Chapter 9: Even If It Hurts

"Oh, come on."

Harry ignored this and continued slowly down the aisle of bookshelves, his fingers tracing lightly against the worn spines as he feigned interest in a title or two.

Hermione trailed behind him, undeterred.

"I've already told you, I'm sorry…." she said a little impatiently.

"Are you?" Harry asked, squatting down to peruse the bottom row. He slipped a volume from the shelf and frowned down at it. "That's not what you said yesterday."

"I'm sorry you're upset," she conceded. She stopped next to him, and Harry glanced at her shoes, her presence looming over him. "But I'm not sorry I said something to Hagrid, I won't apologise for that."

Harry shoved the book back onto its shelf and straightened up to look slightly downward at her. It still hadn't stopped surprising him that he was taller than she was, now. "You didn't just say it by accident," he objected, "you two took me down there on purpose to…to ambush me, or something – "

"We didn't!" she insisted, looking highly affronted. She fixed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. "We wanted to see him, and I thought you would too – Hagrid's the one who brought it up, if you care to remember, and I wasn't going to just sit there and lie to him."

Harry turned and stalked away from her, shaking his head, and Hermione followed mulishly, making a sound of displeasure behind him. She caught up and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry bristled and spun back around, leveling her with a scowl.

"Hermione, has it occurred to you that I came down here so you wouldn't talk to me?" he snapped, a little too loudly, for Madam Pince the librarian appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her papery, vulture-like countenance peering between a gap in the books from the next aisle over. She shushed them fiercely before disappearing as she re-shelved a pile of old tomes into the gap where her face had been.

Hermione lowered her voice. "I'd worked that much out," she muttered, heavy with sarcasm. "Some people say I'm rather brilliant, you know – but you've practically been avoiding us for two days, and I'm tired of it."

"If you're so tired of it, then why not stop following me?" Harry whispered, his temper rising.

She stamped her foot. "You're impossible!" she hissed at him furiously.

"I do try," Harry said, his lips quirking up in the farce of a smirk.

Hermione's brow furrowed in irritation. "Yes, my patience," she shot back, swiping loose strands of her frizzy hair behind her ears.

The bell rang a second later, interrupting the beginnings of what was sure to have been a magnificent glowering match between the two of them, and Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

"Transfiguration," she said simply. She nodded her head towards the exit. "Are you coming or not?"

Not, Harry was sorely tempted to say. He couldn't remember for the life of him if had completed his essay on the characteristics of Animagi. He supposed, however, that there were worse ways to die than by McGonagall's wrath.

Not that he could think of any at the moment.

Sighing, Harry spared Hermione one last look of annoyance and strode past her, leading the way back out of the library.

He had not completed his essay, Harry remembered drearily as he dropped into the seat next to Ron. Professor McGonagall came by moments later, hand outstretched to accept their homework, and Harry handed in his half-finished paper with a slightly resigned sense of certain doom.

Ron nudged Harry's elbow as McGonagall returned to the front of the classroom, but Harry pretended not to have noticed, opening his textbook and squinting up at the blackboard to see which chapter they were supposed to be covering.

"Oi," Ron tried again. "You ever finish?"

Harry glanced at him, shaking his head curtly.

Ron grimaced. "Bad luck. You should've told me, I'd've let you copy mine – "

He broke off as Hermione kicked the leg of his chair, and he swung towards her, throwing her a dirty look. The two of them immediately descended into a near-silent but energetic round of bickering, until Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and the class quieted while she reviewed the structure of their lesson for the day.

Ron tried again to get Harry's attention, but Harry ignored him, watching instead as McGonagall took up her chalk and began to draw complex diagrams on the board for them to copy down – he didn't know whether to believe Hermione's claim that dragging him down to Hagrid's hadn't been some sort of plan between the two of them, but Ron had helped to try to corner him in the end, and Harry was not quite sure he was ready to let it go.

Ron whispered his name a few more times before McGonagall heard.

"Do you have a theory to add to the fifth law of human transfiguration, Mr. Weasley?" she asked in a clipped voice. "Or perhaps something more important to say?"

The tips of Ron's ears went red as several students snickered.

"No, Professor," he said quickly.

"I thought not." She turned back to the diagrams.

Ron glanced up at her again and then hunched over the table, scribbling something onto a scrap of parchment. He slid it over to Harry's side of the desk, and Harry looked down at it, grinning faintly in spite of himself.

Hangman.

They hadn't played a round to pass the time in class since Umbridge – it felt like more than a lifetime ago….

He scrawled a guess and slid it back over.

They repeated this several more times, ignoring Hermione's quiet sighs of exasperation, until half a stick figure was hanging from its noose and Ron pushed the paper back over to Harry.

'Okay, 3 letters'

Harry jotted down three more guesses and Ron took it back, filling in the spaces and giving Harry the thumbs up.

When the paper returned, it read:

W H Y A R E Y O U B E I N G A G I T ?

His shoulders slumping, Harry rolled his eyes and crumpled up the piece of paper, lobbing it back at Ron and hitting him square between the eyes. He pulled his textbook closer and bent over it, plopping his chin into his hand; Ron snorted quietly. Harry shot him a glare, but Ron just shrugged, barely trying to hide his grin as he trained his eyes on his own textbook.

Harry yawned his way through the next hour, writing down everything he could interpret from the lecture, pausing now and then to give himself a mental shake when he caught himself doodling in the blank spaces of his notes…he was already dreading the homework for that night….

Finally, McGonagall asked one of the Ravenclaws sitting near the front to pass out the sheet of essay questions due next lesson, and the bell rang through the halls, signaling the end of class. Harry began packing up along with everyone else, but when he heaved his bag over his shoulder and turned to go, McGonagall's voice rang out from the front of the room.

"Wait a moment, Potter. I'd like to have a word with you, if you please."

She stood next to her desk watching him expectantly.

Harry glanced automatically to Ron and Hermione, but when Hermione opened her mouth, he told them shortly, "You don't have to wait, it's fine…."

They gave him one last uneasy look and reluctantly stepped up behind Malfoy to join the last of the students leaving the classroom. Harry watched them go, slowly setting his bag back to the floor.

McGonagall waved her wand and the door closed, dampening the sounds of students chattering away happily on the way to their next period. She gestured for him to join her as she moved around to sit behind her desk, and Harry obeyed, trying valiantly to suppress the nerves twisting his stomach. He hovered anxiously for a second until she pointed to a chair in front of her desk.

"You may sit," she told him dryly. "It won't bite."

Harry sat down, fidgeting, and blurted out. "I'm sorry I haven't been handing in some of the homework, Professor." He remembered with a pang how pleased she had been when he'd got an 'Exceeds Expectations' on his O.W.L. "I'll do better."

She surveyed him for a moment, her hands clasped in front of her on the desk.

"I do not believe it will come as a surprise to you that you are not doing very well in my class at the moment," she said.

"No, Professor…."

"Your other teachers have recently reported to me similar less-than-stellar marks in their subjects," she continued, consulting a stack of papers next to her.

She looked up at him again over her square spectacles.

Harry nodded. "I know," he said quietly. He rubbed absently at his hands. He didn't know what to say.

"They have also reported other things, things I must confess I have noticed myself."

Harry eyed her warily, waiting.

"In class, you are disengaged, to the point of apathy. The work you do manage to hand in is often jumbled and confused – it does not resemble anything like what I know you to be capable of accomplishing. You appear exhausted – that is, when you are not too highly strung to sit still – and from what I have seen, this is no different outside of class…."

She gazed at him seriously.

"You have clearly lost weight, Potter."

Harry's stomach dropped like a stone, and he stared at the ground, unable to look her in the eye. Time seemed almost suspended; it did not feel quite real, to be sitting across from strict Professor Minerva McGonagall while she said these things so plainly. He swallowed, his throat dry. He didn't have an excuse. What on earth was he supposed to say?

"It's fine," he said finally, but it came out a quiet rasp. He cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he insisted, and forced himself to meet her eyes. "I've just been tired. I'll try harder." He nodded, as if that would get her to agree, and scratched at his wrist. "I will."

She continued to contemplate him, her expression grave, and Harry's heart hammered in his chest.

"I hope you realise, Potter," she said quietly, "that as your Head of House, I am always available should you need to talk to someone…."

Harry nodded mechanically, his eyes drifting to the floor again.

"Or perhaps someone else, with whom you would be more comfortable…?"

He shook his head mutely.

Silence stretched between them. She was still staring at him.

"Harry…." she said, and the sharp voice she so skillfully used to reprimand her students had sunk into a much softer edge.

To his utter horror, Harry felt his throat tighten and burn.

He sat up straighter instantly, biting down hard on his lip as he raised his eyes to hers.

"I'm fine, Professor," he said firmly, and steadily met her gaze, as if daring her to contradict him. He forced himself to stop scratching.

McGonagall looked at him for another long moment, her lips pressing together in that thin line. Her eyes raked him up and down, taking in his entire appearance. At last she said, "Very well. If you're certain…you may go."

Harry was so grateful he had practically leapt from the chair before she'd finished speaking.

"However, Potter," she called after him as he gathered up his bag and headed for the door; her usual brusqueness had returned. Harry turned reluctantly back to face her. "It would do you well to remember that my door is open, to any member of Gryffindor House – and rest assured that if I see no improvement, you will find yourself in my office again regardless, is that understood?"

Harry's hand tightened around the strap of his bag. "Yes, Professor."

She nodded, satisfied, and averted her eyes back to her desk, pulling out a pile of essays to begin marking.

Harry turned quickly and made straight for the door.

Once safely out in the empty hallway, Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He leaned back gladly against the wall and attempted to quell the quaking in his arms, an unpleasant effect of the odd push-and-pull you got from a sudden burst of nerves.

McGonagall's promise to summon him to her office again echoed in his ears like a death knell.

Harry closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wall.

Bollocks.

Bollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocks.

A faint murmuring suddenly brought him out of his stupor of panicky self-implosion and he immediately opened his eyes, glancing about – Ron and Hermione were standing close together farther up the corridor, talking quietly, far enough away that they hadn't heard him coming out of the classroom. They had waited for him after all. Groaning inwardly, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, throwing it quickly over his head.

The last thing he wanted to do was face their questions about why McGonagall had wanted to meet with him privately; they seemed far too prone nowadays to spout off their concerns about him to any listening ear, and this would only serve to encourage them.

Harry crept over to the wall opposite and started up the corridor. As he stepped silently closer to his friends, he heard Hermione laugh lightly, saying, "Ron, you're hungry, just go – I'll wait for him, we'll catch you up – "

He saw Ron separate, waving to her as he set off up the hallway, and Hermione took a book out of her schoolbag, flipping it open to a page she'd marked. Harry hesitated as he drew even with her…he felt a faint prick of guilt, leaving her there to wait for him until after he was long gone. But surely she would catch on when McGonagall emerged alone, and the idea of her potential continued harassment of him was too much to take at the moment. He sneaked noiselessly by as she sat down against the wall and folded her legs up underneath her, settling down with her book.

Harry had almost caught up to Ron when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he spun around on his heel to scan the corridor.

There was someone else here, besides himself, and Ron, and Hermione….

He stood there, frozen, still invisible, straining his ears. His eyes flicked over the statues set into the walls, the suits of armour….

A tiny crumbling sound echoed quietly down the corridor, and Hermione looked up curiously from her book, glancing around; but Harry looked higher, at the ceiling above Hermione's head, and felt his heart leap into his throat.

The stone was rapidly cracking apart, fissures splitting and spreading like a spider's web, loosening huge chunks of rock, fit to crush, and Hermione hadn't realised yet, she hadn't moved –

"HERMIONE, RUN!" Harry bellowed, ripping off the Cloak without thought and casting it aside, already sprinting towards her in blind panic. He heard Ron's shout of surprise behind him, saw Hermione look up and see the stones about to crash down upon her – she was scrambling to her feet, her book tumbling from her lap and skidding across the floor – Harry saw, as if in slow-motion, a great slab of rock start to break free from the ceiling, start to fall, directly over Hermione's head – with a great burst of terror, he lunged over the last few feet of space between them, seized her by the waist and wrenched her out of the way –

The stone fell, missing Hermione's head by an inch, but then there was a sickening crack and she was shrieking into Harry's ear, a piercing cry of pain as the stone exploded into pieces on the floor…he dimly registered that her leg was sticking out at the wrong angle as he dragged her back, and blood was seeping out to soak her clothes – she gave a half-groan, half-scream, the sound strangling in her throat, and clutched desperately at Harry's arm around her, her grip as tight as a vice, but he had to move her – the cracks in the ceiling were growing, spreading, and more stones were coming down, crashing down, the sound was deafening –

Harry did not know when Ron joined them, but one second he wasn't there and the next he was, helping Harry to pull Hermione away from danger, to the end of the corridor where they all slumped against the wall, sweating and shaking. Doors slammed open all along the hall, curious faces appearing and exclaiming in shock at what was happening, and there was someone else, Harry saw, through the dust and debris and falling rock, on the other side, someone running, and he knew immediately who it was –

He looked quickly at his friends – at Hermione's screwed-up, tear-stained face – at Ron, wide-eyed and pale, who had curled his long arms protectively around Hermione, cradling her against him – but they were out of the way, they were safe, and Harry released his hold on Hermione, clambering to his feet as he whipped his wand out of his robes.

"What are you doing?" Ron roared as he bolted away from them, back towards the collapsing passage.

Blood pounded in Harry's ears as he raced past the first few fallen stones, vaulting easily over the largest of them, his wandless arm raised over his head to shield his face.

"POTTER, NO!" McGonagall screamed as he passed her door, and there were other voices shouting after him, calling him back, but he did not stop.

He ran flat-out, dodging great chunks of stone as they plunged toward him – a confused chorus of the blast and crunch of debris and the screech of panicked, echoing voices pressed on his ears – he could still barely see Malfoy up ahead on the other side of destruction, but the dust was thickening, and Harry sidestepped a pile of rubble only to stumble over another – he hit the floor hard on all fours. Something struck a glancing blow to his side, nearly knocking him to the ground, forcing air out of his lungs, but he shot back to his feet, the searing pain in his ribs barely even a thought, and sprinted relentlessly onward.

He ducked under several more plummeting rocks, and then he was on the other side – Malfoy's robes were just whipping around the corner, and Harry followed, his fingers practically cramped around his wand for how tightly he was gripping it, a wild fury fueling every cell in his body as he ran, rounding the corner –

The next hallway came into view, but it was empty, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, and Harry skidded to a stop, his gaze flashing in every direction, taking in everything, searching…he clutched at his side, his breath coming in agonizing gasps, dust sticking to his throat – he wracked his brains viciously, thinking of any possible way Malfoy could have gone, any secret passage he might have taken – there were no doors in this corridor, he could not have ducked into a room….

He turned in a circle, looking for some sign of him.

But there was nobody here.

He had lost him.

A leaching sense of disappointment crawled down Harry's trembling limbs….

As his urgency started to fade, he once more became aware of his body and his left side gave a nasty throb. Wincing, he took a few steps forward, eyes still scanning the corridor, unwilling to give up his pursuit so easily –

A pair of hands seized Harry's shoulders, spinning him around, and he was suddenly face to face with a livid Professor McGonagall.

He briefly wondered how he hadn't heard her coming, then realised his ears were ringing slightly; the sounds of falling stone had ceased.

"Potter, what were you thinking?" she demanded, an unmistakable edge of panic in her voice. Her face was pale, nearly bloodless but for two high spots of color in her cheeks, and her emerald robes were thick with dust in several places. Her grip tightened on his shoulders and her chin trembled slightly as she looked him up and down, though whether this was from fear or anger it was impossible to say. "Are you hurt?"

Harry dropped his hand away from his side immediately, shaking his head. "No. But, Professor, listen, I think – " he started, pointing back the way Malfoy must have disappeared, but she cut him off.

"Of all the foolhardy – senseless – reckless…." She seemed unable to collect herself. "Never in all my life – "

Anger, then.

" – might have been killed – "

At these words, all thoughts of overtaking Malfoy faded from Harry's mind, and his terror for Hermione came flooding back to him.

"Professor, Hermione – she's hurt – I think her leg's broken…." He told her quickly, already moving to step around her.

McGonagall's eyes widened slightly, her hands dropping from his shoulders as she turned immediately to follow him, and they both hurried back towards the collapsed corridor.

They came around the corner, and to Harry's eyes it was like a scene lifted straight from a war film; there was rubble and debris everywhere, tendrils of dust still floating in the air; students and professors were tentatively drawing out of their classrooms, inspecting the damage with awe. There were no holes showing through to the upper floor, a testament to Hogwarts' imposing edifice, but half the ceiling was missing great chunks of stone, several feet thick in some places.

Harry scrambled over fallen rock, McGonagall picking her way swiftly through the wreckage behind him, moving great lumps of stones out of the way with deft waves of her wand.

Ron and Hermione were still sat hunched against the wall, huddled together, and Harry fell to his knees beside them the second he reached them. Hermione's tears had dried. Her eyes looked oddly cloudy as they found Harry's face – she let out a tiny whimper and reached out for him, grasping a fistful of his robes as her other hand tightened around Ron's arm.

"I…I think she's in shock," Ron muttered helplessly, looking from Harry back to Hermione.

Against his will, Harry's gaze dropped to her leg again, and he looked away quickly, feeling sick.

McGonagall crouched down beside them. "Try not to move," she instructed Hermione and waved her wand in the same complicated motion Snape had done over Harry in the dungeons during his detention.

Hermione closed her eyes, her breath coming in shallow little gasps.

"It seems to be the only injury," McGonagall announced when she had finished. "But we must get to the hospital wing at once." She put her hand bracingly on Hermione's arm, and Hermione's eyes opened again, glassy with pain. "It will be…less painful for you if you are not awake. Will you permit me – ?"

Hermione nodded weakly, head turning into Ron's chest.

McGonagall raised her wand again, flicking it wordlessly, and Hermione slumped, her hand falling away from Harry's robes. McGonagall stood, conjuring a stretcher out of thin air which hovered several feet off the ground of its own accord.

"You may let go, now, Mr. Weasley…."

Ron looked down, apparently only just realising how tightly he'd been holding onto Hermione, and slowly unwound his arms from around her waist.

McGonagall pointed her wand at Hermione's limp body and carefully levitated her, awkwardly-angled leg and all, onto the stretcher. Harry helped Ron to his feet, noticing as he did so that the freckled hand in his was trembling quite badly, and he patted Ron staunchly on the shoulder.

"She'll be okay," he said quietly, and Ron nodded, swallowing, his blue eyes trained on Hermione's still form.

Harry spotted his Invisibility Cloak several feet away, thankfully lying exactly where he had left it; he'd nearly forgotten about it. Scooping it up quickly, he shoved it into his pocket and hurried off after the others.

They moved swiftly through the halls to the infirmary. Older students on their free periods stopped and stared as they passed, and McGonagall barked orders at a Slytherin boy to find a professor to fetch Dumbledore and inform him of the collapse. Harry watched him scurry off, half-wishing he could have gone instead, could go back to that corridor, find some shred of evidence…but he looked down at Hermione's pale face and the thought drained instantly from his mind.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office as soon as they walked through the doors, as though she had known all along they would be coming.

"Set her here." She pointed to one of the beds and withdrew her wand from her apron as McGonagall levitated Hermione gently onto the sheets. Harry and Ron stood back, watching anxiously as Madam Pomfrey examined her leg, nimbly moving aside the blood-stained clothes and weaving her wand over the wound. They both winced at the sounds of bone and tissue knitting themselves back together.

Her job done, McGonagall swept back over to them, drawing the boys aside, her expression severe.

"Do either of you know what happened? What caused this?"

"Yes," Harry said at once, and she gave him a sharp look.

"And is that why you so foolishly chose to run head-first through an active cave-in?" she demanded, her tone biting. She and Ron stared at him.

Harry flushed resentfully. "I was going after who did it – he was going to get away – "

"You saw who did this?"

Harry hesitated. "Sort of, I – I couldn't see his face, but I saw him, I saw his robes – he made it around the corner before I could catch him…." He felt, again, an infuriating sense of letdown.

"You did not see clearly who it was?"

"I know who it was, it was Malfoy, he's been following Hermione around for weeks, like he's been waiting to get her alone," he insisted angrily. "I've seen him at it, and so's Ron…."

To his relief and unending gratitude, Ron nodded emphatically beside him. "It's true, Professor, he's been acting fishy all term – "

"But you did not see him this time?"

"….no," Harry admitted through tight lips.

"Then we cannot be sure – "

"He's not even going to get in any trouble?" Ron exploded. "He could have killed Hermione!"

"Professor – !" Harry started, outraged, but she held up a hand, forestalling them.

"Mr. Malfoy will be taken into consideration, but an inexact identification is not proof, and at Hogwarts we do not convict students for the crime of 'acting fishy,'" she told them sternly.

Harry looked away, fuming, feeling mutinous; his jaw worked, grinding his teeth together, holding back the words he was longing to say. Madam Pomfrey pulled screens around Hermione's bed and stepped away briefly, returning with a neatly folded pair of pyjamas and disappearing again around the partition.

"I assure you, Potter," McGonagall said quietly, and he looked back to her; her expression was a little more understanding. Her lips seemed less thin, anyway. "We will look into it."

Harry knew he could not convince her any further. He bit his lip, nodding curtly.

"Now. Once Madam Pomfrey is finished with Miss Granger, I would like her to take a look at you as well – "

"No," Harry said at once, shaking his head rapidly. "I'm not hurt, I don't need an exam…."

She eyed him doubtfully, and he looked down at himself, noticing for the first time that the knuckles of the fingers still wrapped around his wand and the palm of his other hand had been scraped of a few layers of skin and were tinged with blood. He stowed his wand quickly, wiping his hands on his dusty robes.

"Just grazes," he explained. "I fell – "

"You sure?" Ron asked, frowning at him.

Harry's side gave another duplicitous throb. He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine, I promise."

He was saved from their visual inspections by Madam Pomfrey drawing back the screens around Hermione's bed. She was awake, leaning back against her pillows, looking a bit groggy but much better.

"Hermione!" Ron dashed to her side, Harry on his heels. "How do you feel?"

She smiled up at them tiredly, and lightly patted Ron's hand. "I'm alright, it doesn't even hurt…."

The glassy look had gone from her eyes, and something in Harry finally relaxed.

She bent her leg slightly at the knee, showing them, as they sat down in chairs on either side of her. "See? Just a little stiff."

Ron blew out a breath, his hands fidgeting in his lap as if he wasn't quite sure where to put them.

"The break is fully mended," Madam Pomfrey explained, "but I'd like you to stay overnight and get some rest." She eyed Harry and Ron meaningfully as though hoping to derail any plans they'd had to throw a wild party in the hospital wing that evening.

"I am very glad you are feeling better, Miss Granger," McGonagall told her sincerely, and she bade goodbye to the three of them before exchanging a quick word with Madam Pomfrey and hurrying from the room to attend to the destruction outside her classroom.

Madam Pomfrey set down two bottles of potion on Hermione's bedside table and left instructions for her to take them every two hours for the stiffness, and then she was gone as well, withdrawing to her office, leaving the three of them alone.

"Blimey, Hermione, don't scare us like that," Ron said, chuckling breathlessly.

Hermione grinned at him. "I'll try not to in future," she said wryly, looking at him with distinct fondness. She turned to Harry. "Thank you," she whispered, her expression turning serious.

He nodded, trying to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

"You were under your Cloak, weren't you?" she asked knowingly.

Harry nodded again. "I'm sorry," he told her, choking on the words. "I just – "

"It's okay, Harry," she said earnestly.

But he shook his head, his eyes dropping to her blanket-clad lap. He could not look at either of them. "I shouldn't have left you there…."

"You didn't know what was going to happen," Ron said, "you saved her life, this isn't your fault, it's Malfoy's – "

"Malfoy?" Hermione questioned.

"Yeah, Harry saw him – he was right, the git's been following you, and now we know he's trying to add 'killing Muggle-borns' to his mini-Death Eater résumé," said Ron darkly.

"I don't know, do we really think he's capable of murder?" she asked, twisting her bedsheets fretfully.

Ron erupted. "He just tried to drop a ceiling on you!"

"There is that…." she replied quietly, with the air of someone accepting a hard truth only as the last resort.

There was silence between them for a moment.

"Is that why you tried to get yourself squashed under rubble? You were going after Malfoy?" Hermione asked Harry. "You really shouldn't have done that, you could have died…." She sounded tremulous.

Harry glanced up at her. She wasn't crying, but she looked almost…hurt, that he had dared to do such a thing. He let his gaze fall back to her blanket, shrugging uncomfortably. "I didn't."

He stared at her newly-mended leg, hidden underneath the blankets…bitter anger was pulsing to the surface of his thoughts again, anger at himself, at his failure…if he had caught Malfoy at something in the first place, when he had first started using the Map to watch him, this would not have happened…he had been lax, and a Dark Mark had appeared on the Quidditch field while he had remained completely oblivious, and he hadn't stopped Malfoy stalking Hermione through the halls like a tiger…if only he hadn't tried to sneak around his friends today like a coward, and left Hermione in the hall alone, unprotected, vulnerable to Malfoy's attack….

Malfoy, who was only doing all this because he had to prove himself, to his family, to the Death Eaters, to Voldemort, now that his father had failed, now that he was in prison….

And whose fault was it that Lucius Malfoy was in prison?

Harry's skin was crawling – he stared without really seeing, the blankets covering Hermione nothing more than a white blur.

She could have died.

He felt itchy all over, it was creeping up his arms, under his skin….

He couldn't stay here.

He lurched to his feet, sliding his chair back.

"Harry?"

"Where are you going?" Ron demanded.

"Gonna go wash up," Harry mumbled, flexing his blood-spattered hands in explanation, avoiding their eyes. "I'll come back later…I'm happy you're alright, Hermione…."

And he left before they could call him back.

Harry dashed up to his dormitory, slamming the door closed behind him. The other boys were in class. Ron, of course, was in the hospital wing….

He went straight to his trunk and threw it open, snatching up the Marauder's Map, which he had left laying on top. One of the few times he had forgotten to pack it in his bag, and that just fit, didn't it?

He hastily unfolded it, rapped it with his wand, and searched relentlessly as the lines of the school painted themselves onto the page.

Where the hell are you, you bastard….

With a cry of fury, he tossed the Map to the floor and aimed a vicious kick at his trunk. Pain exploded in his toes, and he roared again, dropping to the floor to lean up against his bed. He put his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

Of course Malfoy had run straight back to the safety of his common room, the coward….

Harry's fingers itched to draw his wand again, to hunt down Draco Malfoy and unleash a stream of curses until he was a pile of goo on the dungeon floor. Even if Dumbledore did look into the Slytherin's involvement with what had happened to Hermione, it wouldn't be enough…even if by some miracle he was expelled, it would not be justice, Malfoy deserved far worse, and Harry yearned to be the one to give it to him….

His foot throbbed, and the growing pain in his ribs that he had been trying to ignore was screaming for attention. He growled, hands fisting in his hair, wishing that the pain would disappear. That it all would disappear...

He sat there for several long minutes, breathing deeply, every breath sending another shooting pain up his side.

Eventually, he accepted that he would have to move sometime, and he let his hands fall from his hair. He had forgotten he'd scraped them up. His arms were still itchy, and he took a second to scratch, though he knew it wouldn't really help. He raked up his forearms anyway, leaving long raised abrasions, and in some strange way he almost liked how it looked.

Shaking his head at himself in disgust, Harry climbed to his feet, grunting as he twisted and his ribs protested again. He dug through his trunk for a fresh set of robes. He really did need to wash up.

In the bathroom, he shed his robe and shirt and bit his lip, bracing himself before he looked up at his reflection.

He winced.

His left side was a mass of black and purple, curling around across several inches of his chest. He tried to turn to see his back, but it hurt too badly. He probed the area gently with his fingers, biting down a yelp of pain, and wondered if his ribs might be broken…if they were, they would have to heal on their own. He was not going to lift his shirt for anyone and let them see what was under it, not for Madam Pomfrey or, god forbid, for Ginny.

He thought briefly of trying 'episkey' on himself but wasn't sure he was brave enough – spells could be temperamental, and he didn't know if it would work as well on ribs as it did on noses.

He did know he needed to wash the dust from his hair and the blood from his hands, however, and he turned toward the shower, wondering miserably if perhaps this time it might finally work to burn away the guilt for all his sins.

By the time Harry convinced himself to go back to the infirmary, darkness had fallen outside the windows of the castle, and Hagrid and Ginny had joined Ron at Hermione's bedside.

"There yeh are, was wonderin' where yeh'd got to," said Hagrid as Harry pulled a chair up next to Ginny's.

"Yeah – er – had to get a shower, all the dust…."

"Professor McGonagall filled me in," Hagrid said gravely, "Tha's how I knew Hermione here had got hurt…look at yeh, lyin' there…."

Hermione smiled at him indulgently. "I'm perfectly alright, Hagrid, you heard Madam Pomfrey."

"Still," Hagrid sniffed forlornly.

"I heard you did something self-sacrificing and stupid again," Ginny told Harry conversationally, putting her feet up on Hermione's bed.

Harry put his hands in his pockets, looking away as she eyed him. "It wasn't that stupid…." he grunted.

"Well…." said Ron, in a tone that clearly stated that was debatable, squinting his eyes slightly as if thinking it over.

"Shut up," Harry grumbled.

Ron shrugged, unaffected.

Hagrid shook his great shaggy head at them and climbed to his feet, his chair groaning underneath him. "I oughta be gettin' on, Buckbe – er – Witherwings – needs feedin'…now will you all try ter stay alive till the nex' time I see yeh?" he said exasperatedly, looking around at them all. "Spent half my life in this hospital wing visitin' you, I tell yeh…."

"No guarantees," Ron said blithely.

Hagrid grunted. "Talkin' of," he said carefully, giving Harry a furtive once-over with one beady eye. "Would yeh mind comin' down an' seein' me soon, Harry?"

"Oh. Erm…sure. Yeah, I'll…I'll try," Harry mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. He had a funny feeling he knew exactly why Hagrid would want to talk to him alone.

"Yeh got time tomorrow?"

"Maybe…I'll send Hedwig down if I can't make it," he said, not quite meeting Hagrid's eye.

Hagrid nodded rather knowingly, and Harry was sure he already looked disappointed.

"Alrigh'," he agreed, his voice low. "I'll look forward ter seein' yeh, then." He waved at them all and trudged off towards the exit, closing the doors carefully behind him.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Hermione ventured softly, "You should go see him tomorrow. He's only worried about you."

Anger started to bubble up inside of him again, like the flick of a switch, and he did not want to let it spill out at her, while she was lying in a hospital bed for a broken leg he was responsible for in the first place, but he couldn't stop it.

"Yeah, him and Lupin and McGonagall and everyone else, and whose fault is that?" he snapped.

"Not Hermione's," Ron retorted, jumping to her defense. "Is that why McGonagall kept you after class?"

"Did she? Good," Ginny said coolly, and Harry gawked at her, indignant. She stared back at him, completely unrepentant, and for the first time that he could remember, he felt a stab of irritation towards her.

"I haven't said a word to her," Hermione protested, her eyes narrowing at Harry. "She's been concerned for a while, I could tell – so let's see, that makes me, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna," she started in a falsely light voice, ticking the names off on her fingers.

Neville and Luna?

" – Hagrid, McGonagall, Lupin - !"

And Dumbledore, Harry's brain supplied unhelpfully.

"It's obvious. So when are you going to admit something's going on?" she finished heatedly, crinkling the bedsheets in her fists.

A flush filled Harry's face, and he practically shook with suppressed anger and something a little more frantic; he did not want to do this again, especially in front of Ginny. He felt he could not go five minutes anymore without being ganged up on. "I'm fine," he growled. "You're the one in the hospital bed."

"Yeah, and maybe we should book you one next to her," Ron stormed. "I notice you never went to Madam Pomfrey like you said you would!"

"I never actually said I would go – "

"Ginny, can you give us a minute?" Hermione asked purposefully as Harry and Ron glared at each other.

Ginny seemed as though she wanted to protest, but got up in the end, sighing. As she went, she touched Harry's back ever-so-lightly, sending chills down his spine, and then she was gone.

Hermione's expression was calm as she looked at Harry, but her body was tense, and he knew she was extremely upset. "Since you're already angry at us, now seems a perfect time to discuss something," she said evenly, and there was something almost perilous about her voice. She reached over to her bedside table and fished around in her bag, withdrawing a small package. She threw it to Harry, and it hit him in the middle of his chest with a small 'thwack.' He caught it automatically, and looked down at it.

It was his box of sleeping tablets.

"What are those?" she demanded.

Harry's hand clenched around the package, something ugly and hateful twisting his gut, and he looked disbelievingly from her to Ron.

"You're going through my things now?" he practically shouted, his body vibrating with fury and resentment. Madam Pomfrey stirred within her office at the sound, and Harry sprang to his feet, yanking the screens back around them and hastily putting up the same Silencing charm he put around his bed every night.

The last thing he needed was for the matron to come see what all the fuss was about – Ron and Hermione would probably be more than happy to help her throw him straight into a bed and tie him down, he thought furiously.

"Yeah, I am," Ron challenged, leaning back in his chair. "I figured if you weren't going to tell us anything, maybe your stuff would!"

"You don't have a right – "

"We have every right!" Hermione seethed, tears brimming in her eyes. "When you refuse to say a damn thing and choose to self-destruct instead, we have every bloody right to do whatever we have to do to make sure that doesn't happen! Where did you get those?"

"I just got them. What the hell does it matter anyway if I try to sleep through just one damn night?" Harry argued, his voice rising with every word.

"It matters because there's no way you could have known how you'd react to them, which is why people get those kinds of things from doctors! You could stop breathing in your sleep, or have heart failure, or a million other horrible things! Do you understand that? Do you care?" she demanded. Her tears began to fall, sliding down her cheeks. She moved to get off the bed, but Ron pushed her back into it.

"Well you haven't got to worry about any of that, I stopped taking them," Harry snapped. "They just made everything worse anyway…."

"You shouldn't have been taking them in the first place!"

"Mate, just ask Madam Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep if you need it – "

"No."

"Why not? If it helps – "

"I said no – "

"Harry, come on, you could ask right now – "

"NO!" Harry bellowed. "JUST STOP!"

He ran a hand frenetically through his hair, his chest heaving as he looked into their startled faces.

Keeping secrets from them will only make things more difficult for you…and for them, Dumbledore had said, and the weight of what Harry could do, what he could say to them right now was crushing. But he could not bear the thought of how they would look at him, if they knew. If they knew what dreams it was he was trying to prise from his head.

"You have to stop…please," he implored them, and he tried to sound angry, but it came out desperate instead. "Just, don't. I need you to stop…asking me about all this. Please."

They all looked at each other, and for a second the world seemed to shrink down to just the three of them, locked away in their own little universe of hurt and confusion and fear.

"No," Ron said quietly, and Hermione shook her head, wiping her tears from her face. A united front against him.

Harry looked between them, betrayal seeping like poison through his veins. He squared his jaw.

"Fine," he said coldly, and turned to go, cancelling his Silencing spell with a flick of his wand. There was the scrape of a chair driving back and Ron's hand was on his arm, but Harry threw it off, whirling around so that they practically nose to nose. "Stay out of my stuff," he said dangerously. "And if you two can't stop digging into things that are none of your business, then you can stay the hell away from me too."

And he stalked off around the screen and down the ward, trying to feel nothing, to be blank and cold and detached, and yet feeling for all the world as though his heart was ripping in two.

A/N: PSA: It's coming.