Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapt 2:
Repercussions
I don't own Harry Potter. Happy now?
He looked around and the pale, lined face of Remus Lupin smiled back at him.
"Lupin!? Er… Professor? What…how…?"
"I thought I might find you in this, Harry. It looks like you've put it to good use already. You were always one for working things out." Lupin smiled a tired smile. "To answer your previous question… let's just say that I misread some reactions. Many of my school friends were positively disgusted with my sacking three years ago, as were the parents who thought that, for all my shortcomings, I was doing a good job. So with one thing and another I've got it back." He burst into a grin as Harry's mouth dropped wide open.
"You're the new Dark Arts teacher? But what about your work for the Order? What about your alter ego?" gasped Harry. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted one of the Order to waste time on teaching children?
Lupin smiled again, guessing what was going through Harry's mind. "Harry, Dumbledore asked me to come back. He knows that having a good teacher, in this particular subject, at this particular time, is far more important than any work I could possibly do for the Order. I'm just happy that I can fill the post."
Harry was lost for words. Here was Lupin, his father's friend, his teacher and mentor a few years ago, back from what Harry could only think of as self-imposed exile. He'd known – guessed, really – about Lupin's involvement with the Order as soon as he'd found out about its existence. But a year had passed between his resignation and Voldemort's return, and there had been no word from him during that time. Harry, troubled, suddenly had a lot of questions.
"Welcome back, Professor. I mean that. But I think", he said slowly "that we need to talk".
Lupin looked troubled. "Later, Harry. I came to check up on you, but right now I'm needed elsewhere. I'll take us out." Harry cast a glance back towards the group of Gryffindors who were now being marched away practically at wand-point by McGonagall. At least things hadn't turned out too badly. A hundred points was a bad blow by anyone's standards, especially at the start of term, but Harry was just grateful that everyone was safe – apart from the silver puddle that had been Malfoy.
Lupin took out his wand. "Finite memoria", he said softly. The next second everything had faded to white and Harry was back in his bed, the Penseive looked normal once more, and Lupin was on his way out.
"The Room, Harry. As soon as you can walk. In the meantime, get well quickly." Lupin smiled at him again and shut the door behind him, leaving behind an even-more-confused Harry. Ron, Hermione, and now Lupin. What on earth was going on?
It was the evening of the same day. The sun had set long before and the gas lamps in the Hospital Wing had flared into life as soon as the last rays had vanished. Harry was resting on his bed, his bandages undamaged from his excursion into Hermione's memory. After all, his mind wasn't bandaged, and that was what really had made the trip.
Hermione…. They had shared an awful lot of dangerous things together. The troll, the potion riddle in the dungeons, that foul snake in their second year, the dementors and the Ministry, to name but a few. He'd always known, deep down. He just wouldn't acknowledge it. The thought of handing Voldemort yet another life was just too horrible to contemplate. He'd just…fled elsewhere, to Cho, who had never really understood because he had never told her. No, Voldemort wouldn't use Cho. She'd never really meant anything to him, he could see that now. Not after Sirius's…departure. She hadn't been there at the Ministry. She hadn't shared in his world. He'd just been a tool to get closer to the memory of Cedric, he was sure of that. He tried to analyse that thought but it didn't seem to matter any more. Well, there was the proof.
His world had changed. It had snapped back into focus and he'd grown up in an instant. He wasn't the only one. Ron had become more cautious, more protective of them too. He'd never seen that side of Ron before. The coldness, the hate in his eyes. The calculating stare. Ron was older now, maybe scarred from the encounter with the brains. It was as though Ron had become – deep, deep down – clandestinely violent towards anything that threatened his friends. He had been protecting all of them, and Hermione had been protecting…him. Harry. Even through everything that had happened, and his denial of self. And she'd resigned herself to that; she'd understood, in a way. But now, she had become…angrier too.
Suddenly Harry realised that he'd seen the real side of her. She loved him, accepted that he couldn't love her, but still wanted to be by his side and look after him. And she'd taken all the pain and anger that it must have caused her and thrown it into her studies and into her hate of anything that came close to hurting him. No wonder that she'd turned Malfoy's wand into dust. He had almost felt the spell himself. It had had hate behind it, but it hadn't just been that. It had been the kind of hate that is borne out of the desire to protect. The hate that says; "If you want him, face me." Harry could see it all clearly now. Ever since she'd been slashed by the Death-eater's spell in the ministry, in fact. He just hadn't realised.
Again, the Ministry. It all went back to that. They'd been directly attacked and had come through by the skin of their teeth, all of them scarred in different ways. Their world had become darker, more dangerous, and they had adapted to fit it. "You've done enough damage here" Harry shuddered. He'd never, ever heard Ron speak like that, nor heard Hermione swear. This was far beyond slug-vomiting curses and ice-queen stares. This was war.
Harry sat back and sighed. His head was aching again and he wanted to get rid of those damned bandages. He was a useless wreck up here, and all because of a momentary lapse of concentration. And yet…and yet if none of this had happened, he'd have never found out about the changes in his best friends. He wanted to know what Lupin had been up to for that year too. Where had he been, and what had he been doing? The answers that he'd received to his questions had only gone and spawned more questions. Feeling that he could use a penseive of his own, he settled back into his bed and tried to sleep. Maybe he'd wake up to some answers for once.
It was Monday, three days later. A week since the crash and this morning he really wanted to get out of the hospital wing. Unfortunately Madam Pomfrey, as usual when faced with one of Harry's mishaps, was having none of it.
"Mr Potter, seeing as you are one of my most regular patients, I'm not letting you go until I can be utterly sure that you have healed completely." she stated.
Harry looked up at her from the bed with an exasperated look on his face. "My leg is fine. Honestly!" he protested as she looked him over. "My arm was ok yesterday too".
She looked at him sceptically. "I'm still not convinced, Mr Potter. Walk, if you can, but I insist on another day's convalescence for the sake of your leg. Stretch it if you must."
"But…!"
"Or would you prefer that I ban you from flying for another week?"
"What… you can't!"
"Doctor's orders, Mr Potter. Try me." She crossed her arms over her white cloak and glared at him.
Harry admitted defeat and turned back to his Potions essay, lying face-down on the bed with his book on his pillow. Having somehow gained an "O" in that particular subject the previous summer had given him new confidence, and he was now well into his NEWT syllabus. This potion was a particularly nasty one. It was supposed to turn the drinker's skin transparent. "Madam Pomfrey would have loved this one", he thought darkly. "She'd have been all over my intestines. Ugh."
He was surrounded by a fresh pile of books, courtesy of Ron, who had dropped by the day before for a chat and to bring him up to date on his homework. As he reached over and dived into a treatise on Chameleon skin, looking for something to help him with his work, he heard the door open softly. There was only one person, he thought, that would open a door like that. His thoughts switched track to the augmented Penseive, now hidden under the bed.
"Hello, Hermione", he said, making her jump.
"Harry! You gave me a fright! I…came to see how you were; Ron told me that you'll be out of here soon."
Harry's thoughts were racing. She sounded nervous, which was unusual in itself. He guessed that she'd meant to remove the Penseive after her last visit but either hadn't had the time, or had caught him when he was awake. Either way, she'd guessed that he'd had another look inside, and found out her true feelings. Suddenly, the old anger came back. He'd had enough of people not telling him things. Now that he'd caught her trying to sneak the evidence out of reach, he was going to take this one head-on.
"Sorry, Hermione. It's not going to work. I saw the fight. I heard everything. How long, Hermione? How long have you felt like this?" All of a sudden he was bone-tired. His defences were down and his temper drained away. He wanted no more puzzles, he wanted answers. He sat back and closed his eyes, head resting on the headboard of his bed.
She stood rooted to the spot. "He looked! He knows… oh, God, now what do I do? How can I ever look at him again?" All her feelings for him rose up at once. She felt her gorge rise as if she was going to be sick. All her instincts told her to run away. Her logical brain told her that she couldn't keep on avoiding him. Shakily, she pulled up a chair and prepared herself. This was going to hurt: there was no way he'd ever return her feelings for him. He wouldn't allow her to get close. She told him anyway.
"Do you remember the Potion riddle? Ever since then, when you went on all alone to face Quirrel. Every time you did something dangerous I was worried. I didn't want to see you come to any harm." She paused. This was it; she couldn't hold back. Better to tell him now and face the consequences than to hide herself away again. "I love you, Harry. You're kind and decent and protective. I want to be by your side." She felt herself break, a slow tearing feeling in her gut. "I meant what I thought in there. I…I can take it, if you don't feel the same way." She hid her face behind her magnificent hair, unable to look at him.
Harry sat there, devastated. That long? No wonder she'd been so dismissive of Cho, giving him advice, but stopping short of suggesting a proper solution. It must have torn her to pieces. And then it hit him hard: they'd both been hiding.
He raged at himself for being so damned blind. She'd hidden her face and her shoulders were shaking. She deserved better. Never mind holding back. He didn't want to shut himself away any more. Not if this is what it did to her.
"Hermione, look at me. Look at me" She looked at him from underneath her curtain of hair, her beautiful face blotchy and streaked with tears.
"I can't hide any longer. There will be" he ripped off the bedcovers "no more" he placed both feet on the ground "pretending. No more hiding" He stood up and put his weight on his injured leg. God it hurt. It was so stiff. But it had to be done.
She looked up. "What's he doing?" He limped over to her chair, his leg on fire – and stumbled. He screwed his eyes shut, expecting to land hard on the white tile floor, expecting to break his leg again. He was braced for pain and humiliation, for her to scream and fetch the matron while he lay sprawled on the floor, unable to move, everything that he wanted to do left undone, all his words left unsaid.
It didn't happen. One second he was falling, the next he was being held tightly, her right arm under his armpit, her hand holding onto the back of his shoulder, her left arm wrapped around his waist. He felt as if he'd been stunned. He couldn't speak.
"Hermione…"
"Didn't you hear me, Harry? I said that I'd protect you from everything. Even if I have to protect you from yourself."
She felt him tense up the moment that she caught him. "Poor Harry. He's afraid of being touched." Her heart melted all over again. It felt good to hold him.
Harry looked into her eyes. "What the hell was I thinking? I… wait... She's not angry."
"Harry?"
"I can't pretend any more and I won't hide myself away." He sounded as if he was going to lose control at any moment. "It's him or me, Hermione."
She nodded. "I know. Ever since you said that you didn't want to talk about it, we've known, Ron and I. That's why we did what we did back through there." Her eyes flicked towards the door. "It was for you, Harry."
"I…know. I saw."
"I know you did. You know how I feel." She sounded…quiet, as though some small flame of hope inside her had gone out.
"Hermione…"
"Don't say anything, and it might be all right. I'll cope."
"You don't have to cope any more."
He kissed her gently on the lips. It was soft, hesitant, like the kiss of a lover who knows that they've done wrong and want, more than anything else, to be forgiven. When he pulled back there were tears in his eyes.
"I'm sorry I neglected you". He braced himself against her and stood firmly on his feet.
"Harry…" She wanted him back. She wanted to cry.
"I'm such a fool!" He burst into hot, angry tears. "I've been so blind…" He hid his face in her shoulder and sobbed. He felt as if he was falling apart. All the emotions inside him came out at once and he couldn't stop them. Anger at Sirius's death, confusion regarding Hermione, both of these things were at the front of his mind and he couldn't cope.
Hermione hadn't expected this. She was shuddering inside "He's all alone…" She stood too and guided him over to his bed, supporting him. She could see how hard it had been for him to walk… and yet he'd done it. "For me" she thought. "He risked it for me". She tried to help him lie down but he clung to her. She looked into his deep green eyes. "I have to be strong" she told herself. "I love him but I have to be strong right now because he can't be"
"Harry… lie down. You need to." He didn't seem to want to let go. She sighed inwardly and pushed him gently onto the sheets, her head following and resting on his chest. She'd stay as long as she needed to.
Harry lay there staring up at the ceiling, feeling her cheek against his chest through the loose shift that he wore. "Whatever was I thinking? Why now? What happens next?" He sighed, not daring himself to speak. Her head was heavy and warm against his chest, and he didn't want to go away.
They lay there for a long while, both miserable, both drawing strength from the other. The heavy rays of the autumn sun penetrated the stained glass windows of the wing, turning the white linen gold and the glassware to amber. Harry slept, and it was a deep and for once dreamless sleep. Hermione watched him, studying every line of his face. With the last rays of the sun shining onto his bed, there was a sense of timelessness about him, as though he would sleep forever in front of her. She sighed and rested her chin in her cupped hands.
"Where do we go from here?"