Chapter 8: Three Years Wasted
Rain poured down over the cities of London. Sheets and sheets of pounding rain thundered across the streets. Light posts in the muggle communities crashed to the ground as cars swerved, trying desperately to see through their windshields. As for the wizarding world, apparition was not a desirable practice in such conditions. Most witches and wizards had locked their doors and to the less than desireable weather and continued on with their normal day life as usual.
As for the children, most wizarding children grew up loving the rain. They'd stand nearby the windows and watch as the heavy raindrops splattered across the ground. Therefore, it was no surprise that it was a child who first noticed Harry appear on a street corner of London, bleeding all over the sidewalk with an unfamiliar man at his side.
Her name was Poppy, and she noticed him immediately. A young girl of three, she had huge brown eyes and bouncy blonde locks, which ran down her neck in wavy sheets. As she watched him appear, her forehead crinkled in confusion. Looking closer showed her a clear gaze of his battered state. Blood seemed to seep from the very skin he wore. And by his side floated a pale blond man, just as battered as the famous Harry Potter.
"Mummy," the girl called. She turned around, her hand pressed to the window pain as her eyes found those of her mother, twirling about the kitchen singing along to her favorite song while sweeping her wand at the dishes.
She stopped, turned her head to face her daughter and asked, "What is it darling?"
Poppy turned away again. Her eyes sought the body just outside the window as if for confirmation. Sure enough, there he lay; panting and crawling on his hands and knees. "Who is that?"
Her mother stared at her confused. Drying her hands on the apron she wore tied around her waist, she walked to the window pane and looked out; it took her mere seconds to gasp in surprise and cover her face with her hands.
"Um, Poppy," she dictated, grasping her daughter's hand and leading her away from the window. "Why don't you go up to your room? You and your brother can play unicorns… or something."
"But mummy, I want to go see the Hawy," Poppy wined.
"The what, dear?" her mother asked, confused. Her mind was reeling. How her daughter had recognized that man in his current state was a mystery to her; he looked dreadful.
"The Hawy, mummy. The Hawy Pawter. He's outside the window." Her mother ignored her and continued ushering her to her room. "Is he sick, mummy?"
"Um, yes, dear. Yes, he needs some help from your mummy, so why don't you go upstairs and we can see what we can do for him."
"Mum." Another voice carried down the staircase. Looking up, the woman saw her oldest son, no more then six, gazing down at her, startled. "Mum, what's going on?"
"Hawy Pawter is ouside, Jackie! He's just ouside! Can we see him, mummy? Oh please?" Poppy pleaded.
"No," the woman retorted. "No you cannot. Jacob, I want you to flue your father. Tell him to come quickly, that I need his help."
"Is Harry Potter really outside our door, mum?" the boy called Jacob asked.
"I don't know, now do as I say." With a final shove, she left her children halfway up the staircase and hurried quickly to the door. "Accio," she commanded, carrying her jacket across the room with the commanded word, not stopping to watch as it flew onto her back.
The wind screamed at her as she opened the door. Closing it sharply, she gazed quickly at the window where her children's noses sat pressed flat to the windowsill, the tips white as snow through the foggy window. Ignoring them, she turned around and hurried as fast as she could to the man's side.
He was even worse in person. His hands and knees were rooted the ground, his head bowed low, coughing and spluttering with every breath. Another man, unrecognizable, lay sprawled on the ground, every once and a while floating into the air, and then floating back down.
"Oh, sweet Merlin," she choked, tears welling up in her eyes. Blood had dried to the famous Harry Potter's cheeks and lay caked in his hair. One hand had reached up to clench his chest, the other rooted to the ground, a pained expression plastered to his face.
Reaching his side at last, she bent low, the rain clouding her vision, and asked, remarkably, the first thing which came to mind; "Sir, um… are you… are you quite alright?"
And he blacked out.
The first thing Harry noticed upon awakening was the odd position in which he had been placed. His face had been smashed against a pillow and his stomach lay flat on the bed.
This was not how Harry normally slept.
Normally, Harry enjoyed resting on his back, his hand on his stomach, and the back of his head lying on the pillow beneath him. Therefore, lying upside down was slightly unsettling to say the least.
Nevertheless, as sleep crawled away from him and awareness overtook his senses once again, he allowed his eyes to survey the room to the best of their ability given their position. But, just as he opened his eyes, he heard a relieved sigh echo around the white room he had found himself and tried to look for the face accompanying the noise, but found this action impossible at the moment.
"Harry," came the familiar voice of none other than Ronald Weasley. "You're awake, thank Merlin. I thought I was going to have to find a healer and force them into giving you an awakening potion. You've been out cold, mate."
Harry relaxed against the pillow. Knowing he was in the presence of his best friend comforted him immensely. He did not want crowds of people awaiting him at the foot of his hospital bed. "Ron," he croaked. "Where's…" he faltered, his voice felt dry and raspy and it hurt to speak. "Hermione… need… see her."
He heard Ron's footsteps cover the remaining distance between where he sat and Harry's bed and felt Ron's hand grasp the edge of the bed as he knelt down beside him. "She's still in her own room, mate. She's getting better though," he added upon seeing the stricken look upon Harry's face. "The healer's say she'll be out in no time, they just want to make sure she doesn't have a relapse anytime soon. She's being given a potion three times a day just for precautions."
Harry blinked. The room looked so bright even from his forced position. "Am I alone?" he asked after a moment.
"Well," Ron faltered, seemingly unsure of how much to tell Harry given his current state. "Well I'm the only one visiting you if that's what you mean. But… no Harry there's someone else in the room."
Harry squinted at him and asked, unnecessarily, "Malfoy?" Ron nodded. Harry felt a rage of anger wash over him. He wasn't sure why exactly but he no longer wanted Malfoy here. What had he been thinking bringing him here in the first place? He had risked his life for the bastard and for what? Hermione to choose Malfoy over him? No way was he going to let that happen.
"Harry, where did you find him?" Ron asked. It seemed Ron just couldn't help himself any longer. The question he had wanted to ask upon first seeing the blond haired prat stumbled from his lips before he could stop it. "He's dead, I mean, there was a funeral… and everything. And Hermione…"
Harry groaned. Forgetting that he was probably in the position he laid for a very good reason, he pushed against the force just strong enough to nudge him away from the favored position while in sleep and rolled over onto his back. A stab of agony surged through his back as he pressed his skin against the bed, his eyes popping in pain. Immediately he felt Ron's hand grasp him and pull him back into the cramped position in which he had awoken.
"Easy there, mate. Sorry 'bout that, wasn't thinking," Ron offered apologetically.
"Get him out of here," Harry growled.
"Sorry?" Ron asked, taken aback.
"Hermione…. I need… Hermione… in here. Not going… see," Harry swallowed, trying to speak but finding it extremely difficult. "Don't want… Malfoy… Hermione…" but he could say no more.
"Okay, I get it mate, you don't want her to see him right now. I'll just get a healer in here and ask, well order actually, that he get his own room." Ron smiled. "There are advantages to being the best friend of one of the most famous wizards in the world." Ron backed away and Harry listened as the door opened and Ron called, "Oi! I need a Healer in here!"
Not two seconds later, he heard the patter of footsteps patter into the room followed by the sound of voices screaming with delight as Ron yelled, "GO away! NO! He doesn't need this!" and the door slamming shut.
"Right, I need this bloke to be moved to another room pronto. And Harry's awake and should probably be given some pain reduction or something. He's not keen on sleeping in that position and would like to sit up in bed. And he can't talk, so a potion for that would be nice too." The woman stood there, perplexed, as she looked from the man in the far corner of the room to Harry and back to Ron. "Well get a move on, then!" Ron snapped and the lady immediately muttered, "Levicorpus," and bustled out of the room with Draco Malfoy close on her heals.
Ron grinned and knelt beside Harry once more. "See? What did I tell you? There're advantages to being friends with you aren't there?" Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, but quickly sought out Ron's blue one's and tried to ask, for he could not speak, How is Malfoy, really? I mean, I don't want to see him, but he looked like hell when I found him.
Ron seemed to have read Harry's mind and answered, "Malfoy looks awful. He's been beaten up pretty badly and doesn't appear to be alive. Harry, why did you bring him here? He's dead, Hermione doesn't need to see that."
Harry shook his head and sighed. What wouldn't he give to have a simple life? "I'll, uh, go get Hermione, shall I?" Harry nodded vigorously, his head pounding from the sudden motion.
As Ron stood up to leave, the Healer returened once again and forced an assortment of potions down Harry's throat. Well fine, Harry thought. He's here, but he's not in this room. Maybe I don't have to tell her he's here. Maybe I can leave him here and pass him as dead once again.
But one look from Hermione as she opened the door blew this thought from his head completely.
"Hermione," a voice whispered hesitantly. She recognized it immediately as Ron's melodic tune, floating hesitantly toward her.
"Ron," she sighed, turning around in her chair. A fire had been stocked in the grate and a bland leather chair had been placed for her sake in front of the flames. She had commenced gazing into the dancing embers for an hour, just watching as the sparks flew up and licked the stone encompassing it.
He walked forward. She listened as his footsteps slowly walked toward her, his light breathing drawing closer. "How are you," he asked, squatting in front of her and taking her hands in his. "Your hands are freezing."
She tried to smile. "They're warmer then they were," she commented.
He gazed up into her eyes, sadly. "Harry's back," he answered in response to the unanswered question lingering in the air. Although he had been back for some hours now, her room had been barred with silencing spells in order to keep any knowledge of his existence in the building from her. "He's laying on a bed just on the other side of this wall. He awoke about five minutes ago."
Hermione started. Harry was back, he had come back after telling her he was going to bring Draco to her. And, even though reasonable thought told her Draco was dead, she still allowed that little voice in her head to hope for the best. "Is… is he okay?" she asked, trying to restrain herself from asking about Draco.
Ron turned his head sideways slightly to look at her. "He's pretty beat up. No one's exactly sure what happened. He, uh, brought someone with him." He looked away from her and stood up before continuing. "Malfoy."
Hermione looked at him, astonished. Three years of distress threatened to overtake her. Three years of waiting for him to return. Three years of wishing he had never left. Three years of denial, of conviction that he would simply walk through the door any minute as if nothing had ever happened. Three years of pain; of a need to die just as he had. Three years married to Harry Potter, when one of the last things she had spoken to Draco about was marriage. Three years of living a lie. Three years of doing nothing to find him. Three years wallowing in misery.
Three years of death.
She could take it no longer. She stood up, not wanting to wait a moment longer and ran to Ron, hugging him. She didn't have a clue why she was doing so, but she was. Tears stung at her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall before knowing everything. "Is he… is he alive?" she asked, whispering into his shoulder.
Ron backed away. "I… I don't know, Hermione."
She stopped, looking at him confused. "What do you mean, you don't know?" she asked uncertainly. "How can you not know something like that?"
"I just can't understand why Harry would have brought him here if he was dead, but…" he faltered. He did not want to tell her this. Harry should be the one to explain, but the look on her face…
Hermione turned and started for the door. "HERMIONE!" Ron called, surprised even though he had known she would do this the moment he had mentioned Harry's name. "Hermione, wait…."
"I'm done waiting," Hermione responded coldly, swiveling around to look at him. "I waited for three years for this moment, I am not waiting any longer. Any information you have, tell me now. I don't care, anymore. Just tell me, I want to know."
"He's not breathing," Ron whispered. He watched as a veil fell back behind Hermione's eyes. She seemed to be falling right back into seclusion from the world. But he had to say it. He knew she was right and she needed to know. Fuck it all she needed to know. "He's not moving, not breathing, his neck is broken, he's got blood dripping from his nose, his mouth…" he looked at Hermione, horrified at just reliving the current state of his nemesis. "His legs… they're both broken. They've got these… lines, black lines running from his pelvis to his toes and all the while, his skin has turned a sickening blue."
Hermione stood there for a moment longer, then turned and continued for the door. "He's not in there," Ron answered. "Harry's alone." Hermione ignored him and opened the door. "You don't have to do this." Ron called. This time, Hermione bowed her head, the need to release her tears almost painful. "You can bypass it all. You don't have to see him. You don't have to go through this again."
Hermione turned her head to look at him. "Yes," she whispered. "I do." And she left.
00000
Hermione's hand grasped the door and tugged, hard… nothing happened.
"I'm sorry, miss, but this room is off limits," came a voice to her left. Looking up, she noticed a man standing guard by the room.
"Oh, um," she began, looking up at him.
"Hermione!" came Ron's
voice from down the hall. "Hermione, you… oh." He stopped,
looking from her to the guard. "Um, yeah she's, well you know.
She has special permission."
The guard looked at him strangely.
"Along with me," Ron continued. "So if you don't mind, we'd
like to visit our friend."
Hermione looked at him, eternally grateful. The guard nodded his head, swept his wand across the doorknob and, with a pop, the door swung opened.
Harry lay on his back, draped across the bed before her. Quickly, hopefully, her eyes swept across the room as if searching for another man who could possibly be occupying the room.
There was no one.
"Harry," she whispered, walking toward him, her knees kneeling against the cold floor, her hand finding his in a reassuring embrace.
His eyes opened and locked with hers. "Hermione," he whispered.
Silence withheld within the room. Ron had chosen to stand by the door, simply watching the young couple converse… or not, as the case may be.
Finally, the one question that mattered to Hermione burst from her mouth before she could stop it. "Harry did… did you find him." Harry looked at her sorrowfully. "Harry please tell me you didn't dig him from his grave to bring him here."
Harry looked at her for a moment longer and then responded, "What's your definition of a grave?"
"Harry," she retorted, anger filling her voice. "How could you? I can't believe you would do that!" She stood up and prepared to leave the room when Harry called, "It's not like that, Hermione."
"Then what is it like?" she snapped, spinning to face him on her heel.
"I found him… alive."
Hermione stood there, bewildered. Her eyes simply stared at him, disbelievingly. How could he have found Draco? He'd died; she had been at his funeral. "When," she whispered.
Harry dropped his gaze. "A week ago."
Hermione couldn't believe this. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, hurt.
"BECAUSE YOU WERE LAYING IN A BLOODY HOSPITAL BED!" Harry shouted. "I couldn't do that to you! Not when he was the reason you were there. I found him there, dying. I left him to die because I couldn't stand the reality of what would happen if I brought him back here." He looked at her, his heart throbbing on his sleeve painfully. "You would have chosen him. I would have simply been cast aside and you would have chosen him. I couldn't stand that thought… so I left him there."
He waited for a reaction, but after a moment of receiving none from both a hurt and confused Hermione and a bewildered Ron, he plunged on. "I came back here, furious with myself for what I had done. Ron told me you had been moved to St. Mungo's in my absence, and I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that despite everything I'd done for you, you had still managed to hold him right next to your heart. He was so close to you, it was killing your very soul. I could see it, could feel it."
His tone changed to that of a man who had married someone and watched as they grieved for another. The man he had become over the years. His voice was monotonous as he spoke the next words. "I watched you as you cried yourself to sleep, every single night. I watched as you died, died right by my side and I could do nothing to save you. I tried so hard to move him away, to distance your love so far that you couldn't possibly continue to grieve over that lost love. But you did; the love never left you, it destroyed you. And now, you're here, sitting in a hospital room because of that love. And you still won't let it go.
"These thoughts encompassed my brain as I paced outside your door, trying to figure out a way out of what I knew I had to do. His last words echoed in my head; the words he had yelled at me just before I had left him to die. He had performed the Unbreakable vow, you see. The very vow that had almost destroyed him once before; and it was about to destroy him again:
"'I have a week,' he told me. He told me of the Unbreakable vow he had made. And then he said, 'I bet him I could escape in a month. I have less then a week left. If I don't get out in that time, I'm going to fall into a fairytale sleep. Fill in the blanks.'
"You called out for him moments later. As these words echoed in my head, I heard you call out his name. I ran. I ran straight through the door and right to your side, hoping against hope you hadn't said what I knew you had. And then you said it again. Tossing and turning, you muttered, 'Draco, no.' I knew you must be dreaming again, so I called for a nurse and left you. I left you to save him, for I knew that was the only option left. I could do nothing less. He remained the only one who could save you, after all this time."
Harry fell silent and watched as the information sunk into his friend and wife's brain.
"I'm… I'm so sorry, Harry," she murmured. "I…" she had nothing more to say. "Were you injured saving him, then?"
"Lucius, it turns out, had been torturing his own son. He found me just as I had prepared to walk away with him," Harry answered. "He's not dead, not even close."
Hermione shook her head, devastated. "So, so the sleep… the sleep you mentioned earlier; the… the fairy tale sleep. Is it referring to Sleeping Beauty?"
"I assume so," Harry responded.
"So he'll live again if we can find his true love and convince her to kiss him?" she asked, beating around the inevitable answer.
"Only if you want to," Ron answered from behind her. "You don't have to kiss him, but yes; that would be what happened if you chose to."
"Me?" Hermione answered. "Why… why me?"
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Harry beat him to it. "Oh come on, Hermione. Put the pieces together. You and Draco have been soul mates for Merlin knows how long! I don't know how long you've been in love with the bastard, but its very clear to me that you are both deeply in love and you would have to be the one to save him!"
Hermione opened her mouth, aghast. She had known this, of course… she just didn't want to believe it. Saving Draco would be like automatically sealing their fate… Harry could no longer be part of the picture if she chose to save Draco. And while every molecule in her body seemed to scream at her, seemed to know unwaveringly which she should choose, the burden still hung like a heavy cloak around her shoulders, weighing her down as she stood there, trembling in confusion.
"I… I can't… I just, I have to go," she muttered, backing out of the room. Ron had barely a moment to comprehend and turn to face her before she had fled through the door and pounded down the corridor.
Locking Harry's gaze for confirmation, Ron took off after her. She continued to run, her feet hammering down the spiraling staircases, one right after the other, until she reached the lobby. Stopping to watch her, he completely expected her to go straight for the head witch and demand to know Draco's room number. What he did not expect was for her to continue for the exit, pull open the door, and disaperate from the building's premises.
Something was rotten in Denmark.
A/N: At last! Okay we're finally getting somewhere with our favorite characters! They are, or were, all on the same floor and conversing! That is definitely an improvement, no? backs away from angry readers Okay fine… I'll uh, just get to posting the next chapter, shall I? Um… review? I'll post faster... okay, I know I have no room to bargain... but, uh...
runs away as fast as she can
PhoenixTearsCG
