AN: Guys, I'm so sorry it's been so long!! I can only pray for your forgiveness. There's just a touch of language in this chapter, so just thought I'd warn you. The next two chapters will be up as fast as I can type 'em! Love you!!
Sirius' emotions were very tumoltuous and confused for the next several days. At some moments he felt as though he wanted to wither and die and at others he wanted to beat his fist through the stone wall. His heart would ache inside his chest for Rose, and then half a minute later he would feel like storming into the Hospital Wing, shaking her by the shoulders, and demanding that she give him a reason, (besides her lame cop-out, of course). He was teetering constantly between strong and weak, soft and hard. He had never had such a storm raging inside him before. When he had been upset with his parents, there there had been no tug-of-war of emotions. He hated them, and that was at. By he felt as though he was on some kind of a carnival ride or something- going up and down and around. James and Remus could get nothing out of him. Sirius They could hardly even probe him to eat. Peter was scared out of his wits by Moody Sirius, and sat next to James during meals for "protection".
Rose already felt sick on the outside. But her real sickness was in a place that no Healer could heal. It was in her soul. She was so miserable without Sirius. She wanted to crawl on her knees all the way to him, to hold him, beg of him to embrace her, kiss her, love her. But she couldn't. This is so stupid! her mind screamed. You had a dream and broke up with the man you love? She wanted to give into that voice so badly. It called to her, soothed her.
I don't care what my instincts say, I don't care what Dumbledore says, I'm going to have Sirius and I don't care who suffers the consequences! she resolved. Just do it. Just write a note to Sirius and tell him to come see you. Just ask Madame Ringgold for some parchment... her mind coaxed her.
NO! a different voice called to her.
Why not? she responded angrily. Why the hell not?
You know why the hell not!
No, I really don't, she stubbornly persisted.
Because of duty! Honor! True Love!
What I am doing is the duty to myself, and to Sirius. That is true love, she bristled, feeling feline.
It is not. It is selfish, unwhole love.
I love Sirius with my whole, entire, being!
Have you ever heard that if you really love something, let it go?
Of course, and it's the biggest bunch of cliche pigswill there is.
See past tomorrow and listen to me!
I see past tomorrow and into eternity and Sirius will be right there beside me in it!
You're being destructive. You'll only wreak havoc upon your life, his, and so many others. Let Sirius walk away, let him be free, free yourself!
I am freeing myself! I'm freeing myself to love and be loved. I'm freeing myself from guilt! And, I'm freeing Sirius.
The truth and the truth alone will set you free! You do not know the truth yet! Wait for the truth, Rose. Only then will you understand.
"I understand perfectly, thank you very much!" she spat venomously to her sensible, inner voice.
"Dearie, are you alright?" Madame Ringgold bustled over, breakfast tray in her hands, looking very concerned.
"I'm fine, Madame Ringgold," she said stiffly.
"Are you sure? You look very troubled, dear," she pressed, examining the dueling expressions on Rose's face.
"Really, Madame Ringgold. I'm alright," Rose insisted, her tone soft but biting.
"Could I have some parchment, and a quill and ink?" she asked the Healer.
"Of course, dear," Madame Ringgold said, her expression clearly baffled, as she hurried off to fetch some.
You do not know the truth yet, a voice repeated distantly. Rose took a defiant bite of toast which she chased down with pumpkin juice. Madam Ringgold returned with parchment.
"Thank you," Rose replied, as she handed them to her.
Dearest Sirius,
I know I've told you to leave me alone. I know that I've hurt you terribly. I know that my reasons have been stupid. But as I've been lying here in this wretched cot for all of these days, I've felt as though I've been crumbling from within. I can't stand not being with you. I need you. I miss you. I love you. Please, please, please come and see me tonight, and never let me send you away again. I cannot bear this! Please come, as soon as you can!
Love, love, love!
Rose
Rose signed her name slowly, willing the ink to embody all her emotions and somehow breathe them back to him. She blew on the ink, helping it along, before folding it into quarters. She suddenly felt very tired. She set the letter on her nightstand and lay her head down, her mind now set at ease. She allowed herself for the first time in days to relax upon her pillows. The world drifted away very slowly, but she felt at peace. Her breathing slowed. She was asleep.
Rose slept much longer than she intended to. She slept through lunch, and even through dinner, not moving except for her chest, steadily up and down, up and down. Madame Ringgold checked on her periodically, pleased that she was getting such rest. She had been having night terrors and dreams for the past several nights. She didn't think that Rose's sleep had amounted to more than a couple of hours every night. She was always thrashing about, throwing her pillows off the bed and sending the bedclothes everywhere. She stirred not, her beautiful, thick curls splayed on the pillow. Her face even looked as though it were smiling. She saw the parchment that she had given Rose earlier, folded into quarters. She was most tempted to read it, but walked away instead, leaving a pitcher of water on the nightstand.
She had just been about to dim the lights in the Hospital Wing when Lily Evans walked in.
"Miss Evans! What a late visit! I assume you want to visit Miss Bennet?" Madame Ringgold exclaimed, nearly running into the redhead.
"Yes, Madame Ringgold," Lily said breathlessly.
"She's asleep, first time in awhile," Madame Ringgold said apologetically.
"Please, Madame Ringgold?" Lily pleaded.
"You may sit with her," she gave in (it wasn't very difficult, she was a bit of a pushover). "But do not wake her please!" she whispered loudly as Lily passed her, heading for the curtained bed. She entered on tip-toe, diligently trying not to wake Rose. She sat in the single chair next to her bed. Rose looked so peaceful. Lily hadn't been able to visit her since she became ill. She had been told by Madame Ringgold that she would accept no visitors. Lily looked at her closed eyelids. Cautiously, she reached over and took one of Rose's hands. She slept on. Lily began to gently stroke it. What was going on inside Rose's head? What was hidden in her memory...?
"Dear, is that an owl?!" Mrs. Granger called to her husband, looking wildly out the window. It was three in the afternoon, Sarah-Anne Granger had just put on tea when she looked out the window above her sink and saw an owl, with what looked like paper tied to its leg, flying towards her house.
"Hermione! Charles! Come look! There's an owl outside!" she called again.
"An owl, Mum? But owls only fly at night. They're nocturnal. I read it in-" Hermione looked out the window and her own eyes went wide.
"Dad! Come look at this! It's an owl!" she shouted.
"I'm coming, dear. An owl, you say? Well, dear, they only fly at nigh-" he stopped himself, next to his wife and daughter, and watched as the owl landed on the window. It leaned forward and tapped on the glass twice. They stared at it. It stared back. It tapped on the glass again. Hermione went to open it, but her mother arrested her wrist.
"No, Hermione. We are not going to let that thing into the house. It would fly everywhere! Besides, it's probably wild, and dirty!"
"Mum, it has a letter on its leg! I'm sure of it! And its smart, too. It wants us to let it in. I- I know it!"
"She's right," said a prim voice from behind them. They all whipped their heads around. A woman in a long, deep green dress with a short black cloak was standing before them. She had her hair pulled into a rigid, tight bun and her lips were very thin. Her eyes had crows feet aroung them, and there were several folds in her cheeks.
"Who are you and why are you in my house?!" Charles Granger demanded.
"I am Professor McGonagall. I teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she introduced herself. She crossed past them and opened the window. The owl fluttered in and extended his leg. He then turned from them and flew out the window. Sarah-Anne's face was twisted in shock and horror.
"Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of the School, wishes for me to extend an invitation for Miss Granger to come and learn magic at Hogwarts," she said, answering the second half of Mr. Granger's question.
"Magic? What kind of rubbish is this?" he asked suspicously, putting himself several paces between the woman and his family.
"Since you are of non-magic parentage, you probably are not familiar with magic, except that which your daughter has done, of course," McGonagall explained.
"Hermione? Do magic?" Sarah-Anne said dumbfoundedly,
"Yes, though she can't control it yet."
"Magic doesn't exist," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Doesn't exist?" Professor McGonagall said with a smile. She suddenly began to shrink downwards. Within moments a cat was sitting in her place. Sarah-Anne screamed. Charles jumped backwards. The cat gave them knowing looks. McGonagall now appeared.
"What did you just do?" Hermione whispered.
"I am an Animagus. I have an alternate animal form. It is not particularly common within the Wizarding community," she explained.
"I don't think I can do anything like that," Hermione said earnestly, eyes still wide.
"You've never done anything you can't explain?" McGonagall asked, digging for answers she knew were there.
"No," she said at first, shaking her head. McGonagall gave her a sharp look.
"Yes," she reconsidered.
"Last month, I didn't know the answer to my test, and my pencil wrote it out for me. And when I was 9 I made a bunch of dodgeballs beat George Hadely over the head because he teased me about my hair. And when I was seven, and everyone forgot it was my birthday, I went to bed and woke up and it was my birthday all over again and everyone remembered. And- so many other things! I can make a paper airplane fly without touching it! I can make the lights go off when my parents come to make sure I'm not staying up late reading!"
"Hermione! Why haven't you told us about all of these things?" Charles asked her seriously.
"Well, I thought I would get in trouble," Hermione mumbled truthfully.
"Never apologize for talent," McGonagall said, smiling. She handed Hermione the letter the owl had had.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said quietly.
The scene melted away. She was now in a tent. It was storming. The tent was crammed with stacks of books, several tin cans and a few pieces of furniture. The entire place reeked of cats. She felt the tears that were threatening to burst from the floodgates.
"Leave the Horcrux," she heard Harry say stonily. The redhead wrenched it from around his neck and threw it angrily into an armchair.
"What are you doing?" Ron addressed her.
"What do you mean?" she said, caught thoroughly off guard.
"Are you staying, or what?" he demanded. She knew what he wanted her to say. She felt as though her heart was splitting in two. She loved them both so much! Felt loyal to both of them so much! But how could she leave Harry? She had promised to come on this quest with him, and to stay and see it through, no matter how uncomfortable, trying, and long it took. She knew. She knew that she would have to turn him away for Harry.
"I..." Hermione, you must say it. You have to tell him. "Yes- yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-" she pleaded, reasoned with him.
"I get it," he said harshly. "You choose him." Was that- jealousy, she detected in his voice? Before she could work it out he was throwing back the entrance of the tent.
"Ron, no- please- come back, come back!" she called despereately to him. She bumped into an invisible wall. Of course, that stupid Shield Charm! She quickly fumbled for her wand, and removed it. She threw herself outside, following his deep, mucky footprints. She looked around, not feeling the enormous rain drops pelting her face, gluing her hair to her head and cheeks. There was only darkness and the faint shadows of trees there. She looked at the ground where the footsteps went. She took in a sharp breath of hope. She followed them to the other side of the tent. She saw Ron there, making adjusments to his rucksack. His red hair clung to his neck and ears, and his face had a hard, determined, stubborn look on it.
"Ron!" He turned to look at her. He turned away again, his blue eyes frosty.
"Ron! Please, please don't go!" she said, arresting his arm, holding it gently, yet firmly, with her slender fingers.
"I'm tired of it, Hermione. I'm tired of enduring all of this shite and not getting a Knut of thanks for it! Harry's arse can-"
"Ron!" she said sharply. "Do you think Harry's the only one here that needs you? Do you honestly think that I'm enjoying this any more than you are?" she cried. He didn't answer her.
"I'm tired of it, too, Ron! But it's not about you or me! It's about-"
"Harry," he answered darkly.
"No," she whispered, stunned. "It's not about Harry. Harry isn't that kind of person, Ron. He's not out for glory, or more fame. He's doing this for everyone. Everyone. I would've thought you'd learned this lesson in our fourth year at school, but I supposed not!" she exclaimed.
"Go. Just go, Hermione," he said to her, shaking his head, looking at her venomously.
"No, Ron. Stay. Stay and help me, help Harry fight against evil. We need you more than you think!" she said, tightening her grip on his forearm.
"You don't need me! Harry Bloody Potter's in there! Famous Harry Potter! Who's brave and brilliant and gutsy and all that stuff. And you! You! You know everything there is to know on this planet. Best in our year. Always the smartest. And then there's me. Ordinary, not in anyway talented or useful, me! You don't need me! You've never needed me!"
"That's not true, Ron! You know that's not true!" Hermione was openly crying now.
"Why do you want to keep me around, anyway?" he shouted to her.
"Because we love you!" she said, tugging on his arm. He stared at her in hard disbelief for a several moments- their eyes locked, hers leaking tears, and his searching the depths of her sincerity. He yanked his arm from her and took several paces back from her.
"You don't love me," he said quietly, before turning on the spot, leaving flying mud behind him. She burst into tears. "I love you, Ron! I do! I do love you, Ron!" she screamed at him. But he couldn't hear it. She drug herself back into the tent.
"He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!" she told Harry.
AN: I know I don't deserve it, but would you please, please, please review? Thanks!