Disclaimer: I own the plot. J.K. Rowling created the characters.
A/N: This chapter was going to be earlier, but I held off. I'm glad I did. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Hermione's mobile phone beeps loudly and obnoxiously. She opens her eyes, groaning. What could her mother want at three in the bloody morning? The only reason she bought the mobile was because her mother insisted that she just couldn't get used to the idea of an owl flying in and out of her house whenever she wanted to contact her daughter. So far, Mrs Granger is the only person who calls Hermione.
She sits up carefully, reaching for the phone. "Mum? Hello? What is it?" she asks tiredly. "Why are you calling so early?"
There is a crackling noise from the other end.
"Mum? Are you there?"
"Hermione—heart attack—hospital -"
Hermione's blood goes cold. Harry stumbles into the room. "Everything Ok?" he mouths. Hermione can't speak. She can't move.
"Hermione, can you hear me?" her mother's voice says shakily. "Your father had a heart attack. The ambulance just came to take him to St Thomas's."
Hermione finds her voice again. "All right, mum," she says numbly. "I'll be there soon, Ok? Bye." She clicks off and stares at the phone disbelievingly. No. This can't be happening. Heart attacks happen all the time to millions of people all over the world, yes, but not her father, anyone but him—
"Hermione?"
Harry's voice brings her back down to earth. She stands up slowly, sits back down, and stands up again, clutching the bedpost. "Harry, I -" Tears well up in her eyes. Anyone but my father …
He walks slowly towards her, and she collapses into his arms, weeping. "It's my father, he—he had a heart attack, and—and they're at the hospital now, and—oh, Harry, I can't lose him, not here, not now -"
"Which hospital?" Harry asks, holding her tightly against him.
"St-St Thomas's," Hermione says between sobs. "Oh Harry, I can't lose him, I just can't. He means everything."
"I'm going with you."
"W-what?" Hermione pulls away. "Harry, no, you've got that enormous presentation with Seamus today -"
"I'll call him to let him know if I can't make it on time. But I'm going with you."
"Harry -"
"Hermione, I'm coming with you." He cups her face in his hands, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm coming with you," he repeats.
She nods slowly.
Anyone but him …
---------------------------
Harry rubs his eyes, staring blearily at the white walls in the waiting room of the hospital. He nervously sips the coffee the nurse brought him a little while ago. It's lukewarm and tastes foul, and he spits it back into the cup. Disgusting.
He hates Muggle hospitals. They're so … white. White chairs, white carpets, white outfits worn by doctors and nurses, white beds, white –
"Harry?"
He jerks his head up. Hermione is standing in front of him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Is he all right?" he asks, standing up.
Hermione nods, biting her lip. "They told us he'd be fine," she says, sitting down slowly. She looks up at the clock. "This is ridiculous. Go home. You need sleep."
"So do you," he replies, sitting down again.
"But he's not your father, and -" Hermione cuts herself off quickly. "God, I didn't mean it to sound like that, I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"I just—I don't want to burden you." She pauses. "You don't need this, especially from me. I must sound so pathetic to you, absolutely pathetic."
"It's not a burden, Hermione," Harry insists. "Honest. I would tell you if I didn't want to be here. But I do."
Hermione sighs. "There's so many tests he has to—to go through," she says quietly. "I wonder what they do with all of them."
Harry murmurs in agreement.
"And they never really tell you why they need to give him these tests," she continues. "It's like—it's like they think you won't understand, so they don't even try to explain. I mean," she says, getting angrier. "I don't even know why we're here. What good is it, anyway? Can they really do anything to save him? I mean, sure, they'll be able to help him for a little while, but he's going to die in the end, from his stupid heart, and there's nothing anybody can do about it." She closes her eyes. "It goes on and on, and I feel like I'm stuck here, helpless, like I can't do anything about … about any of this, and it sucks. I'm just so helpless. We all are."
"But you're strong -"
Hermione's eyes open, and she stares straight into Harry's eyes. "I'm not strong. I wish I were, but I'm not. I can't do anything about this. There's nothing for me to do." She blinks. "Nothing," she repeats quietly.
They sit in silence for a few moments.
"It's losing him that I'm scared of. I can't stand thinking about letting him go."
Harry swallows slowly. "I can't pretend I know exactly what this is like," he says softly. He sees a flash of green light, hears a high-pitched scream. "But I do believe that if you truly love another person, the way I know you love your father, you can never leave them. Not really. And they can never leave you."
Hermione looks up into his eyes, his green eyes. "Do you love someone like that?" she asks in practically a whisper.
Harry stares straight back. "Yes," he says, his voice cracking. "I do."
"Have you ever let them know?"
Harry hesitates. "I think I have. I hope so."
"Excuse me, Miss Granger?"
They both look up. A nurse is standing in front of them, holding a clipboard under her arm. "Your father would like to see you," the nurse says quietly.
Hermione nods, standing up. She looks back once at Harry, who gives her a small smile.
I love you. Do you know that?
---------------------------
When Hermione walks into the room, her stomach drops down to her feet and then slams into her throat. Her father looks dead. His eyes are closed, his hands clasped over his chest. His cheeks are pale and he doesn't look like his breathing.
But his eyes open a moment later, and a smile spreads across his face. "Hermione," he says weakly.
She wills her tears not to flow down her face. "Hiya, daddy," she says quietly, walking forward. "How are you feeling?"
He clears his throat. "Bloody terrible," he says. "I hate when they stick all of those needles in your arms and stuff—disgusting—but I'm feeling better than before." He pauses. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too, daddy." She touches his hand gently.
"I'm going to be fine, Hermione."
"For now," she says before she can stop herself.
"Yes, for now, I'll be fine. For now and for a long time."
"But dad -"
"I know what you're thinking, Hermione. I can see it in your eyes. And I promise you, you won't be losing me—not yet. You're stuck with me for a little longer." He coughs. "I'm not going to let my heart get the better of me. I'd like to see my grandchild walk, thank you very much."
Hermione smiles as a tear falls from her face. "Oh, daddy -"
"You know what I saw, just before I came to? Before I found myself here, with the doctors faces looming over me?"
"What
did you see?"
He smiles. "I saw me, walking you down the
aisle," he says softly. "I lifted the veil and I kissed your
cheeks, and I watched you turn towards your future husband, and I
knew it was the right thing to do. I knew, without any doubt, that
Ha—that he was the one you were meant to be with." He
pauses. "You looked beautiful." He smiles. "Of course, you
don't need to wear a wedding dress to prove that." He holds her
hand weakly in his, and she sees tears glistening in his eyes.
"You're my little angel."
Hermione presses her lips to her father's hand, her tears falling onto his wrinkled skin.
Mr Granger strokes her hair. "My angel."
---------------------------
Hermione is sitting at the kitchen table, staring straight ahead. One hand is on her stomach, and her brow is furrowed. She left her father sleeping a couple of hours ago, and returned to the apartment with her thoughts tumbling around like a washing machine.
She's not an idiot. She heard him almost say his name. Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. How, she wonders. Does everyone know, but we never talk about it?
She wishes she could go back and ask her dad if he is positive that Harry is the one. She wants to know why she couldn't have grabbed him and kissed him when she had the chance—say, first or second year at Hogwarts? Even third year, for pity's sake! How different would things be? Would they already have a family started? Would he be popping the question tonight at dinner? Or would a kiss from his best friend at twelve years old been painfully awkward and ruined the entire relationship?
Hermione presses her forehead onto the table.
More than anything, she wants to know if he feels the same way. She wants to know if he ever thinks about her, while he's curled up in his bed, separated from her by a wall. She wants to know—
The front door slams shut. "I'm back, Hermione!" Harry's voice calls from the hallway. But Hermione doesn't even really register that's he's home. Her head is still on the table, and her heart is still aching more than she would've thought possible eight and a half months ago.
Harry lifts her shoulders carefully, settling her back against the chair. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?"
"No, no," she says, sighing deeply. "I was just thinking."
"Anything you want to talk about?"
The fact that I'm completely in love with you.
"No," she says quietly.
"All right," he says after a few moments. "I'll get dinner ready, all right? You just stay here." After another couple of seconds, he kisses the top of her head and steps away, heading towards the fridge.
Hermione turns to face him. "So did you make it in time for the presentation?"
Harry takes out the pork chops he bought yesterday and nods. "Yes, I did, with about thirty seconds to spare. But I think it went pretty well."
"That's good."
And then there's silence. Not the awkward silence that plagues most people on their first dates. Because Hermione and Harry have never had a first date. It's the silence of two people who are trying desperately to sort through their own thoughts, knowing that the other person is doing the same thing. It's the silence they know can be broken if it really needs to be, but right now, it just doesn't.
It's a silence that gives them both peace.
---------------------------
Hermione wipes her mouth with her napkin. "Thank you, Harry," she says. "That was a pretty elaborate meal."
"It actually wasn't that hard. Did you like it?"
"Yeah. It was great."
Hermione stands up and carries her plate to the kitchen sink. Harry follows her, and she takes his plate as well. She taps her wand on each, and they clean themselves within seconds. She reaches up to open the cabinet, but Harry shakes his head, opening the cabinet and putting the plates away. "You don't need to strain yourself, you know."
"Thanks, Harry." Hermione smiles.
Suddenly, her body twitches.
"Hermione?"
"I don't know what that was, I -" She does it again.
"Is something wrong?" Harry grins. "Do you have, like, a nervous tick or something?"
"No," Hermione says, as she twitches again. She laughs. "Harry, I think the baby is hiccoughing."
"Are you serious? You can feel it hiccough?"
"Well of course I can, you dolt. It's attached to me."
Harry puts his hand to her stomach as it flinches. "Oh my gosh," he murmurs.
Hermione giggles. "The baby's done it a few times before, but never this much!"
"I must have put something strange in the dinner."
"No, I think I just ate it to fast for him."
Harry looks up at Hermione's face, and they smile at each other. Slowly, carefully, she moves her hand so that it's touching his hand, just barely. But he can sense it, can feel goose bumps run up and down his arms and the hair on the back of his head prick up. Does she have any idea that a single touch from her is enough to make it impossible for him to breathe?
Boldly, he moves a few fingers over hers.
His cheeks are the same colour as his lips, and she wants to run her fingers through his unruly hair. She brushes it away from his scar, her fingers hesitating over the mark. He reaches out slowly, tucking her messy hair behind her ear.
He should pull away, before he does something stupid like kiss her.
But then she leans forward and presses her lips to his, and his mind shuts down completely. He cups her face in his hands and pulls it as close to his as he can. He kisses her carefully, but she kisses him back fiercely, gripping his hair gently but firmly in her hands.
The baby kicks, hard, and Hermione almost gasps. What the bloody hell is she doing?
And that's when he notices that she's crying.
And then she's pulling away, letting out a little whimper as she backs up. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I just—I must be all over the place, with my—with my dad and everything, I didn't meant to do that, and -"
"Hermione -" he tries to begin. He can barely get his words out. Does this mean she feels the same way? Was everyone else right? He wants to kiss her again. His lips are begging to touch hers. He wants her hands in his hair, her legs wrapped around him, her body close to his.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I just—God, I don't know what came over me, I'm so bloody pathetic—I'm going to bed."
"No, Hermione -"
But she's not listening. She is walking backwards, her eyes wide as she stares into his, and she won't let him finish his sentence. "I'm sorry, Harry. Forget it ever happened. I was just being stupid. Good night."
He hears her door slam, and he slaps his hand on the counter. God, he's stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He took advantage of her while she was vulnerable, didn't he? Stupid. How could he have done something like that?
But she kissed him first. Was it really because she wasn't really thinking, because her mind was on her dad and not him? It didn't feel like that. It felt like a kiss that had been bottled up for eight and a half months, and she tasted better than he had remembered and—
He can't do this. He wills his mind to stop racing.
She's not his to have.
