Chapter 78: Heart
Harry startled awake, his knees jerking outward and his eyes flying open. He felt like he'd just run a mile a minute and had narrowly missed hitting a wall.
He lay there, breathing shallowly, his heart pumping with adrenaline. Slowly, his vision refocused on the wall before him, and the window beside him.
That's a hospital curtain. I'm in St. Mungo's.
It was something of a relief to realize he was in a familiar, non-dangerous place. Even so, he still had no idea why he was there. Harry turned onto his side, trying to find a clock to gauge the time and date, when his arm bumped against something hard. He looked down to see Hermione's head resting against the bed, her arms cradled under it.
He froze in place, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. Her brow was furrowed in sleep, her face looked paler than usual. He felt his stomach clench, and his vision blurred. He felt like he needed to touch her, to make sure she was real.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position, gazing at him from her perch on the floor.
Harry tried to speak, but it came out a whisper on his first try. He cleared his throat. "How long…have I been in the hospital?"
"It's been three weeks," said Hermione softly. "I didn't know if you'd ever…"
Tears filled her eyes, and she turned away. His hand reached for her, but she was already ringing the bell for the nurse. She ran to the door, staring outside and waving her hand. "He's awake! Come in, please!"
Harry wondered vaguely why there wasn't some magical method of calling the nurse. But then a big, hulking healer (she had to be part giant), came in and shoved a potion down his throat. It tasted like old socks, and when he coughed it out, clear fluid splattered on the bed sheets.
"There you are, lad," cooed the nurse in a deep voice. "Clean bill of health, looks like." The nurse smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "This girl's been worried sick over you. We've all been, you gave us quite a scare."
"What happened?" asked Harry.
"Well, the end of the world, of course. It was fixed up though, thanks to some quick thinking on Hermione's part."
Harry blinked, his mind turning back over the events that happened before he woke up here. Hermione saving the world seemed like the natural order of things, though it felt like a record scratch that his name hadn't been mentioned with hers. Surely he hadn't just sat on the sidelines, he must have done something.
Not that his memory was being very forthcoming on the matter. It was like his brain had been stretched out and scattered over the floor, and he was trying to put it back together again.
The healer did a few more tests that seemed unnecessary—like coughing into a jar and putting beetles in his ears—but Harry patiently sat through them. Once she was finished, the healer took some notes with her quill and then left the room.
"Hermione," said Harry, as soon as she was gone. "Not that I doubt your incredible abilities, but how on Earth did you manage to save the world without me?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest," she said, the bed creaking as she took a seat beside him. "What do you remember?"
Harry had to think hard. "Let's see…we were fighting Draco. I remember bits and pieces of that battle, and then getting knocked out, but it all gets…hazy after that."
He frowned. His mind felt incomplete, like a huge chunk of himself was gone, but he couldn't think of what piece was missing.
Hermione took his hand in hers, and it was soft and warm. He was staring at it as she said, in a wavering voice, "You didn't get knocked out. You died, Harry."
"Oh. I see." Somehow, that didn't surprise him. His body felt like he ought to have died, all used up and achy. Still, he wondered why his mind refused to remember his death, whether it was his brain's way of protecting him, or if the memory was taken from him. "How did I come back?"
"Well…I'm not exactly sure," said Hermione, biting her lip. "I remember fighting Draco and winning. Then I tried to break out of the graveyard, which somehow set off a bomb, and then the entire place collapsed—and I remember thinking that the world was going to end. The next thing I remember, I was surrounded by over a thousand disintegrated dementors, and your body was lying beside me, your head in my lap. I thought you were dead until I realized you were breathing."
"Well…" said Harry, his voice still weak. "That story definitely has some holes in it, but I think I can fill one of them. You cast a True Patronus, and they can kill Dementors. I have no idea how so many ended up in that area, but I'm not surprised you were strong enough to take them on."
"I don't know if it was me," said Hermione, staring at her wand on the table. "I haven't been able to cast one since, and…well…there are other things."
"Oh," said Harry. "What other things?"
She took in a breath and let it out, her hands squeezing the bedspread. He took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles.
"Harry…I didn't know if you'd ever wake up again. The healers kept suggesting different treatments, asking McGonagall to sign off on procedures…"
"Hermione," he said. "What's the damage? You can tell me."
Tears brimmed at the edges of her lashes. "You…can't do magic. And neither can I."
###
Harry sat very still, his green eyes bright as he stared at the bed. He was quiet for so long that Hermione was starting to panic.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
Hermione nodded, then picked up her wand on the bedside table. She pointed it at his pillow and it wiggled slightly under him. "This is the most I can do, and it takes everything I have."
Harry glanced at her wand, then held out his hand. "May I?"
She gave him her wand, and he cast a heating charm on his mug of tea. He tried several times, checking the temperature after each one, a frustrated frown coming over his face.
Hermione's heart ached as she watched his desperation building. She knew how much Harry loved magic, how many of his hopes and dreams were pinned on it.
"Well," he said, setting down the wand with careful precision. "The fact that we can't use magic is pretty awful, but it tells us two important things."
"What do you mean?" said Hermione.
"First," he said. "There aren't many ways to lose your magic. So if it happened to both of us, then it's likely due to the same cause. I can't think of a more likely culprit than Draco. He found a physical way to purge our magic, and my guess is he did that to make sure we'd be less of a threat if we escaped. It's not easy to reverse that, but it's at least possible.
"And secondly," he said, his voice trailing off. He rubbed his temples. "I…I umm…what…"
Hermione squeezed his arm. "Memory loss. It's been happening to me too. I'll forget what I'm doing or saying. The healers say it's temporary."
He sighed and leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes for a long moment. "Call me crazy, but with an entire arsenal of magical remedies available, I'm surprised that the healer's only advice is to 'wait and see.'"
"Oh, trust me, I know. I've been trying for weeks to figure out what happened to us. I've spoken to…I don't even know how many witnesses. I've examined video tapes, used the Pensieve half a dozen times. It's all just fragments of a story that I can't put together."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "It's driving you crazy not being able to remember something, isn't it?"
"Uggh, it is!" she exclaimed. "I don't understand how people live like this."
Harry chuckled, but it turned into a cough.
"Anyway," she said. "At least we both seem to be physically healthy, and that's something to be thankful for. Your parents are well, too. And all of our classmates survived the attack—"
"Wait, the attack? When?"
Hermione explained how Hogwarts was invaded. "Your plan saved their lives. The only people who died in Hogwarts were the Priestess's followers. Headmistress McGonagall says they are currently trying to…clean it all up. But they say we might be able to return by the end of the school year, just to collect our things."
Harry sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Well, that's good, but…" His face fell, and Hermione could guess at his thoughts. How much of his collection of potions and spells would be useless to him now? "Come to think of it, we won't be allowed back in Hogwarts next year, will we?"
She squeezed his hand. "It'll be okay, Harry. Headmistress McGonagall promised she'd figure something out for us. And in the meantime, it's not like we can't study on our own, right? For now, the important thing is that we rest and recover. I know, it's annoying," she said, in response to his grimace. "But saving the world really takes it out of you."
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Hermione, do you have a newspaper?"
"Umm…" she frowned. "I can find one. Do you feel well enough to read?"
"Does a squirrel need help finding nuts?"
She smiled, squeezed his hand, then went off to find a newspaper.
###
Harry leaned back on his pillows, closing his eyes. He thought perhaps he should feel more annoyed or disturbed by his lack of memory, that he ought to be picking away at it like an open wound. But some part of him kept warning him to count his blessings.
He felt strangely certain that if the world came close to ending, then they only very, very narrowly missed it. The fact that Harry and Hermione were both alive, in good health, along with everybody at Hogwarts, seemed like the best outcome possible and he ought not to worry too much about pesky lost memories.
Though, of course, he questioned that certainty that he shouldn't worry about it. The wound would get picked eventually. For now, he couldn't help feeling happy to be alive.
Hermione returned with the newspaper, and with her help, he caught up on everything that happened during his convalescence. The Ministry was in absolute shambles, after losing its headquarters and nearly half its workforce. Muggle London was also reeling from the effects of the disaster. The Statute of Secrecy was a paper thin protection against the barrage of questions the Muggles were posing about the near apocalypse.
The international magical community was planning a gathering to discuss how to deal with the fallout, and more importantly, to prevent this kind of situation from ever happening again. Better integration between the magical communities and–possibly–the Muggle world were on the table for discussion.
Among the news articles, there was wild speculation on how the world had been saved from this near apocalypse. Since Hermione was found at ground zero surrounded by the corpses of Dementors, her Patronus shining like the sun, people naturally assumed she had something to do with it. There was an interview with a seer in the newspaper who claims she saw the whole thing in her visions, that Hermione struck a bargain with the Source of Magic to gain the power to save the world.
But in their search for answers, people were also trying to figure out who caused the apocalypse. On that count, reports varied wildly, from the British Ministry's incompetence to a sinister Death Eater plot. And–while Hermione tried to hide them–Harry could also see that plenty of news stories blamed him.
In fact, there were multiple eye-witness accounts that said they saw a cloaked man casting burning runes in various parts of the city–a man with a lightning scar.
"It's ridiculous," huffed Hermione. "Some people would say anything for attention."
"No, it's okay. This pretty much proves I helped save the world."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "What?"
"The newspapers always criticize the people doing the most work," said Harry matter-of-factly, turning the page on the paper. "How many times has a smear campaign for Dumbledore been on the front page, or Kingsley and Mad Eye Moody? Those men are titanic forces for good. And if they're bitter enough to throw something like…"hellfire child of the many eyed god" into the article, then I must have done something quite heroic indeed."
Hermione laughed, hiccuping a little at the end, and he turned his attention from the paper to her. The afternoon sun shone a bright gold through the half-parted curtains, falling on her side of the bed. It illuminated the chestnut tones in her frizzy hair, but it also revealed her pale skin and bloodshot eyes.
He lost himself for a moment in staring at her. He hadn't noticed before how exhausted she looked. He had a tendency to get so preoccupied with solving problems that he often forgot what was most important.
Harry placed his hand over hers, squeezing it. "You were sleeping beside me when I woke up. Were you waiting with me all night?"
She hesitated, staring down at his hand in hers. "Yes."
His thumb grazed her fingers. "Why?"
"Because I…" she swallowed. "I…wanted to be near you."
He gazed down at the newspaper, a rush of warmth spreading through him. He knew it hadn't just been one night she'd waited up with him.
"There is…so much left to read and understand," he said, referring to the newspaper. "I wouldn't be surprised if we spend all day trying to piece everything together. But it can wait. Come here."
Taking her hand, he gently pulled her into bed beside him, spooning her in his arms. He pressed her close, kissing her cheek and nuzzling her neck.
She sighed, relaxing into his embrace, but almost wincing as his fingers massaged her back.
"Hmm, you have so much tension here," he said, pressing his thumb between her shoulder blades. "Sleeping in awkward positions will do that. Next time, just crawl into my bed and snuggle with me."
He grinned as her cheeks flushed. "It wasn't like that," she murmured.
"I know." He drew little circles with his thumb against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry I made you worry."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Still…I can't help but feel like I owe you a debt. Let me make it up to you."
He caressed her, working out the tension in her body. She closed her eyes as he massaged her back, leaving gentle kisses along her neck and shoulders. He watched her to see what she responded to, what she needed.
"Harry," she whispered. "I thought…I really thought…"
"I know," he said, growing quiet as she began to shake in his arms. He held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder, her fists grabbing his shirt.
"It's okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair.
After awhile, her tears spent, she rested her head against his chest, sniffling softly. Harry cuddled her, listening to her quiet breathing. He hoped she'd fall asleep, so he could keep her in his arms a little longer. She felt so unbelievably perfect there, like a piece of him that was lost had been found.
Hermione turned to gaze up at him, her brown eyes blinking over her fists scrunched against her chin. Harry smiled at her, smoothing away the damp pieces of hair that clung to her cheek. "Hi, beautiful."
She returned a hesitant, shy smile. "Hi, handsome." There was a short pause. "It's getting late."
"So it is," said Harry.
"I thought you'd want to get more reading done."
"Oh, I'm much too tired for that," said Harry, repositioning his arms around her. "I could fall asleep any minute."
She smiled. "Somehow I doubt that."
"And besides," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "You said the most important thing is getting better. Oxytocin is said to heal injuries and generally improve your mood."
"Excuses excuses. Mama warned me about boys like you."
"Not to mention," continued Harry. "That I'm hopelessly addicted to you and I need my fix."
Hermione snorted. "You're just figuring this out now?"
"There must be a scientific term for this…maybe potato chip syndrome? Also, how dare you respond so callously to my affliction?"
She repositioned herself against him, and he instinctively curled his hand around her waist.
"Somebody has cooties," she said sing-song, her eyes glimmering with mischief.
She batted his arm, playfully giving him a cootie shot. He arrested her hand and leaned in, sneaking several kisses before she giggled and pulled away.
They held each other as the sun set and its light faded. When the first stars brightened the sky, Hermione turned so they were facing each other.
"By the way, I finally read your letter," Hermione said. "The one where you confessed your feelings for me. It was…so beautiful. I couldn't stop crying, there must be stains all over it."
A troubled look crossed her face.
"But…I can't help but wonder how the loss of magic will affect us. All your dreams and everything you wanted for us are just…gone. We can't explore the stars together if we're Muggles."
"Well, we'll be Squibs, but yes." Harry kissed her forehead. "It will take some time for me to get used to that, and I'll probably be a bit cranky and moody once the existential crisis sets in. But if you're asking if this changes things between us, it absolutely doesn't. At least, not on my part."
Her forehead furrowed. "I know you say that now, but…"
He pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her.
"Hermione," he said. "I'm not going to change my mind about you again. I don't care what else happens, even if I have to spend my life digging ditches and breaking rocks. I want you by my side and that's all there is to it."
"You…really mean that," she said. A statement, not a question.
"I would never lie to you," he said, twisting a curl of her hair in his fingers. "So…do my non-magical prospects change things for you?"
She shook her head.
"Then it's settled. Let's get married."
###
Hermione sat up and stared at him like he was a disobedient child.
"What?" said Harry. "It's the obvious conclusion. If we want to be together, why let arbitrary restrictions stop us?"
"We're sixteen," said Hermione.
"So? My parents were eighteen. I'm willing to wait two years if I must."
He just wasn't getting it. She stood up.
"Harry, we started dating not even one month ago, and you were asleep for most of it."
"As I understand it, dating is a way to determine if you're compatible romantically with someone," said Harry, leaning back on his pillow. "Both parties usually try to make those social experiments work, and that bias helps lead to a favorable outcome. But I've spent basically the last six months trying to disprove our compatibility, and have been completely unsuccessful. As you know, experiments with results that defy your expectations are much more reliable."
She folded her arms. "Look, I know you think you're making sense right now, but you just woke up from a coma and proposed to me. It's a lot to process, okay?"
"Ahh," he said. "I think I get it. You're wondering if this is just the concussion talking, since I didn't want to marry you before I received a head injury, right?"
"Well…did you?"
Harry gave that question some thought, which gave Hermione time to listen to her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"I think…it took me a long time to figure out what you were to me." His voice was quiet and even. "I have a tendency to distrust my strong emotions, so I tried to put my feelings for you into a box– so I could categorize and control them. But every category I put you in has never made sense. You aren't just my best friend, or a girl that I fancy. Even 'the girl of my dreams' doesn't seem like a proper fit. And because I couldn't figure it out, I had no idea what to do with you."
She didn't know what to think as he took her hand and pressed it to his chest.
"For years, I've felt this pull towards you that I can't explain. It's like I can't stay away from you, and being apart for too long is painful. Holding you just now made me feel…complete, like I'd finally found what was missing. And the only thing I can really conclude from that is…you're my heart, Hermione."
His voice trembled, his eyes gazing into hers with an intensity that shocked her.
"I'm not saying you have to decide now how to respond to my proposal. But I think you should know how I see things, since I want to share everything with you. You were never just my girlfriend. You're the girl I'm going to marry, and all I'm waiting on is time."
Hermione could barely breathe. She knew the pull he was talking about, that instinctual feeling of being drawn towards him. Even when she lived at Beauxbatons, she would think about Harry all the time. It was almost like he was a part of her.
And when she thought about why she couldn't accept his proposal, it was because she wanted it so badly that it literally terrified her.
Her emotions had been under constant barrage the last few weeks. When Harry was lying in a coma, she'd been preparing herself for the harrowing possibility he might not wake up. Funeral plans had been arranged, and McGonagall had called in a grief counselor.
But then, Harry had opened his eyes, and the first thing he did was say her name. He kissed her and held her, and her heart had been full to the point of bursting. And now he was proposing to her and…she just couldn't let herself believe it until she was sure it was real.
Harry's green eyes gazed steadily at her.
"Say something," he said.
"I don't know what to say."
"How about, 'Harry, you idiot, stop gushing about your feelings and don't propose to me again for at least two years.'"
Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Would you listen if I said that?"
"Probably not," he returned the smile, though there was a shadow behind it. "But I would try."
She sighed and sat down on the bed. "I'm not…Harry, you're not the only one terrified of their feelings. I think I'm still in disbelief that we're actually together. It feels fragile, like it might disappear in an instant. But I know you wouldn't lie to me about how you feel. I think I just need some time, that's all."
"I…think I understand," he said. "I'll give you all the time you need."
"Thanks," she smiled in relief. "I appreciate it."
"I'll wait at least one week to propose to you again."
She huffed an exasperated sigh. "Whatever happened to the Harry who was terrified of commitment? I seem to remember you comparing it to an emotional carjacking."
"Oh that? You have complete control of the vehicle. Drive my life off a bridge, if you like."
She rolled her eyes, then leaned over and took his face in her hands. "You are incorrigible, Harry."
He kissed her lightly. "So are you. Now, come here."
Harry pulled her down to lay beside him. Snuggling his head into her shoulder, he sighed contentedly.
"You're so unbelievably soft," he said. "Stay in my arms for a while."
Hermione felt her heart warm as she snuggled in with him. She knew it wouldn't be long before she fell for him completely, and there wouldn't be anything she could do to stop it.
She brushed his hair lightly with her fingers as his breathing slowed. She had always cared for Harry, respected him, loved him even–now all she had to do was learn to trust that he felt the same.
"I love you, Ms. Granger," he whispered, eyes closed.
She smiled. "I love you too, Mr. Potter."
###
Harry awoke the next morning to find that Hermione still slumbered in his arms. He stared at her, drinking in her beauty as he realized something profound.
For the last few months, he had been afflicted with terror at the thought of being close to her. This fear had manifested in nightmares that drove him away from her, and made him feel like he was losing his mind.
Now, for the first time in months, he woke up from a dreamless slumber.
The fear was gone.
And all it took was the end of the world, thought Harry.
He brushed the hair from Hermione's face, reveling in this newfound feeling of freedom. He could be as close to her as he pleased now. He studied her, wanting to memorize every inch of her face. He loved the pink flush in her cheeks, and her dark eyelashes. He smoothed out the cute wrinkles in her forehead and kissed her there. Everything felt new and wonderful. His lips trailed down to brush against her cheek, then just beside her ear, her skin warm and soft against his.
Hermione's eyelashes fluttered open, and he felt a thrill at the thought of waking up next to her. He kissed her. "Good morning, my love."
"Good morning," she blinked away sleep. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Not long," he said, gazing at her. "But I don't intend to stop anytime soon. Also, just in case you were wondering, I still want to marry you."
A soft flush creeped into her neck. "Seems like you want other things too."
He smirked. "Is it that obvious?"
"Umm…yeah," she bit her lip, her fingers touching her ear. "Seriously, who are you and what have you done with Harry?"
There was a soft knock at the door.
They broke apart, Hermione scooting off the bed. She looked frazzled and flushed, and he couldn't help grinning at how unraveled she looked. But there would be time for these thoughts later–they had company.
"Come in," said Harry, smoothing down the bedcovers.
His mother's head popped into the room, a bright smile on her face. "Harry? We heard you were–oh, Hermione."
His father stepped in behind her, taking in the scene before him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Hi Mum and Dad," said Harry nonchalantly. "How are you?"
"I-I wasn't expecting you to have company. Is she staying in an adjacent room, or–"
"My darling," said Harry's father, putting his arm on her back. "This is exactly what it looks like. Our little boy is finally growing up."
Hermione flushed a bright red. "We didn't do anything. Well, except for that Harry keeps proposing to me."
His mother gasped, while his dad suddenly had a coughing fit.
Harry was screaming inside, but determined not to show it. "Don't worry, Mum and Dad," he said. "I intend to do things the proper way, like booking a chapel and getting her father's permission."
"Well…yes, see that you do," said his father. "But also how about graduating from university first?"
"Or at least wait until you get out of the hospital!" chided his mother.
"That's what I told him," said Hermione. "He won't listen."
"Alright," said Harry acerbically. "This isn't an emergency, can everyone please calm down?" He cleared his throat. "Mum and Dad, nice to see you. I'm afraid I don't have any biscuits, but we can get some tea from the fifth floor if you like. Take a seat and let's catch up."
His mother, ignoring the offered chair, ran over and hugged him.
"Harry, just–oh, we missed you so! You have no idea what we've been through." Her shoulders were shaking as she crushed him in her embrace.
"Mum," said Harry with concern, as she pulled away to cry into her sleeve.
His father patted her back. "We just heard this morning that you woke up. We came as soon as we could."
"I've…got somewhere to be," said Hermione, opening the door. "Good to see you both, Mr. and Mrs. Verres."
She left before they could reply, and Harry was alone with them.
"You probably don't know this," said his mother, dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. "But you saved our lives. When the castle was attacked, your emergency protocols gave us enough time to escape. If not for that, I don't know what would have happened to the school. All those children…"
Harry swallowed as he watched his mother compose herself.
"All this time, I have been wanting to tell you. I am so, so proud of you, Harry. You have grown up so much, and you've become a good and brave man." She smiled shakily. "Last night, I was telling your father how I was terrified I'd never get a chance to speak to you again. After you did everything to protect us, and then we c-couldn't protect you–"
Harry didn't think there were words he could say that would soothe her tears, but he tried anyway.
"I think anyone would have done it, if they'd thought of it. It's like Dad says…always be prepared."
His father made a sound like he was choking, and then he hugged him.
"My son," he said, clapping his back. "My son."
Harry's eyes filled with tears, as his family held him in their arms.
###
Closing the door to Harry's room softly, Hermione walked briskly away, her cheeks still burning red.
Telling Harry's parents about the proposal had been a mistake, she realized, because they would inevitably tell her parents. And then her father would, of course, kill Harry.
She might just manage to stay the execution if she explained to her parents that she would not be agreeing to any marriage proposals for the next 5 to 20 years.
Hermione's hands ran over her messy bed hair, pulling it into a bun. She used to make do with a hair styling spell, but that wasn't an option anymore. She was beginning to realize how much she relied on magic for everything, and learning how to live without it was harder than she'd thought.
She took the stairs, heading for the 5th floor to get some tea and fresh air. On her way up, she spotted Remus Lupin coming down the stairs, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers.
"Good morning, Hermione." He smiled for the first time in weeks. "I just heard the good news. I'm glad to hear that Harry is doing well. We've all been worried for him."
"Good morning!" she replied. "Yes, it's a huge relief to finally know he's okay." She felt that barely expressed the rollercoaster of emotions she'd been through, but his gentle gaze showed he understood. She glanced at the flowers. "If you're going to visit, you might want to give him about 15 minutes. His parents are still in his room."
"Well actually…no, I'm about to go visit someone else."
"Oh." Hermione frowned in confusion. "Who?"
He took a step forward. "Walk with me?"
She followed him down to the fourth floor, passing by Harry's room and continuing down the hall. "They just transferred her here yesterday." He stopped in front of the door, turning to Hermione. "Try not to act too shocked."
Opening the door, Hermione saw a pale woman lying on the bed. She gasped, and took a staggering step backward.
Tonks smiled at her. "Hello again, Hermione."
15
