Part Fourteen: Albus
The walls of St. Mungo's were achingly white. Though the endless motion of the evenly-hung portraits and the occassional brightly-decorated corkboard provided momentary distraction, Hermione could not focus on anything but the slabs of bare, colourless wall. Her head was splitting, spinning, her stomach churning and knotting in painful succession. She walked quickly and with purpose, though she had little idea just where to find the room that she sought. Behind her, Fred dragged on nervously as Ginny followed him as closely as she could while answering a barrage of questions about St. Mungo's posed by Lily, who was holding tightly to the hand of a fawning Mrs. Weasley. The paintings on the wall greeted them all in turn with a cheerful hello or grave news about someone they had never met, and the healers and staff all waved a jolly hello to Mrs. Weasley and her group.
Hermione, however, could not bear to smile back. As she neared the welcome desk next to the closed ward, her breath was shallowed, her entire being surrounded by the naked, white-hot pain of guilt. Harry's child. She could barely stand to wrap her head around it. Somehow, he was Harry's child, and she had abandoned him. But what was more...Albus was her child. And she had abandoned him. What would she say to him if, in fact, he would be able to understand her? Harry's child...Harry's child.
"Harry's child." she said to the Welcome Witch at the desk as she stared fixedly at the calendar over her shoulder. "Excuse me?" said the plump girl at the desk, staring at the group with puzzlement as she wrapped her gum around her manicured finger.
Hermione snapped out of her reverie as Fred laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and continued brusquely, "We're here to see Albus Granger, please. All of us. And right away."
"Albus Granger?" the witch sneered as she checked a chart on a nearby cabinet, matching Hermione's icy tone. "I wasn't aware that he had a surname."
Supressing the urge to rage, Hermione held her breath and her tongue as she replied, "Granger. May we see him, please?"
"Right this way." They followed the haughty witch down a long corridor, past the driveling and listless faces of witches and wizards incurably affected by magic. At last, they reached a tiny corner room no bigger than a broom closet on the door of which was posted a sign that read simply "Albus."
"Excuse me," Hermione addressed the witch, who was busy searching by trial-and-error for the correct door key. "Why are you keep my s--- er, Albus locked in a broom closet?"
The witch shrugged. "He didn't like the other room; kept saying it was too big." She turned then to address the entire group. "There's no magic allowed by visitors to the hospitals, of course, but that rule is most strictly enforced here on the closed ward. Please do not set off any sudden lights or lumination charms; Albus doesn't like a lot of light. And he doesn't like to talk much either, so...don't expect whatever you're hoping to get out of your visit." Having finally succeeded in opening the door to Albus's room, the witch turned to leave, pausing only to ad "Oh, and don't worry about crowding him. Like I said, he doesn't like space."
Fred supressed a chuckle as the nurse bounded away, shaking her head to some internal thought. "A might surly, isn't she?"
Mrs. Weasley gave him a gentle slap on the arm as she siddled up next to Hermione at the door. "And rightly she should be" she said with the smile. "She did worse on her OWLs than even you."
Hermione gave a weak smile as she gripped the doorknob tightly, her knuckles turning the colour of the infuriating walls as she turned it, slowly, and let herself in. As she stepped timidly through the threshold, her party spilled in quickly behind her, Lily bringing up the rear as she hid nervously in Ginny's robes. To everyone's surprise, the boy called Albus was sitting stick-straight at the end of his bed, hands folded in his lap, staring, alert, and calm. "Goodwitch Weasley," he said without inflection. "Hello, Hermione Granger."
The walls of St. Mungo's were achingly white. Though the endless motion of the evenly-hung portraits and the occassional brightly-decorated corkboard provided momentary distraction, Hermione could not focus on anything but the slabs of bare, colourless wall. Her head was splitting, spinning, her stomach churning and knotting in painful succession. She walked quickly and with purpose, though she had little idea just where to find the room that she sought. Behind her, Fred dragged on nervously as Ginny followed him as closely as she could while answering a barrage of questions about St. Mungo's posed by Lily, who was holding tightly to the hand of a fawning Mrs. Weasley. The paintings on the wall greeted them all in turn with a cheerful hello or grave news about someone they had never met, and the healers and staff all waved a jolly hello to Mrs. Weasley and her group.
Hermione, however, could not bear to smile back. As she neared the welcome desk next to the closed ward, her breath was shallowed, her entire being surrounded by the naked, white-hot pain of guilt. Harry's child. She could barely stand to wrap her head around it. Somehow, he was Harry's child, and she had abandoned him. But what was more...Albus was her child. And she had abandoned him. What would she say to him if, in fact, he would be able to understand her? Harry's child...Harry's child.
"Harry's child." she said to the Welcome Witch at the desk as she stared fixedly at the calendar over her shoulder. "Excuse me?" said the plump girl at the desk, staring at the group with puzzlement as she wrapped her gum around her manicured finger.
Hermione snapped out of her reverie as Fred laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and continued brusquely, "We're here to see Albus Granger, please. All of us. And right away."
"Albus Granger?" the witch sneered as she checked a chart on a nearby cabinet, matching Hermione's icy tone. "I wasn't aware that he had a surname."
Supressing the urge to rage, Hermione held her breath and her tongue as she replied, "Granger. May we see him, please?"
"Right this way." They followed the haughty witch down a long corridor, past the driveling and listless faces of witches and wizards incurably affected by magic. At last, they reached a tiny corner room no bigger than a broom closet on the door of which was posted a sign that read simply "Albus."
"Excuse me," Hermione addressed the witch, who was busy searching by trial-and-error for the correct door key. "Why are you keep my s--- er, Albus locked in a broom closet?"
The witch shrugged. "He didn't like the other room; kept saying it was too big." She turned then to address the entire group. "There's no magic allowed by visitors to the hospitals, of course, but that rule is most strictly enforced here on the closed ward. Please do not set off any sudden lights or lumination charms; Albus doesn't like a lot of light. And he doesn't like to talk much either, so...don't expect whatever you're hoping to get out of your visit." Having finally succeeded in opening the door to Albus's room, the witch turned to leave, pausing only to ad "Oh, and don't worry about crowding him. Like I said, he doesn't like space."
Fred supressed a chuckle as the nurse bounded away, shaking her head to some internal thought. "A might surly, isn't she?"
Mrs. Weasley gave him a gentle slap on the arm as she siddled up next to Hermione at the door. "And rightly she should be" she said with the smile. "She did worse on her OWLs than even you."
Hermione gave a weak smile as she gripped the doorknob tightly, her knuckles turning the colour of the infuriating walls as she turned it, slowly, and let herself in. As she stepped timidly through the threshold, her party spilled in quickly behind her, Lily bringing up the rear as she hid nervously in Ginny's robes. To everyone's surprise, the boy called Albus was sitting stick-straight at the end of his bed, hands folded in his lap, staring, alert, and calm. "Goodwitch Weasley," he said without inflection. "Hello, Hermione Granger."