Now I don't wanna beg you baby

For something maybe you could never give

Patty Griffin - "Rain"

The arrival of Draco Malfoy and his revelations had shaken both of them. It took some ten minutes for Ron to stop raving at the injustice of Malfoy being more informed of Harry's apparent condition than they were. About Harry's lack of trust in them and general inability to ask for help when he so desperately needed it. Hermine herself spent the time futilely fighting off tears, devastated by the turn of events, berating herself for leaving her friend, for not noticing his silence until it was too late.

To stop them from driving themselves completely mad, Hermione sought out a mild sleeping draught to knock them both out for the hours until they would actually be able to do something. It had already been a long day, and in all likelihood would only get longer. They had spent enough of it waiting restlessly already.

The short nap refreshed them somewhat, but did nothing to soothe their anxieties.

At five minutes to nine o'clock, Hermione summoned the Knight Bus once more to take them to the hospital. When they arrived, Ron stared up at the imposing structure, a frown on his face. "I still don't understand why Harry didn't just go to Saint Mungo's. Why would he think muggles would do a better job than wizards?"

Hermione sighed. "You heard Malfoy," she said, tugging him up the steps to the front entrance. "Harry hates being in the papers, and they definitely would have been all over him if word got out that he'd been hospitalised. As much as I hate to admit it, bringing him here probably was the best thing for Harry. As for the quality of treatment, I can't say. With an injury or illness, I'd, of course, go for a wizarding healer. Magical healing is a hundred times quicker, more effective, and less of an ordeal than enduring any muggle treatment. But with psychiatric problems? I really don't know if the Janus Thickey ward is any more advanced than muggle psychiatry."

Hermione held her breath, hesitating before entering the hospital.

Having checked in, the two were met by a nurse who explained the situation in a soft, Irish lilt as she led them through the sterile hallways. "I'm so glad Harry has some other friends to come and see him. Of course, dear Draco comes once or twice a week or more, but we really think that some more socialisation would be good for Harry. You must understand, he's a bit… fragile. He's not really been up for socialising with the other patients, and he doesn't talk much to the staff either. Hopefully some more familiar faces will help him find his way back to himself."

"'Find his way back to himself', what does that mean?" Ron asked as they passed the public areas into a more secluded, private corridor.

The nurse pursed her lips, glancing warily at Ron as if in answer as they stopped in front of a slightly open door. Knocking lightly, she called brightly, "Harry dear, you've some visitors!"

It was a small but private room, sparsely decorated but for a slightly withered bouquet of sweet basil, alstroemeria, and azaleas, each, Hermione knew from herbology class, symbolising a wish for the recipient to get well soon. Her breath caught at the implication that Malfoy must have left the flowers himself. What had happened between the two of them to cause such a change in the Slytherin? Was it just repaying the debt he owed to Harry for securing him his freedom, or was there something more to it?

Hermione didn't have time to ponder the problem of Malfoy further as her eyes came to rest on her friend, sat in a chair allowing him to gaze out the window onto the hospital grounds. He didn't respond to the nurse or to their entrance at all, eyes fixed somewhere outside.

The nurse grimaced and turned back to the two of them, explaining, "Sometimes he gets unresponsive and doesn't quite notice what's going on around him. He'll come back if you keep talking to him, though. I think he just needs a little reminding that there are other people out there, much as he seems to want to forget that."

"And the tube?" Hermione asked, referencing the one taped to Harry's hollow cheek, leading into his nose and attached to a bag of fluids suspended by a pole near his elbow.

"Nasogastric feeding tube," the nurse said. "He won't eat or drink any water. Sometimes he'll try if he's particularly lucid, but that's not often. Mostly he claims he doesn't need to, if he remembers at all. Thankfully he doesn't seem to notice the tube, and doesn't try to take it out."

"Why doesn't he eat?" Ron asked, aghast.

The nurse smiled a little sadly. "He thinks he's dead."

With this bombshell, she left them in the small room with the ghost of their best friend.

"What happened to you?" Ron whispered to the catatonic figure.

"Speak up, Ronald," Hermione said briskly, slipping into the familiar role as the voice of reason. "You heard the nurse, he'll snap out of it if we talk to him."

Thus inspired, Hermione determinately approached the slight figure in the chair and laid her hand upon his bony shoulder. There was no response, but she squeezed his shoulder nonetheless and began to tell the tale of their journey.

"Hello, Harry! I'm so glad to see you again. I can't tell you how much Ron and I have missed you. You know, we almost didn't come, but Ron here was worried since you never responded to his letter. You know you never need to worry about bothering us, Harry! You're important to us! So we decided to come to pay you a visit, and let me tell you, it has been just a brutal trip. We've had to wait hours and hours for everything today. Two hours for the bus to Canberra, then another wait for the portkey to London. And of course with the time difference, it was so early in the morning here that we ended up kipping at Grimmauld place just to avoid having to do any more waiting before we were able to come see you."

"The house is surprisingly nice, mate," Ron contributed, speaking loudly in his best parody of a casual speaking voice that he could manage. "I don't suppose you've gotten round to seeing it, but it's cleaned up real good. Apparently, you've got a new house-elf, and unlike Kreature she actually seems to take her job seriously. And that's another thing: when were you going to tell us that Malfoy gave you a house-elf? He seems to've been visiting you quite a lot, in fact, and I just don't get it. I hate to be the one to say this, but I think he might be up to something."

"Oh, not you too, Ron!" Hermione said exasperatedly, mostly for show. "He's been perfectly reasonable so far. Look, he's even left flowers!" She gestured to the vase and Ron gave them a sceptical glance.

"How can you tell they're from Malfoy? They just look like ordinary flowers to me."

"Yes," she conceded. The bouquet was simple and understated. Nothing like the extravagant bushels that Malfoy himself would get whenever he landed in the infirmary. "But muggles don't know the meanings of flowers, so it must have been a wizard who left them, and Malfoy's the only one who's visited. Often, if the nurse is to be believed. Plus, if he had some nefarious plan, do you think he'd have come to the house in his pyjamas? Hair unbrushed? Bare feet? No way would Malfoy let us see him like that if he wasn't actually being genuine."

"Or he's trying to lure us into a false sense of security," Ron countered, ever vigilant.

"What are you talking about?" came a hoarse, quiet voice and both of them spun to face their friend, but Harry wasn't looking at them, instead staring into the corner with a puzzled look on his face.

"Harry?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Slowly, the word seemed to pierce Harry's consciousness and Harry twisted in his seat to finally look at the two of them, as if noticing for the first time that they were in the room.

"Ron? Hermione? What are you doing here?" He asked, glancing from one to the other.

"We were worried about you," Hermione answered, hand raising from his shoulder to brush his messy hair.

"Yeah, we haven't heard from you in ages. We had to find out from Malfoy where you were!"

"You… followed me here?" he asked, confused, then jerked his head back to the corner with a scowl. "You leave them alone! It's your fault!"

Before they could ask exactly who Harry thought he was speaking to, he turned to them with wide, earnest eyes. "I'm so sorry, you guys. For everything. This shouldn't have happened to you," he flinched as if reacting to an unseen assault, "to any of you. I know this is all my fault. Me and him," he said savagely, jerking his head toward the corner.

"Who… is that?" Hermione asked delicately, glancing at the empty space, afraid to state the obvious.

Harry tilted his head curiously. "Oh yeah… you guys never saw him like this, did you? Well, I guess Ginny did - Ginny's all right, isn't she?" Harry cut himself off, frantically, directing his pleading query to Ron who nodded nervously.

"Yeah, mate. Gin's fine. She's doing good," Ron answered honestly, and Harry sighed in relief.

"Thank god," he sighed. "Anyway, Ron, Hermione, meet Tom Riddle. We're stuck together, unfortunately. In death as in life," he muttered bitterly. "You shouldn't hang around for too long. I try to keep Draco away, but he keeps coming back. You don't understand how dangerous he is."

"How dangerous...Voldemort is?" Ron asked, warily.

Harry jerked his head in a rough nod. "The more of us gather in one place, the more power we get. The more power he gets. I've been trying to keep him down, keep us unseen, but we keep coming to the surface where people can see us. He can drain the energy of other spirits to make himself more powerful. I'm afraid eventually he'll be able to hurt people, like Peeves. If they don't revive us first."

"Harry," Hermione consoled, "no one is trying to revive Voldemort. I promise. Everyone who would want him back is either dead or in Azkaban. You made sure of that."

Harry only shook his head, biting at his already ragged nails, "But if they bring me back, he'll still be there, with me. He'll always be with me. I know they're trying to revive me and I'm trying to resist but I'm afraid… I'm afraid if they revive us we'll be back to where we started, and everyone who died will have died for nothing. He'll be back, and you'll all still be dead. I can't let him win." His voice was ragged as he turned his back on the far corner, ignoring the poisonous voice whispering things only he could hear.

"You should go," he said eventually. "I'll be okay. I've got him under control for now. We only fade in and out sometimes," he smiled wryly. "Sometimes I wish the cloak would work on ghosts. I wish I had it back so no one could see us, no matter how much Tom wants to go back. I wish I could wrap us up in it and let us just disappear forever. For everyone's sake."

Harry turned back to the window, occasionally glaring hotly to where the phantom of Tom Riddle apparently stood. It was obvious that their visit was over.

Hermione dug her phone out of her purse as they exited the hospital, dialling her parents' home number as Ron summoned the bus.

"Hello?" her mother answered.

"Hi, mum," Hermione replied, the feeling of awkwardness overwhelming her every time she referred to the woman as her mother, anxiety rising in her that the title would be rejected.

"How's your friend? Are you coming back tomorrow?"

"Actually, no. Harry's… not doing well. I think we're going to stay a few extra days. Hopefully, we should be back in time for dinner on Sunday, but I'll let you know."

"Oh, dear," Simone said, sympathy colouring her rich voice, "Will your friend be all right? Don't rush back on our account."

Hermione sighed, climbing into the bus as it arrived, opening its doors to them. "There's not a lot we can do here, to be honest. He's in hospital now. I'm not sure what happened, but he's had… some kind of psychotic break, I think. He's seeing hallucinations, he's… Well. I'd just like to stay a few more days and visit with him. See if that helps him at all. I just wanted to call and let you know not to expect us home tomorrow."

"Of course, of course," her mother assured her. "Take your time. You do what you need to. We'll be here when you get back."

Hermione's heart warmed at the kind words. The kind of words a mother might say. She blinked back tears as a wave of emotion overcame her. "Right," she said, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "Thanks, I-" she cut herself off, still unready to utter words of her affection. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll let Wendell …. Um, I mean, I'll let your father know." Hermione could hear her mother struggling on the other line and she clutched her phone until her knuckles went white.

"Great!" she said, forcing brightness into her voice. "I'll talk to you later, then. Good night, mum," she said before disconnecting the call, laying her head on Ron's shoulder as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"I think we should go to the Burrow. My parents should know what's happened," Ron said as London blurred past their windows.

"I want to stay close, in case anything happens," Hermione argued softly.

Ron shrugged as best as he could without dislodging her. "We'll come back to Grimmauld place after dinner, then. Besides, we could do with some real food."

Hermione couldn't argue that.

They arrived back at Grimmauld place after dark, exhausted and ready for a long night's sleep. As they climbed the stairs to the first floor, however, they saw that the light in the sitting room was on, and they stopped, peering inside to find Draco Malfoy on the sofa, apparently reading.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron asked, too tired to be antagonistic.

Malfoy looked up and closed his book. "Waiting for you, obviously," he said, standing. This time the boy was fully dressed, if somewhat more casually than they were used to seeing him at Hogwarts. "I thought you'd want to read this," he handed a collection of papers to Hermione. "I figured you'd understand it better than me, and you might as well know all the details now that you know what's going on."

Hermione glanced at the papers in her hand and gasped. "These are Harry's medical files!" she exclaimed. "Malfoy, we're not supposed to have these!"

The Slytherin shrugged carelessly. "They're only copies. And it's not like they were very well hidden. Or protected."

"Still," Hermione countered, "it's against the law!"

"Well," Malfoy drawled. "I won't tell if you won't." Hermoine really couldn't counter that, unable to curb her curiosity as she skimmed the top document.

"I'll just leave you to it, then," Malfoy said, taking his leave from theme once more.

"Man, I really hate that guy," Ron muttered, glaring in the direction the other boy had gone. Hermione ignored him.

She read the complicated diagnoses: "Cotard's syndrome," and "psychotic depression," and "post-traumatic stress disorder," jumping out at her. She flipped through the pages of medical jargon, catching the names of medications like haloperidol and zucopenthixol and hiperiden which she resolved to research the next day.

On the final page, Hermione read: "patient is not responding well to medications" and then in one of the final lines "ECT".

She held a hand to her mouth. "They're going to start Electroshock Therapy," she said, finally succumbing to the tears she'd been fighting off all day.