Kadvra would not work correctly. Something had stopped Voldemort in the middle of his curse and destroyed him. Ron and Harry searched the Great Hall for that familiar face of the girl that fought side by side with them, but they could not find her. Her bushy hair was not there.
Later, when the two were alone with Ginny, she refused to look them in the eye when they asked about Hermione.
'Ginny, Hermione hasn't shut herself in the library again, has she?' Harry asked.
'I only wish that is what happened to her.' Ginny responded.
'What? Where's she gone?' Ron asked.
'She--she blames herself for what happened to you two. She's gone and convinced herself that she was the one that killed you. She took overdoses of painkillers, thinking they'd cure her greif, she started to hallucinate and--'
'That doesn't sound like Hermione.' Ron said.
'I know.' Ginny said. 'She wouldn't listen to anyone anymore.'
~-~-~-
Ron and Harry stood outside of a room in the Hogsmeade Asylum. A short man stood in front of the door, and above him a name plaque read, 'Granger, Room 112'.
'I have to warn you.' he said. 'She's seriously ill.'
'Yeah yeah.' Ron said, shoving the little man out of his way and into the room. 'Hermione!'
It was horrible, to see Hermione sitting there, looking as if she'd died. Strong, headstrong Hermione, looked so weak and so feeble and so defeated. She turned her head to the sound of their voices. She made no reaction to them as they came towards her.
~-~-~-
What was wrong? The pills had not worked for several days. And now they come. Hermione knew that they were another one of the things the men called 'hallucinations' but she did not care. she saw them again, and that was all that mattered to her. They approached her, as if wanting to touch her. She would not touch them, for they would go away again.
~-~-~-
'Hey, what happened?' Harry asked, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder.
Hermione gained a look of absolute horror and shot up from where she was sitting and backed up. If Harry touched her, he would die again. And everything would be true. Everything would be correct. Hermione didn't want that. Hermione wanted everything to be a lie again. If these people that stood before her were lies, let them be lies. Truth does not make one happy, it is the things that one believes, truth or no.
'It was awful, we were trapped by Voldemort with no food!' Ron exclaimed, flopping down on her bed. 'Thought I'd starve with no chocolate frogs!'
Hermione smiled.
Ron laughed.
Laughter was good. Laughter is not the truth. The truth is a world filled with pain and agony and sorrow. And the laughter is a lie that covers it all up. And that is why lying is so much better then telling the truth. If you just cover up all of the bad, all that is left is the good, and you can take comfort in it. And when the bad returns again, you make up more lies and then the good will come back. A never ending cycle. But no matter what good there is, there will always be pain that cannot be taken away by morhpine or pills or hallucinations. Nothing can ever be taken away. It can be forgotten, but it always remains.
Always.
'So, how'd you end up in here, anyways?' Harry asked.
'I guess I took to many sleeping pills.' Hermione smiled.
Harry and Ron did not smile.
'Ginny told us that you blamed yourself.' Ron said. 'I didn't believe it, because, well, your just not like that, Hermione.'
What happened to them? Harry and Ron never talked about the truth, all they talked about were the beautiful lies that covered everything up. The pills had betrayed her. They had taken her to a place far from the lies, to a place where Ron and Harry spoke only the truth.
'So, tell us, Hermione, how are the Chudley Cannons doing this season?' Ron asked.
'I don't know.' Hermione said, the tears coming into her eyes.
She willed them to go away now. She didn't like Harry and Ron anymore. They needed to go away and leave her alone. She knew how to make them go away, she could ask them. Or she could reach her hand out and touch them.
'Please go away.' She heard herself whisper.
They looked surprised for a minute. They all sat in a silence for a few minutes. They were not going. Hermione's head seemed to throb. She needed her peace now. She needed to want now. She needed the lies now. The comforting, beautiful lies that would always tell her what she wanted to hear. Slowly, she reached out her hand to touch Ron's.
He did not disappear.
What she touched was solid flesh. Warm flesh. Human flesh. Living flesh. It was impossible. The morphine effects were getting worse. She could feel her hallucinations. She could smell them. She closed her eyes and willed them away, but when she opened them again, they were still there.
Morphine was a horrible thing.
And she broke down into tears. She curled up into a ball and sobbed. She hated Ron and Harry for being there, even though they were all she wanted for so long. Hermione hated herself for letting them die, and then wishing them back when she should have let them be in heaven, or wherever they were. And then, for the first time, the morphine kicked in. Everything went numb. She was trapped withinn the lies again, the beautiful, artificial lies that protected her. Protected her from bad things, such as the truth. And love.
~-~-~-
They returned Hermion to Hogwarts, insisting that she was emotionally stable. Ron and Harry were careful not to touch her, for any time anyone did, she would break into tears and refused to be consoled. She did not grow since that day. Her body stopped maturing. They said it was a side effect from all of the medication, Hermione would never get white hair. Hermione would never get aches and cramps. The only part that aged was her eyes. They were tired eyes, faded brown, like a leather bag that had been used over and over and over again, but once had held something precious and beautiful, but now had been taken out, leaving only an empty bag.
'I'm sorry.' she whispered, once in the Common Room.
'There's nothing to be sorry about.' Ron had responded, trying his hardest to make the words gentle. 'You didn't do anything.'
'How can you say that?' she whispered.
'Hermione...' Harry said, feeling the urge to hug her.
'Please forgive me, please.' she whispered, her voice begging with a defeated tone.
They both said nothing, for they believed that there was nothing in which to forgive, therefore Hermione never had a mind at ease. She took no more pills, for she believed these new hallucinations that spoke only truth were her punishments for killing Ron and Harry. Every night, when she fell asleep, the green light haunted her.
~-~-~-
And then, she stood in Dumbledore's office, not knowing how or why she was there. She looked dumbly at the old man. She used to care how her uniform was, proper, perfect and pressed. But know, the tie hung crooked around her neck and the skirt twisted. The sleeve of the vest hung sloppily over her shoulder and her hair remain unkempt. Dumbledore felt deep sympathy for this girl, for even if she did realize that Ron and Harry were not hallucinations, she would never be the same. She was changed forever.
'What is it,' Dumbledore asked slowly. 'that you want?'
Hermione was confused for a moment, wondering what he was asking. She answered honestly.
'I want,' she whispered. 'I want to be able to look at the truth and accepet it. I want to be able to touch a living human without becoming afraid.'
Dumbledore nodded mutely. He knew what had defeated Voldemort. Like Harry's muggle-born mother, Hermione had been willing to sacrifice her life so that her friends could live on. And she had done it in such a willing way, that the human form of Voldemort was only forced to emrege. And all humans, feel emotion. Sadness, lonesomeness, anger, resentment and joy. This girl, gave it all, for a world where her friends could live in peace and bliss. Without her. But, she paid a great price. Her joy was gone, the smiling Hermione was gone. And when you take away the joy from one's life, what is there left? Sadness? Anger? This girl was alone, she had no one to be angry at, no one to make her sad.
'Mister Potter and Mister Weasley,' he said to her. 'are not in your mind, Hermione. You can touch them.'
Hermione looked at him blankly.
'If I touch them,' she explained. 'then they will die.'
~-~-~-
Hermione sat on top of the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the sky. Stars could tell no lies. Stars could tell no truths. Stars would just look down and shrug at you if you asked them anything. Stars did not care. Hermione reached her hand up, as if she might catch one in her hand and then let it drop back into her lap. Why did she feel so empty? Why? Why? Why?
Someone sat beside her. They started to talk. Hermione listened.
'Hermione, it's not your fault. Bugger, how can you do this? You've got a beautiful mind! Don't do this to yourself, Hermione. You're the one that suffered during that battle, not me or Harry.'
Hermione slid her fingers on her wrist. She felt the faint heart beat. How can you feel the heart beat in your wrist, when your heart is in your chest? If you stab your wrist, will your heart be stabbed as well? If you touch something that isn't there, are you touching something that actually is there?
'Hermione, I think--' the person paused. 'I've fallen for you.'
Something unfamiliar bloomed inside of Hermione. Something that she hadn't felt in so long. It was a warm something and it bloomed inside of her. She felt it and was rushed with a warm feeling, like a warm fire on a cold winter day. Hermione caught herself smiling. But, they were just words! What were words? All he said were words. How could words give you this feeling? They are just something to listen to, and after a while, the sound is lost in the wind. No, it is not lost, it merges with the wind. And it is always blowing. And it is always there.
That was the truth.
The person put their arms around her and pulled her towards him. Hermione felt the warm feeling disapear and the feeling of terror rush into her.
'Don't touch me.' she wimpered, trying to pull away. 'You'll die if I touch you. You'll get hurt. I don't want to hurt you, Ron.'
The person just held her tighter. And then the warm feeling returned. It was irony. Horrible irony that anyone should have the courage to touch her after what she had done. Love. It was love. Hermione was in love with this boy that would hold her, regardless of anything. Love was when you didn't care. Love was when you just didn't give a damn about the rest of the world. Love was when you think there's no hope for you and then you see it. Just one ray of hope. And it's the truth. And the lies are gone. And the pain of the truth overwhelms you. And then, someone holds your hand. And they say, The truth is not so bad. And it is not bad, because it is the truth. Because whatever the truth is, you know, that there is someone to endure it with you.
'I don't want to hurt you.' she repeated, whispering into his chest. 'I don't want to hurt myself.'
'Then let me get hurt.' Ron said.
Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. How could someone want to get hurt so much? What could cause this kind of will to die? Is it not the human will to live? Is it not the human instinct to desire to live? Hermione stopped thinking. If it was his desire to be hurt, she wanted to get hurt too. She wanted to hurt, just so she could get better afterwards. Hermione felt the tears leak from her closed eye lids as she let herself be held. Things would get better. The lies would not dissolve until she accepted the truth. Hope was not a myth. It existed.
There was always hope.
FIN.
Hermione carefully clasped the empty bottle of pills in her bony hand. She smiled and odd smile and set the bottle down next to Ginny's bed, where she had found it when it was full. Hermione felt the greif and pain she had felt seep away as the last pill made its way to her mind, fogging it. She only felt a euphoria of artificial bliss surround her, as if she were that same Sixth Year student with two best friends on the Quidditch Team.
'Why do you do this, Hermione?' Ginny had asked her. 'You're just hurting yourself. That head clearing potion tastes like rat poison.'
Hermione had just looked away from her. This girl they call Ginny, who was she? She had the same clear, blue eyes as Ron, she had the same red, flaming hair as Ron, but who was she? She was not Ron. And no one resembled Harry. No one, except the man in the picture. They had given her all of Ron and Harry's possesions. But she did not want them. What good were their possesions if they were not there? She remembered holding Harry and Ron's journals in her hands. Should she have read them? Private thoughts of the dead should be respected. She had opened a page in each just to look at the handwriting once more. It was imperfect, and so many things were abbreviated and spelled wrong. Normally, Hermione would've been appauled, but now, she admired it. She ran her hand over it.
Then, she gave them to the flames.
Hermione had so many bad memories of that day. She had been standing, shoulder bleeding, ready to kill the bastard that killed so many. Before, they were confronted with three doors. Each took a door, not knowing what was behind them. Secretly, Hermione hoped that she didn't get the right door. But, she did. And the scream she heard herself scream was not about to be stifled. They came running. They ran to her, to protect her, to comfort her.
To die for her.
She remembered screaming until she tasted blood. She remembered the green light and the malignant laugh. Trapped within the green, she thought it was her to die. She thought she would be the one that the spell would choose to kill. And when the green was gone, she was to remember no more.
What she did see, was nothing. She was alone in the room, with no one. She had racked her head, to remember why, why why? Why was there no one here? Had she dreamed it? She stumbled. About to curse whatever had stood in her away, she picked it up, about to hurl it away in anger, in frustration, in greif. But her eyes caught it. A prefect badge. Hermione clutched it close against her body and felt the cold metal in her hands and fingers. The light had not chosen her. Harry and Ron were dead. She had not the heart to search for their corpses. She lay on the ground and closed her eyes, not wanting to be.
The Aurors came. They found her on the ground, thinking she was dead. They found her heartbeat. Then, they put her on a stretcher and brought her back to Hogwarts. She remembered laying in the bed, with so many people, so many voices she did not hear, asking,
'Where are Harry and Ron?'
She could tell them. They are locked away. They are safe. Leave them be. But she could not, because they were still with her, in her mind. She had discovered them one day, when she had a terrible headache. She took the whole bottle of pills in her greif to wish away the pain and horror still left in her brain. And then, she saw them. They materialized before her eyes, and she knew had taken too many pills. But, rational thought was overcame by a deep want within herself. The want to see them again. The want to laugh with them again. She had reached out her hands to touch them, and they disappeared.
Everything I touch dies, she thought. I am the bringer of all of this pain. I am the tears that Ron's family cries for him. I am the greif brought to Dumbledore for Harry. I deserve this pain. I deserve it all.
Hermione hated the pills. But, her heart was so broken and her greif so immense, the distaste for the pills went away after a while. They merged with her tongue until she could no longer taste them. And when the pills were done, she would know where they were. She went to them. And they sat beside her and they talked to her. It was a happy time. Most often, they sat in the library, just talking. She could never touch them, for they would disappear. She ignored the looks of awkwardness when others caught her talking to them. They said she was crazy. They said she needed help. But Hermione knew she didn't need help.
And now, after she had taken Ginny's pills, which were so much stronger then hers, as Ginny had many bad nightmares of Tom Riddle. Hermione descended the stairs towards the Common Room. And they sat. They smiled to her as she entered. She sat next to Ron, careful not to touch him.
'How was your day, 'Mione?' he asked her.
'Fine, it was great.' she replied.
'Bummer that we're not on the Quidditch team anymore.' Harry said. 'We would've beat those Hufflepuff's in a heartbeat.'
'Yes, you two were a great asset to the team.' Hermione smiled.
'Big words, Hermione.' Ron laughed.
'Not big words, Ron, small brain.'
And then they laughed. Hermione tried not to close her eyes when the drowsiness of the pills came, because she knew if she did, they would go. She did not want them to go. Because, when they went, she always woke up in the Hospital Wing, a stomach cleansing potion being shoved down her throat. Hermione felt herself grow cold and thought to retrieve a sweater, but knew she only had limited time with Harry and Ron.
'Go to sleep, Hermione.' Harry said.
'You know, it's almost as if you can read my mind.' Hermione laughed.
Ron laughed too. Laughter was good. And the laughter kept ringing through her head. It sang her to sleep when she closed her eyes. The drowsiness overcame her desperate want to stay with her friends and made her sleep. It always hurt when she woke up. Her body felt as if it had been hit by many trains. But, her mind was never at ease.
It is my fault, she thought. It is my fault that they are gone. I killed them. I killed them. Bloody, filthy, dirty murderer...
'Miss Granger, what have you done?' Madam Pomfrey was standing over her, the familiar stomach potion in her hand.
Scolding, scolding, always scolding. Why did they need to scold? It was enough to hear the malignant laugh of Voldemort in her head all the time. It was enough to walk by a sullen looking Ginny every day. Why scold? Scolding has no use. Words are only words. They cannot hurt you, as long as you take the pills. The pills always make everything better. The pills can make you feel happy. But, it is a funny thing. For, no matter how many pills you take, the scolding will always return. Why does it return, when all you wish is to bid it away from you? Why do the people promise that they will always be there for you, when in the end, they will leave you anyways?
Hermione sat in the hospital wing, wishing more then anything that she could have Ron and Harry sitting near her, to tell jokes, to tell excuses, to tell excuses. To tell lies. Lies were bad, very bad. But, how can something be very bad, if it is all that your life is? A lie. Hermione is the smartest girl in school! They say. Hermione is so perfect! They say. Hermione does not like the lies. There are good lies and bad lies. The bad lies are the lies told by 'them'. The good lies are told by Ron and Harry. When they do not do things, they lie. And it is a good lie, becauase it is an honest lie.
'Scabbers ate my homework.' Ron says, smiling.
'I dropped mine playing Quidditch.' Harry says, trying to be serious.
Hermione smiles and laughs at the lies. She can hear them, although she cannot see them. All she needs are the pills now. And when the pills meet her tongue, she will go down to the library, where she can see them again. They will talk about nothing. They will talk about everything. They will talk. And they will tell lies. And Hermione will believe them, and pretend they are the truth. If you tell yourself a lie long enough, then it becomes the truth. But the truth hurts. Hermione hopes no lies become truth anymore.
Hermione does not attend classes anymore. They keep her in Hogsmeade. They brought her to Hogsmeade to a room with pink curtains. They would not give her pills. Hermione cried for the pills, as she wanted to take them. She felt so alone without the pills. She would never see Ron or Harry again without them. She needed them. The people that watched her tried to talk. But she did not hear them. Hearing would be to accept the truth. The truth that Ron and Harry are dead.
Lies are better.
~-~-~-
Dumbledore wandered listelessly down to the basement of the Ministry. He was greiving for Harry. Like the son he never had, Harry had been courageous, like a true Gryffindor. Dumbledore was proud everytime Harry acheived something. Dumbledore loved Harry as a father would a son. And he greived for him. Why was it not him to die? He was so much older, and his life would have ended eventually anyways. Harry had his whole life, a bright future. Dumbledore sighed and wiped away the lone tear that leaked from his eye.
No matter how much he greived, he knew that there was someone who greived more then him. The girl, Hermione, she was a total wreck. Her mind used to be so quick, so sharp, and now, it was drowned in greif and tears and morphine. She hallucinated. She was in so much pain, it was hard to be near her without feeling an aura of deep sadness within oneself. Dumbledore wished to comfort the girl, but it was as if she heard no one. She talked with herself, often. She claimed that she saw Harry and Ron and it was them the conversation was with. They would all nod and let her be.
Mumbling.
He hear mumbling. It was like a distant, desperate screaming muffled by bricks. Dumbledore knew it was probably his imagination, but went towards it, concluding he had virtually nothing better to do. He came upon a brick wall. He flicked his wand and it was gone. His old eyes widened with shock as he saw what it revelead.
'Finally!' Ron said. 'We thought we'd die in there!'
'Thank you so much, Professor Dumbledore!' Harry said.
Dumbledore studied them carefully. Both covered in dirt and dust, and dried blood. They both seemed perfectly fine, despite their appearance. Dumbledore tried to control his happiness, but let it show. He let a wide smile come to his face.
'Now, Professor, do you happen to have any food?' Ron asked.
'Why?' Dumbledore inquired.
'I'm starved!'
~-~-~-
No more pills, no more pills. Pills make you sick, Hermione. No more pills.
Why did they keep saying that? Hermione did not hear them. She kept asking for the pills. She needed Harry and Ron. She got down on her knees and prayed to the one they called God to send her pills from his heaven. She begged the doctor. Her body seemed to be rotting slowly from the inside. She needed the pills. She could not remember what their faces looked like and it hurt her. Her heart ached with a dull throbbing. And the tears poured from her eyes like rain. Nothing could make it better. She layed on her bed. She didn't get up. She didn't eat. She didn't sleep. Sleep would not come to her without the pills. Sometimes, she closed her eyes and dozed off for an hour or two. But, when her body was so dead tired she needed to rest it, she would hold her breath and make herself pass out.
It was the only way.
The pills would make reality go away. The pills would make it all a lie. Reality. What was it? Reality was dead Harry. Reality was dead Ron. Reality was living Hermione. Why was she not the one to die, instead of them? Why was she not the one to die? Why did Voldemort let her live, when they were to die?
I am selfish. Hermione thought. I offered their lives in my mind. Their lives were sacrificied at my whim. It is all my fault.
Hermione listened to the impatient tick of the face on the wall. It stared at her, as if the ticking were commanding her: "List-en, List-en" And she did as the ticks said. Would the face on the wall give her the pills she desired so much? Hermione lay in bed, still. Time seemed to slow down. One day, the doctor came in.
'You've gotten better.' He said. 'I think you can handle taking your own medication.'
He handed her a bottle of pills. The pills came back. Hermione took the pills in her hand. She felt the cool glass beneath her fingers and remembered Harry and Ron in the Common Room.
'Now, there's a spell on those pills.' the man said. 'Two at a time.'
The man left. Hermione sat there, and took the wand from underneath her pillow. The man was not aware that she was part of Dumbledore's Army. She whisped her wand and then the spell was gone. She poured the pills onto her bed. The clashed one another. Hermione's mouth formed a smile. She would see them again. Ron and Harry, they would be there waiting at the end of this long line of pills she had to take. And one by one, she took the pills. She closed her eyes and turned behind her and saw nothing. She looked out her window and saw nothing.
Where were they?
Where did they go? The pills would make them come. Without them, what was her life? She was worthless without them, where did they go? Hermione stood in the middle of the room, frantic. She had taken the pills. She had taken them, where were they? Hermione sat back on her bed and lay down, waiting. After some while, the nurse came in and injected something in her arm.
Morphine.
Painkiller. To kill the pain, is it not? Then, why, after so many hours, did the pain remain? Why did Harry and Ron not come and hold her, and tell her that they were just playing hide and go seek for all these weeks? Why was there still this heavy pain in her head, if the pain was supposed to leave? Hermione felt herself slipping. It was as if she'd been holding on to something. Holding on to that chance of seeing Harry and Ron again. But now that it was gone, what reason was there to hold on? Hope? Hope that Ron and Harry might still be alive?
Hope is a myth.
~-~-~-
Ron and Harry entered the Great Hall and received a hero's welcome. Ron's family was there, and each Weasley embraced him and cried over him, except Percy, who hid his crying with intense coughing. A feast was dedicated to them.
It turns out that Ron and Harry had been trapped when Avada Kadvra would not work correctly. Something had stopped Voldemort in the middle of his curse and destroyed him. Ron and Harry searched the Great Hall for that familiar face of the girl that fought side by side with them, but they could not find her. Her bushy hair was not there.
Later, when the two were alone with Ginny, she refused to look them in the eye when they asked about Hermione.
'Ginny, Hermione hasn't shut herself in the library again, has she?' Harry asked.
'I only wish that is what happened to her.' Ginny responded.
'What? Where's she gone?' Ron asked.
'She--she blames herself for what happened to you two. She's gone and convinced herself that she was the one that killed you. She took overdoses of painkillers, thinking they'd cure her greif, she started to hallucinate and--'
'That doesn't sound like Hermione.' Ron said.
'I know.' Ginny said. 'She wouldn't listen to anyone anymore.'
~-~-~-
Ron and Harry stood outside of a room in the Hogsmeade Asylum. A short man stood in front of the door, and above him a name plaque read, 'Granger, Room 112'.
'I have to warn you.' he said. 'She's seriously ill.'
'Yeah yeah.' Ron said, shoving the little man out of his way and into the room. 'Hermione!'
It was horrible, to see Hermione sitting there, looking as if she'd died. Strong, headstrong Hermione, looked so weak and so feeble and so defeated. She turned her head to the sound of their voices. She made no reaction to them as they came towards her.
~-~-~-
What was wrong? The pills had not worked for several days. And now they come. Hermione knew that they were another one of the things the men called 'hallucinations' but she did not care. she saw them again, and that was all that mattered to her. They approached her, as if wanting to touch her. She would not touch them, for they would go away again.
~-~-~-
'Hey, what happened?' Harry asked, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder.
Hermione gained a look of absolute horror and shot up from where she was sitting and backed up. If Harry touched her, he would die again. And everything would be true. Everything would be correct. Hermione didn't want that. Hermione wanted everything to be a lie again. If these people that stood before her were lies, let them be lies. Truth does not make one happy, it is the things that one believes, truth or no.
'It was awful, we were trapped by Voldemort with no food!' Ron exclaimed, flopping down on her bed. 'Thought I'd starve with no chocolate frogs!'
Hermione smiled.
Ron laughed.
Laughter was good. Laughter is not the truth. The truth is a world filled with pain and agony and sorrow. And the laughter is a lie that covers it all up. And that is why lying is so much better then telling the truth. If you just cover up all of the bad, all that is left is the good, and you can take comfort in it. And when the bad returns again, you make up more lies and then the good will come back. A never ending cycle. But no matter what good there is, there will always be pain that cannot be taken away by morhpine or pills or hallucinations. Nothing can ever be taken away. It can be forgotten, but it always remains.
Always.
'So, how'd you end up in here, anyways?' Harry asked.
'I guess I took to many sleeping pills.' Hermione smiled.
Harry and Ron did not smile.
'Ginny told us that you blamed yourself.' Ron said. 'I didn't believe it, because, well, your just not like that, Hermione.'
What happened to them? Harry and Ron never talked about the truth, all they talked about were the beautiful lies that covered everything up. The pills had betrayed her. They had taken her to a place far from the lies, to a place where Ron and Harry spoke only the truth.
'So, tell us, Hermione, how are the Chudley Cannons doing this season?' Ron asked.
'I don't know.' Hermione said, the tears coming into her eyes.
She willed them to go away now. She didn't like Harry and Ron anymore. They needed to go away and leave her alone. She knew how to make them go away, she could ask them. Or she could reach her hand out and touch them.
'Please go away.' She heard herself whisper.
They looked surprised for a minute. They all sat in a silence for a few minutes. They were not going. Hermione's head seemed to throb. She needed her peace now. She needed to want now. She needed the lies now. The comforting, beautiful lies that would always tell her what she wanted to hear. Slowly, she reached out her hand to touch Ron's.
He did not disappear.
What she touched was solid flesh. Warm flesh. Human flesh. Living flesh. It was impossible. The morphine effects were getting worse. She could feel her hallucinations. She could smell them. She closed her eyes and willed them away, but when she opened them again, they were still there.
Morphine was a horrible thing.
And she broke down into tears. She curled up into a ball and sobbed. She hated Ron and Harry for being there, even though they were all she wanted for so long. Hermione hated herself for letting them die, and then wishing them back when she should have let them be in heaven, or wherever they were. And then, for the first time, the morphine kicked in. Everything went numb. She was trapped withinn the lies again, the beautiful, artificial lies that protected her. Protected her from bad things, such as the truth. And love.
~-~-~-
They returned Hermion to Hogwarts, insisting that she was emotionally stable. Ron and Harry were careful not to touch her, for any time anyone did, she would break into tears and refused to be consoled. She did not grow since that day. Her body stopped maturing. They said it was a side effect from all of the medication, Hermione would never get white hair. Hermione would never get aches and cramps. The only part that aged was her eyes. They were tired eyes, faded brown, like a leather bag that had been used over and over and over again, but once had held something precious and beautiful, but now had been taken out, leaving only an empty bag.
'I'm sorry.' she whispered, once in the Common Room.
'There's nothing to be sorry about.' Ron had responded, trying his hardest to make the words gentle. 'You didn't do anything.'
'How can you say that?' she whispered.
'Hermione...' Harry said, feeling the urge to hug her.
'Please forgive me, please.' she whispered, her voice begging with a defeated tone.
They both said nothing, for they believed that there was nothing in which to forgive, therefore Hermione never had a mind at ease. She took no more pills, for she believed these new hallucinations that spoke only truth were her punishments for killing Ron and Harry. Every night, when she fell asleep, the green light haunted her.
~-~-~-
And then, she stood in Dumbledore's office, not knowing how or why she was there. She looked dumbly at the old man. She used to care how her uniform was, proper, perfect and pressed. But know, the tie hung crooked around her neck and the skirt twisted. The sleeve of the vest hung sloppily over her shoulder and her hair remain unkempt. Dumbledore felt deep sympathy for this girl, for even if she did realize that Ron and Harry were not hallucinations, she would never be the same. She was changed forever.
'What is it,' Dumbledore asked slowly. 'that you want?'
Hermione was confused for a moment, wondering what he was asking. She answered honestly.
'I want,' she whispered. 'I want to be able to look at the truth and accepet it. I want to be able to touch a living human without becoming afraid.'
Dumbledore nodded mutely. He knew what had defeated Voldemort. Like Harry's muggle-born mother, Hermione had been willing to sacrifice her life so that her friends could live on. And she had done it in such a willing way, that the human form of Voldemort was only forced to emrege. And all humans, feel emotion. Sadness, lonesomeness, anger, resentment and joy. This girl, gave it all, for a world where her friends could live in peace and bliss. Without her. But, she paid a great price. Her joy was gone, the smiling Hermione was gone. And when you take away the joy from one's life, what is there left? Sadness? Anger? This girl was alone, she had no one to be angry at, no one to make her sad.
'Mister Potter and Mister Weasley,' he said to her. 'are not in your mind, Hermione. You can touch them.'
Hermione looked at him blankly.
'If I touch them,' she explained. 'then they will die.'
~-~-~-
Hermione sat on top of the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the sky. Stars could tell no lies. Stars could tell no truths. Stars would just look down and shrug at you if you asked them anything. Stars did not care. Hermione reached her hand up, as if she might catch one in her hand and then let it drop back into her lap. Why did she feel so empty? Why? Why? Why?
Someone sat beside her. They started to talk. Hermione listened.
'Hermione, it's not your fault. Bugger, how can you do this? You've got a beautiful mind! Don't do this to yourself, Hermione. You're the one that suffered during that battle, not me or Harry.'
Hermione slid her fingers on her wrist. She felt the faint heart beat. How can you feel the heart beat in your wrist, when your heart is in your chest? If you stab your wrist, will your heart be stabbed as well? If you touch something that isn't there, are you touching something that actually is there?
'Hermione, I think--' the person paused. 'I've fallen for you.'
Something unfamiliar bloomed inside of Hermione. Something that she hadn't felt in so long. It was a warm something and it bloomed inside of her. She felt it and was rushed with a warm feeling, like a warm fire on a cold winter day. Hermione caught herself smiling. But, they were just words! What were words? All he said were words. How could words give you this feeling? They are just something to listen to, and after a while, the sound is lost in the wind. No, it is not lost, it merges with the wind. And it is always blowing. And it is always there.
That was the truth.
The person put their arms around her and pulled her towards him. Hermione felt the warm feeling disapear and the feeling of terror rush into her.
'Don't touch me.' she wimpered, trying to pull away. 'You'll die if I touch you. You'll get hurt. I don't want to hurt you, Ron.'
The person just held her tighter. And then the warm feeling returned. It was irony. Horrible irony that anyone should have the courage to touch her after what she had done. Love. It was love. Hermione was in love with this boy that would hold her, regardless of anything. Love was when you didn't care. Love was when you just didn't give a damn about the rest of the world. Love was when you think there's no hope for you and then you see it. Just one ray of hope. And it's the truth. And the lies are gone. And the pain of the truth overwhelms you. And then, someone holds your hand. And they say, The truth is not so bad. And it is not bad, because it is the truth. Because whatever the truth is, you know, that there is someone to endure it with you.
'I don't want to hurt you.' she repeated, whispering into his chest. 'I don't want to hurt myself.'
'Then let me get hurt.' Ron said.
Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. How could someone want to get hurt so much? What could cause this kind of will to die? Is it not the human will to live? Is it not the human instinct to desire to live? Hermione stopped thinking. If it was his desire to be hurt, she wanted to get hurt too. She wanted to hurt, just so she could get better afterwards. Hermione felt the tears leak from her closed eye lids as she let herself be held. Things would get better. The lies would not dissolve until she accepted the truth. Hope was not a myth. It existed.
There was always hope.
FIN.