Hermione separated from Draco in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital, with arrangements to meet again in two hours' time. It was evening and Draco's mother had been after him relentlessly, for days, to dine with her- but of course he had had to keep putting her off as dinner with Narcissa would take substantially more time than the forty minutes or so he'd been able to stay away from Hermione without having to fear for both her life and his own. Now, however, that Hermione would be nearby, within the same building, even, he didn't have to worry about the adverse effects of the binding spell, should the two of them be parted for a prolonged period of time. He could have a leisurely supper with his mother knowing that Hermione was safe visiting Harry just a couple of floors down.
Watching him stride away with a bouquet of flowers tucked under his arm, Hermione couldn't help but feel a quick, fierce pang of envy for his composure and confidence, even in the face of the greatest adversity. His trial would begin in three days and, to the outside observer at least, he looked completely unruffled by the fact. She knew him well enough to know that this wasn't actually the case- had awoken to find him pacing the room at three in the morning just that past night- but oh, his impenetrable façade! He walked through the hospital as if he owned it (and his family had donated enough money to it over the years that perhaps this attitude wasn't entirely unjustified), completely impervious to the stares and whispers that followed him. Like most news in the wizarding world, that of his upcoming trial- and, obviously, of the serious accusations against him- was spreading fast, and Draco, with his striking appearance, was certainly a recognizable figure in wizarding society. But the hostile glares that were directed his way were entirely wasted; they might as well have been directed at stone wall. Like water off a duck's back, they affected Draco not the least.
Not visibly, at any rate. And sometimes, Hermione conceded, that really was what mattered.
She herself exuded no such confidence; she was desperately nervous to be seeing Harry, and she was sure it showed. Making her way to the main desk in the lobby, she asked the receptionist, a harried-looking young woman she vaguely remembered from Hogwarts- she'd been several years ahead and in Hufflepuff, if Hermione's memory served- where she could find Harry Potter's room.
The receptionist gave her an appraising, less-than-friendly look that ended with a roll of the eyes. "Of course you want to see him," she said coolly, "you and half the other witches in Britain. I'll tell you what I've been telling people all day- he's only seeing close friends. Besides, won't you people get it through your heads? The man is engaged. So take whatever magazine you've brought for him to autograph and bugger off. Poor bloke doesn't need all this."
A furious blush rose to Hermione's cheeks and she very nearly did turn right around and leave- she could buy some reading material at the hospital gift shop and wait for Draco on a bench in the lobby- but no, this had to be done. She owed this to Harry, by God. She still loved him desperately- he was her best friend, after all- and she wanted to hurt him as little as possible. That meant telling him her new circumstances right now, herself, before the rumor mill had a chance to reach him first. So she swallowed the burning shame she felt at the fact that this witch, who obviously didn't recognize her, was defending Harry's status as an engaged man when she had come here for the express purpose of breaking off that engagement, and said, "My name is Hermione Granger. I believe I qualify as a close friend."
The receptionist's bored, faintly disdainful expression vanished instantly, to be replaced by one of mingled reproach and relief. "So here you are!" she exclaimed. "For days we've been wondering where you've been." Then she added, her voice softening just a shade, "I did hear you'd been wounded also, and were being treated privately. Is everything all right?" At Hermione's affirmation, she added, "I'm Vicky. I'm so glad you're here. One of the healers told me that Harry must have called your name a hundred times while he was delirious. He's only just fully come back to his senses yesterday. If you'll hold on for just a moment, I'll call security to escort you to his room. It's a precaution we have to take with all of his visitors, you understand. Lot of unsavory characters skulking about, hoping to slip in unnoticed. I tell you, if I catch that wretched Skeeter woman trying to sneak past me one more time…."
00000
Hermione could probably have stood outside the room, one hand on the knob, pulling in deep, desperate breaths and gathering her courage, for an hour had not the security guard been right beside her. He had placed his wand against the magically secured door and mumbled an unlocking spell that was complex, but nothing Hermione couldn't have figured out on her own in ten minutes, then very politely said "I'll leave you here, miss," and stepped back- but he hadn't actually left. His orders were probably to see her enter the room itself, make sure no one slipped in after her, and re-secure the door so that it would allow her out but nobody else in. So she only had a few seconds in which to compose herself, with the earnest-faced young guard breathing annoyingly loudly at her elbow the entire time.
Then she was turning the knob and stepping through into the cool, dim room beyond, pulling the door shut behind her.
It took her a moment to adjust her eyes- the drapes were drawn and it was borderline dark in here. Staring around, she saw every available space cluttered with flowers- gift baskets and candy boxes piled high, drifts of unopened cards and letters. In the middle of this absolute chaos of well wishes lay Harry on a stiff-sheeted white hospital bed, and it hurt Hermione's heart to see him there, hurt it more even than when Vicky downstairs had revealed that torturous little detail about how he had called and called for her while she'd been in another man's bed (doing nothing, mind you, except recovering her strength, but still)- hurt her because she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Harry wanted none of this, none of it, especially since the vast majority of these things had come from total strangers.
Merlin, it was so unfair. Harry had only ever wanted privacy and normalcy in his life, and this was what he had gotten instead- thrust more into the limelight with each passing year until it had culminated in this- this avalanche of publicity and praise, all simply for doing something he had had to do in order to survive.
The smell of the flowers was cloying; overpowering in the small room. It was not at all an appropriate smell for a room where someone was recovering. To the contrary, the smell was almost… funerary. Hermione gave a small shudder, pulled out her wand and banished the floral scent from the air. Then, for good measure, she crossed to the room's single window and opened it, letting in fresh air and natural light for perhaps the first time since Harry had arrived. Then, unable to stall any longer, she finally turned and approached the bed.
Harry appeared to be sleeping, but only lightly. One hand was resting on his chest, the other arm flung wide, trailing over the edge of the narrow bed. His breathing was regular, but too shallow to belong to a true, deep sleep. Hermione sank down in the armchair beside the bed. She hadn't the heart to wake him quite yet. Glancing around the room again, she decided to clean up a bit. She raised her wand and quietly recited a sorting spell, specifying that those cards and gifts that had been sent by people with whom Harry had actually carried on at least one decent conversation in his life be separated from the mounds and mounds of fan mail. Once this was done, and a far more manageable pile of envelopes and parcels sat apart- bearing return addresses of the Molly and Arthur Weasley, Oliver Wood, Colin Creevey, Neville Longbottom and even Cho Chang, among others- she banished all the rest back to the living room of their flat (well, she supposed with a surprisingly strong pang, it wasn't really her flat anymore…) for him to go through later, when he was up to it. Breathing a small sigh of satisfaction over a job well done- the room was much improved now, in her opinion; clean and uncluttered- she looked back at Harry- and found his green eyes open and fixed on her.
"Thanks for that," he said, his voice hoarser than was normal. "The post situation was getting… out of control."
"Harry," she breathed, so filled with conflicted emotions that she couldn't for the moment think of anything else to say.
He struggled up onto his elbows. "It's good to see you, Hermione," he said- but he didn't sound as if he meant it. His voice sounded hollow; emotionless. His eyes were dull and haunted and somehow… lost.
"Harry," she said again, her heart twisting within her, "I-"
"S'alright," he cut her off. "You don't have to explain. Ron was here yesterday when I… recovered my senses, and he… he brought me up to date. It seems a lot has changed since we saw each other last." His mouth twisted in what may have been an attempt at a smile, but looked more like a grimace. Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes.
"Oh, Harry."
"Don't," he said. "I'm just glad to see you're okay. Ron said you fought in the battle after all; that you were very nearly killed. You-" he swallowed, shook his head. "Bloody hell, Hermione. I told you what that would have done to me. At least this way… I don't know, maybe I'll still see you at reunions-"
"God, no!" Hermione burst out in mounting panic. This wasn't what she had expected at all! That he would be stunned, yes; hurt, yes; angry, yes, that too. But that he would want to cut her out of his life altogether? Not see one another again until their Hogwarts ten-year reunion, only to exchange pleasantries for thirty seconds and then subside into awkward silence? That wasn't what she'd had in mind at all. It was an old breakup cliché, she knew, but still- she'd been counting on their remaining friends. Her friendship with Harry was one of the things in her life that defined her, and had since she'd been a child, for Merlin's sake. Without it, she would hardly know who she was. "You don't- Harry please, you can't mean-" she couldn't remember when she'd been this tongue-tied.
Reaching out abruptly, he caught her hand. Holding it with surprising gentleness given the situation, he drew her arm toward him and pushed up her sleeve, revealing the two small scars from the snake-bites she'd endured. "So here they are," he muttered, running the thumb of his other hand over the tiny, slightly puckered x's. "Hermione, listen- I understand about your decision to fight. I should have known better than to try to prevent you in the first place. And I'm grateful you're alive, even if that means… well, Ron said something about an irreversible binding curse between you and- Malfoy." He practically choked out the name. "You have to believe me, if I'd been right there beside you, and you'd been dying, and he'd told me that was the only way you could be saved and he knew the spell and I didn't, I'd have been shouting at him to do it, already. But what I don't understand is… is you not minding being bound to him. You having feelings for him, and having had them for a long time, and… God, Hermione, it would be difficult for me to come to terms with no matter who it was, but… Malfoy? Malfoy, Hermione? And the fact that I had no idea, no clue- I just… I thought I knew you better than that. That's what I can't come to terms with. The fact that I love you, but apparently I don't know you. I don't know you at all. And I gotta tell you, that hurts. That bloody well hurts like a bastard. I-" He broke off. Dropped her hand. Ran his own hands- both of them- through his hair. Bed hair- messier even than normal. Hermione longed to reach out and smooth it down- not a gesture of romance, but of simple friendship and affection, as she had done hundreds of times during the Hogwarts years. But she couldn't do it. A gulf had opened between her and Harry; physically they were in the same room, but the reality was that they might as well have been continents apart.
Harry shifted his gaze so that he was no longer looking directly at her but past her- out through the window she had opened. "God, this is awful," he said softly, as much to himself, it seemed, as to her. Hermione agreed heartily. This wasn't what she had had in mind. Maybe she should have expected something like this, but she hadn't- she really hadn't. Nervous as she'd been about talking to Harry, it had never crossed her mind that he might want her, for all intents and purposes, out of his life forever. Her friendship with Harry couldn't be ending. It couldn't. It was, as he had said himself, just too awful. It didn't even bear contemplating.
And yet it was happening. It was happening right now.
She swallowed back a sob, determined to be strong, not to break down. She'd had enough of sobbing lately. The sound recalled Harry's attention to her. "Listen," he said, "erm… I'm tired, actually- really tired, and- I just can't deal with this right now, okay? It's too much, it's too… I don't know. Raw?" He sighed. "And besides, I don't really think there's much left to be said, so… I'll see you later, Hermione. All right?"
And just like that she was dismissed.
00000
Back outside the room, she leaned against the wall beside Harry's door and put her head in her hands. She had no idea what to do now- either in the short-term, as Draco was still with his mother and would be for some time, and though there was nothing she wanted more than to return to the cottage and crawl into bed, there was the binding spell to think about- or long-term; what would she do for the rest of her life without Harry as her best friend? Possibly without Ron as well? Ron hadn't actually said, the way Harry had in so many words, that he wouldn't want to see her anymore- but neither had he made any secret that he'd been pretty damn cheesed off at her. So for the foreseeable future, anyway, she was without either of the friends that she had relied upon since she'd been eleven years old- an anxious first-year student far from home, overwhelmed by the new world she'd just been incorporated into, trying to hide her insecurity behind bossiness and books.
Closing her eyes, she had a brief, yet powerful vision of two young boys facing down a mountain troll in a girls' bathroom. Saving her life before they even liked her. Harry shoving his wand right up the thing's nose. Superb wand-work there, Potter. The thought of it made her want to smile and cry all at once.
"Hermione Granger, isn't it?" said an oily voice at her elbow. Hermione snapped her head up with a little, hitching gasp, her eyes seeking to voice and finding- Rita Skeeter. "Yes," the obnoxious woman said, her eyes glittering with a mixture of triumph and dislike behind their equally obnoxious glasses, "I'd recognize that hair anywhere."
"You're not supposed to be here," Hermione said, remembering what Vicky-the-receptionist had told her.
"Neither are you," Skeeter shot back.
"I beg your pardon! I have a bit more right than you-"
Rita gave a small, unpleasant laugh. "No, dear. What I meant was, you are not supposed to be out here, in the corridor, crying."
Hermione pressed her palms to her cheeks at this and found that indeed, they were wet with tears. She hadn't even realized that her eyes had been steadily leaking all this time. She'd fought back the sobs earlier, but these slow, sly tears would not, apparently, be so easily controlled. She wiped at them savagely with the backs of her hands.
Rita, watching her, suddenly shot out her own hand and grabbed Hermione's left wrist, holding it forcibly still as she leaned in for a closer look. "And what's this," the shrewd reporter murmured, squinting at the opal ring on Hermione's fourth finger- "this doesn't look like the engagement ring young Mister Potter bought you… and I should know, I tracked down the store he bought it from and hounded the jeweler until he showed me every sketch and photograph of every stage of the creation of that ring." She raised narrowed eyes to Hermione's face. "This is most certainly not it. So- would you care to make a statement as to why you are out here in the hallway crying instead of in there with your… fiancé? Hm? And why it is you're not wearing Harry Potter's ten thousand galleon custom engagement ring? The wizarding public has a right to know, Miss Granger."
Hermione, who had Harry's ring tucked down into the bottom of her pocket- (she'd intended to return it to him but had ended up forgetting all about it in her shock at just how quickly and horribly wrong their conversation had gone)- wrenched her hand away, temper flaring. Oddly enough, it was something of a relief to have Rita's meddling to focus on; to have someone on whom to vent her feelings. She didn't feel quite as lost anymore. "I owe the wizarding public nothing, and you even less. Harry values his privacy, and so do I. Now leave us alone. I'm going straight to the front desk and report your presence here, so you'd best be gone before security arrives!"
She stalked off in the direction of the stairwell, but instead of making herself scarce, Rita, the infuriating cow, stayed just a step or two behind her, now dictating rapidly, apparently to a Quick Quotes Quill. Or perhaps she wasn't dictating at all; just thinking aloud in order to taunt Hermione.
Hermione didn't turn around to find out.
"The wedding is off!" Rita proclaimed gaily. "Hermione granger, bushy-haired mud- oh, excuse me, Muggle-born overachiever, unceremoniously dumped by Harry Potter in the aftermath of the Great Battle. The wizarding world is heartbroken to learn that all nuptial festivities have been called off. How did such a tragedy occur? Mister Potter offers no comment at the present time, but the newly rejected Miss Granger, when this reporter discovered her sans engagement ring, crying inconsolably in the corridor outside her former fiancé's hospital room, which had been locked against her, stated that-"
"It was locked against you, you horrid liar!" Hermione cried, whirling at last, fists clenched, to face her tormentor. "Here's a headline for you, you ugly old cow-"
"Ladies, ladies," came a smooth, drawling, mildly amused voice, "settle down. A hospital is no place for such language."
Draco was there.
Hermione spun back around to face him in amazement. He must have come around a bend in the hall just as she had turned to face Rita, for she'd had no idea of his presence until he had spoken. What was he doing here! Only about half an hour had passed since they'd parted ways in the lobby. There was no way he could have finished eating dinner with his mother so quickly.
Her face still flushed with the anger Rita had incited in her, and the aftermath of her tears, her eyes sought his questioningly- but before she could even begin to phrase her questions with her lips, he shot her a quick yet crystal clear look- the same look he'd given her in the corridor at Hogwarts when Pansy had come upon them together after their stolen afternoon in Hogsmeade- play along, that look said.
Recalling that Rita as yet had no idea that it had been she, Hermione, who had broken off the engagement, and that moreover she had done it in order to be with another man- and not just any other man but the one Harry probably disliked most in all the world, and who would shortly be on trial for war crimes- she quickly reached the conclusion that just for the moment, it was probably wise to keep their relationship under wraps. Yes, Harry knew now- and Ron knew, and Snape knew and Dumbledore knew; that much was certain and by now there might be others as well- but damned if she was going to hand Skeeter this kind of ammunition against her… not to mention a sensational front-page headline. It would come out publicly soon enough, but not just yet. Not here and now. Not in such a way as would benefit this bottom-feeding bitch.
So, conscious of Rita's scrutiny, she schooled her face into the expression of cool disdain she had so often directed toward Draco during their school days. "Malfoy," she said, "what an unexpected… pleasure."
"Miss Granger," Draco returned, with a slight incline of his head and an unmistakable sneer, "you're looking… lovely, as always. Been to visit Potter, I presume? And how is the boy wonder faring? From the look of things not too well, I'd say. You seem rather… out of sorts." Pulling out his wand, he conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her with a small, rather mocking flourish.
"Do accept this with my compliments and make yourself presentable, Miss Granger. You needn't bother about returning it. I believe there is a Witches' Room just down the hall. And as for you, Ms. Skeeter, lovely to see you again, would you mind terribly if I were to accompany you downstairs? I believe there are a few points about my upcoming trial that you and I should…. discuss." And taking Rita by the elbow, he steered her away.
The reporter went willingly enough, as Draco's trial was going to be big news. Whilst she dug frantically through her oversized, garish handbag for a fresh quill, Draco threw a look to Hermione over his shoulder and mouthed the words stay there. Then they were gone.
00000
Hermione was leaning heavily against the wall, arms wrapped about herself as if to ward off a chill, when Draco returned. He was moving fast, and she barely had time to register his presence before he'd engulfed her in his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. She melted into him instantly- it was the most natural thing in the world to do- her forehead resting on his shoulder, her face nuzzled into his chest. He kept one arm wrapped tightly about her waist, brought the other hand up to stroke her hair soothingly.
"Was it that awful?" he quietly asked the top of her head.
She nodded against him, felt her breath begin to hitch. Draco's arms tightened protectively about her. She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against him and freeing herself to speak. She was hiccupping now in an attempt to keep the tears away, so deep was her upset. "It was…(hic)…horrible," she managed. "I don't…(hic)…think he…(hic)…wants to…(hic)…see me ev-ever again! And I deser-(hic)-herved everything he said, and I just… I can't…" it was too much. She dissolved entirely into tears, her hands fisting in the soft material of Draco's shirt. "Harry and Ron are my best friends," she sobbed brokenheartedly. "I don't even nuh-know who I am withou-hout them!"
Draco soothed her as best he could, while visions of eviscerating Ron and Harry danced in his head. "They'll come around," he said, "I know they will. They love you, Hermione. And the thing is… you inspire a forever kind of love. I mean… look at what you've done to me, woman!" Catching her under the chin, he tilted her head back and kissed her gently on the mouth; on each of her eyes, puffy and red as they were, and finally on the tip of her nose. Then he pressed the back of his hand to each of her cheeks, her forehead. "I don't like how flushed you are," he said, frowning. "Warm, too."
Hermione managed to smile up at him through her tears. "I'm crying, Draco. Of course I'm flushed. Everything isn't a life-and-death illness, mister medic!"
Draco couldn't help but grin at this. Reaching down, he tugged free the silken handkerchief he'd given her earlier, which was still crumpled in her fist, and gently wiped her face with it. "I'm sorry about this," he said, indicating the handkerchief with a tilt of his head just before he vanished it. "I mean the way I spoke to you. We couldn't let on in front of her, you understand that, right? Not if we want to hold on to just a day or two more of peace."
"That's all we have, isn't it?" Hermione asked sadly. "Just a day or two more? Just until the trial starts? It'll all come out then. Oh God, Draco, what are we going to do?"
"Don't," he said sternly, "don't dwell on it now. Come on, we'd better get out of the corridor. I left Skeeter at the front desk and that receptionist was watching her like a hawk, but if she managed to sneak up here once there's always the possibility she could do it again. This isn't a great place for public displays of affection."
Slinging an arm about her shoulder, he began to steer her down the hall.
"What did you tell that cow?" Hermione asked sniffily. And then, "wait- what were you doing at this end of the hospital, anyway? We're not even on the same floor as the ward for permanent- erm- I mean, as your mother's rooms."
"I didn't tell her anything important," Draco said. "And I just sort of… knew you were in trouble, and followed the signal. It was just like how I knew when you'd first woken up. Something about our connection now, I suppose. Kinda cool, actually. Although I'd be curious to know whether it works with any emotions other than distress and anger-"
"Where are we going?" Abruptly, Hermione stopped walking, digging her heels in a little in order to bring Draco to a stop as well and turning suspicious eyes up to him. "This isn't the way out of the hospital."
"No," Draco replied, "I said we'd better get out of the corridor, not out of the hospital. I've someplace else in mind. See, I sort of left my mother in the middle of dinner."
"Oh Merlin, that's right," Hermione breathed. "Draco I'm sorry, of course I wouldn't have wanted you to cut that short. Look, I'll just wait down in the lobby for-"
"Absolutely not! With Skeeter prowling around down there? It's out of the question. You're coming in with me."
"Wait, what? I can handle myself with Rita Skeeter, thank you very much, Draco. Remind me to tell you about this time in fourth year, after you'd been such a complete bastard, by the way, feeding her information about Harry, and- anyway, that's all off the point, the point is, I can't come into your mother's room with you, are you out of your mind? She'll hate me! I can't- you can't- what are you thinking, Draco? No!"
"Hey," he said, turning to face her completely, gripping her by both of her shoulders, "hey. First off, I don't think you understand just how out of it she is. She-" he broke off, grimacing, obviously struggling with his emotions for a moment. "She's lonely and confused, Hermione, she doesn't understand why I'm the only one who comes to visit her anymore, she doesn't understand where my father is, or- look, I'll level with you, when she was herself she would have hated you, I'm not going to deny that, but that's not the person she is anymore, so just- I know you have this huge heart and I'm asking you to look past that fact, please. And second off- well, there is no second off, actually, but will you just give it a try, Hermione? If it doesn't work out we'll leave. Both of us."
"Draco, this could be a disaster. You love us both, I know, but that doesn't guarantee we'll get along with each other. If this goes off badly, it could end up tearing you apart."
"I know," Draco said quietly, "but I don't think it will. She's desperate for company, Hermione, you have no idea. Just give it five minutes? Please?"
Hermione sighed. This went against all her better judgment, but… but she couldn't say no to Draco when he went out on a limb like this, opened himself up to her, made himself vulnerable. It was something he was just learning to do, and it was clearly still difficult and painful for him, and… and she just couldn't refuse him when he used the word 'please', awkwardly, as if it were a word in a different language- a language in which he was almost, but not quite yet, fluent.
"All right," she said, "five minutes, we'll see how it goes."
She was too wrapped up in her own nerves to even take note of the rest of their walk to Narcissa's room. It seemed that in the next instant they were simply there- standing outside a door that was in most respects an ordinary hospital door; of normal height and width, painted the same sterile white as all the other doors in the corridor- but this particular door was made rather conspicuous by the extremely fancy, raised golden letters, set into it at just about eye level, that read NARCISSA MALFOY in an elegant, flowing script.
Hermione glanced up at Draco- tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it- and took a deep breath as Draco pushed an ornate little key into the lock. The door swung open and, with Draco's arm still snug about her shoulders, the two of them stepped inside.
00000
(A/N: well, I know this chapter was supposed to go on to include the trial as well, but the hospital scene just got away from me- I'd had no idea it would end up going that long; long enough to make a respectable chapter in and of itself. I'd thought I could deal with Hermione and Harry's confrontation in a paragraph or two and then move right along, but in the end it demanded much more attention than that, and after all, that's only fair. Poor Harry is such a good guy, but man is he hurting right now. Will he come out of it if Hermione needs his help? Dun dun dun… Anyway, the good news is that the trial scene is mostly written already and so my next update should come sooner than this one did.)