Disclaimer: Same old!
A/N: As you may have noticed...my updates have been...irregular/late. For this, I apologize. But things are really tight with me for some times and I just couldn't find time to update, so please continue to be patient with me. I love you all...and so you know, I didn't make update slow just to torture you! Thank you to people who reviewed in the last chapters! You're the best!
Turns
She opened her eyes to the sun. Its brightness foretold a prosperous and happy year, but the rays that bathed her only left her cold and heavy.
A new year had begun.
Another year of battles and war.
Another year of losing the scarce things she'd held precious through the years.
The Hospital Wing was dead. No movement and hardly any sound indicated a resemblance of the lively hall that she had inhibited not so long ago. Harry was sound asleep next to Ginny's bed. Ron and George, the two Weasleys that had been allowed to stay behind, snored softly and provided the only sounds in the room. The other Weasleys had probably made their way back to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Remus, who she hadn't seen last night, was wrapped in bandages and was lying, still, on the hospital bed, pale under the January sun.
She saw a note by her bed. It was scribbled in shaky handwriting and adorned with dots of tear-smeared ink. She picked the note up with stiff fingers. She had her ideas of who the writer was and what she'd find in the message. Hermione gripped the paper tightly as it confirmed to her suspicions. Lavender had written it. Padma had departed.
Another gone.
It was a lovely start.
She tried to let out her remorse but soon found herself too weak and tired to cry. She would have to make a visit to Lavender soon. Mourning was better with company…sometimes.
Hermione picked up the pile of clothing she had found at the end of her bed. Molly must have left it there the night before, before she'd retired. She entered the bathroom in Hospital Wing and barred the doors behind her. She prepared a bath. Turning on the shower to let the water heat up, she slowly removed her grubby clothes. She reeked of sweat and dirt and the coppery odor of blood.
Gingerly, she stepped into the cascade of water and yelped as the water hit cuts –shallow and deep– on her body. Although most of the cuts had been healed at St. Mungo's the last night, she'd insisted to have the minor cuts to heal on their own to decrease the healers' workload. She scrubbed herself mechanically and vigorously to rid herself of the remnants of New Year's Eve.
When she finally deemed herself cleansed, she stepped out and into the bath that she'd prepared. Sinking into the light foam, it's smell refreshing and comforting. In the warm envelope of water and fragrance, her thoughts swam of its own accord.
In this sanctuary, she could lock the world out, barring all the material troubles that clung to her with the thick door, and deal with the troubles of her scarred heart.
Just for this moment.
A long, weary sigh escaped her.
Tears dripped onto the bubbles.
What was she to do?
Draco.
Her darkest secret.
Never exposed, yet already condemned.
She had condemned him. Destroyed him.
And at that moment with Remus tight in her arms, she had done it with little regret.
Had love been so brittle between them?
"I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry." She whispered softly, her voice echoing in the empty bathroom.
Would he ever forgive her?
xxXxx
Hermione exited the bathroom and was ushered towards the Great Hall for breakfast or, she glanced at the clock, brunch. It was a quiet affair. No one was in the Great Hall. The students were enjoying a leisure-filled day, with snow and all those wonderful things one would find in the school. Things that the world beyond these walls, had lost. A sense of detachment, naivety and innocence.
The teachers were scattered around the school. Professor Dumbledore would probably be in his spacious study. Professor McGonagall would probably be chatting with her colleagues in the Teacher's lounge, while Severus would continue brewing in his lab. And Remus, the DADA teacher for the last couple of years who had cleared the supposed jinx on that position, was in the Hospital Wing, still recovering.
She ate what she could. It wasn't much though. After the events last night, she didn't have, couldn't have much of an appetite. Not with friends in critical condition and at least one comrade, she knew for sure, dead. Hermione played around with the food for a bit before finally deciding that she could not swallow another bite.
She left the Great Hall and made her way back to the Hospital Wing. She had promised to visit Remus first. Harry had left Ginny's bedside after many threats from Madame Pomfrey, to feed his famished body. George and Ron had returned to the Grimmauld Place.
In the still quiet Hospital Wing, Hermione sat in front of his bed.
Eyes tightly shut. Hair wild, and unkempt on the pillow.
He looked pale…and peaceful. Dreadfully peaceful.
Breathing was the only motion that indicated he was still alive.
Hermione softly brushed the tawny hair from his closed eyes. Madame Pomfrey had assured her that he was okay and he would recover. In time. In a long, long time.
The man was no longer young. The werewolf had kept him alive in this escapade but over the years, it had shortened his life and stamina. Remus's recovery would be a toiling task. Even an amateur could see that. And there was a chance that he wouldn't be as strong as he was after it. An expert would've known.
"What will happen to you, Remus?" Hermione asked. She didn't expect an answer. And she received none. "What will we do?"
She sat there in the stillness of the afternoon. Her thoughts walking an undetermined route. Just taking a deserved rest next to her friend.
"Ah, Miss Granger, just the woman I was looking for." The calm, mellow voice interrupted her wandering mind.
"Professor!" Hermione turned in her seat and attempted to stand.
The elderly man waved his hand for Hermione to sit down while summoning a chair next to her. He sat himself down. His eyes trailed over the lying man. As if examining his injuries.
"It will be a long recovery." He commented softly, almost as if it were a thought that he had not realized he had spoken out loud.
"Yes, Professor. It will be a long one." Hermione said respectfully, looking at the wizard whom she had admired since her induction to the wizarding world.
"But he will recover." Dumbledore said decisively, turning his attention to Hermione.
Hermione inclined her head in agreement.
"Professor, how many this time?" she voiced the question that had been in her mind since Dumbledore had entered.
"Fifteen. One of them being Professor Sprout." Dumbledore said factually as he turned away, eyes suddenly glassy.
It had been painful to announce the death of another colleague –yet another one. But the elderly man still managed with a leveled detachment. A piece of evidence…a scar of War.
"But," the Professor turned back, a soft light glowing in his eyes. "Death is only the flight of stairs before the stages of rebirth."
Hermione nodded again and waited for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to begin the subject with which he wished to discuss with her. She shifted under the penetrating gaze of the man she had always imagined to be bigger than life. There was a long silence, but she remained patient.
"Hermione, I was wondering whether you'd be willing to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts class." Professor Dumbledore said finally.
"Professor, but that is Remus's job!" Hermione said, astonished. She had not been expecting this! What of Harry…and Ron? She would be put behind the lines if she were to teach in Hogwarts. She would be leaving them in the dark of danger, standing alone, without her. She wasn't even fit for teaching. She lacked many of the qualities needed, compassion being one of them. She had killed without thinking. How could Dumbledore expose the students to such a person?
"Yes," Professor Dumbledore said, "Unfortunately, as you can see, Remus will be bedridden for a long period of time. And we cannot slow our progress in the students' training. Not at this crucial moment."
Hermione nodded understandingly. "Why not Harry though? You'll be able to keep an eye on him…"
"Miss Granger, I will not put my students in danger!" Professor Dumbledore interrupted.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but Harry would be able to teach them more about the Dark Arts than any other person I know," Hermione reasoned.
"Hogwarts may be secured, but I will not put it under the limelight." Professor Dumbledore said firmly. Though he appeared to be calm, Hermione could see the determination and a fierce gleam in his eyes. The Headmaster of Hogwarts must, and would stand before his charges and protect them. Not even the Order would move him.
"I understand, Professor. I accept." An understanding had been established, though doubt still circled her brain.
"Hermione, I've no doubt in your capabilities and you shouldn't either. I have seen your courage and loyalty. They have never failed to amaze those around you. Many, even in death, admire you for the things you've done."
A flash of blond appeared in her mind but she pushed the image firmly away. She was tempted to ask 'Really?' but the word stayed, caught, in her throat. Instead, she smiled and almost as if on an automatic tape recorder, other words came out. "Thank you, Professor."
Dumbledore nodded and stood up.
"I'll send you your schedule as soon as possible," he said and headed out of the Wing, returning Hermione to her solitude.
Unconsciously, a face in a lost year appeared. A smiling face. A golden halo. A soul, still pure, caught in the clutches of despair and darkness. The face changed. It became slightly older. Golden halo darker and eyes a little wider. She could almost see the green, apocalyptic light in his orbs.
'Did you admire me then, Draco?'
A/N: So what do you think? I would say this is the end to the first half of the story. Since Professor Sprout is dead...anyone willing to make a guess to who will replace her? Again, I will have to apologize for the next late update...