CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Turns out that the lead was true. We cornered McNair but he escaped. In the ensuing fracas, he took two drunken muggles who got caught in the cross fire. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in St. Mungo's for a while and I had to stay there as well. McNair made good use of his time and improved the Sectusempura. I had cuts that needed to have dressings changed every two hours before they figured out how to stop the bleeding. Good thing too because I knew that Hermione would've known about what happened because it was all over the Daily Prophet. I didn't want to worry her anymore than was necessary. I'm imagining that Ron must have quite a handful right now keeping Hermione out of mischief because that's the way she is. She has always been very protective of me and Ron that I shudder to think that she might do something stupid.

After a week, I was discharged from St. Mungo's. Kingsley, not being as lucky as I was, succumbed to his injuries at 5 a.m. on the day that Ron picked me up. It was stupid and senseless. How many people have to die like this? We were quiet on the way back to Surrey. Each contemplating on when will Voldemort's shadow stop casting itself upon our lives when he decides to break the silence. "Harry, you ought to be more careful mate." And that was the summary of our conversation.

The Ministry of Magic was adamant that I take a couple of weeks off. I bolt myself at Grimmauld's after finding out that the last time I saw Hermione, she was about to go off to France with John and has been there ever since. She didn't even stay to see if I were alright. Here I was expecting her to go on a rampage because of what happened and as it turns out, she was out on holiday. I didn't know which hurt more. That I obviously don't know her anymore or that I meant so little. Obviously, my life was no piddling matter to Hermione Jane Granger. I must have cheated death so many times she's taking it for granted that I would do it again. I was angry and all I wanted to do was to die just so I could rub her face in it and say "Hah! Guess you were wrong this time." Then again, it would be difficult to do that considering I'd be dead and it just sounds silly to come back as a ghost just to bear some pithy message like "you are so wrong."

Then I couldn't be angry with her for so long because it was only a mere couple of hours when I started missing her. I go around her room and take out a book that she was reading when her parents died. I'm pretty sure it was some sort of chick lit but just then I was aching for anything that was part of her and if that meant reading "Hogwarts: A History", I would probably jump at the chance to do that. But this book was so not like Hermione that I wondered what she found in it. It was called "Sophie's Bakery for the Broken Hearted". It was about a woman named Sophie who was trying to cope with the death of her husband from cancer. Very much a muggle story. Don't really know whether a wizard / witch ever died from cancer before. Wouldn't it be ironic if in the end I died of that. Oh wait, then again I already don't need another one. Already have one and it's not as if there is any cure.

I end up reading the book non-stop, wondering whether I could finally move on from my grief like the heroine in the book. Luna and the Weaselys have taken over Grimmauld's place because I've agreed to having a welcome party for Ron and Luna's first-born. The preparation is at fever pitch and I feel lost flitting through the house. I feel like a stranger looking in on someone else's life and the only thing I wanted to do was to get lost in some other story other than mine so I obsess about finishing the stupid book. Thus, my retreat into one of the newer coffeeshops in Diagon Alley, which actually had offered good coffee and an interior not as cloyingly sweet as Madam Puddifoot's. In short it had cerebral sensitivities and I think that Hermione would love it here. I resolve to bring her to this place when she comes back. I'm absolutely certain that the quiet nook in the corner where the sunlight creates dappled patterns on the hardwood table in the afternoon would be our favorite spot. Ours. I turn that word in my head and reprimand myself for doing it. I remember I don't have the right to use that word. Not anymore. Not ever. I settle into the corner and start reading when a red-head plants herself unceremoniously on the chair facing mine.

"Hmmm...pretty heavy tome there Harry. Is it any good?"

I look up and blink twice to readjust my eyes, "Hey Ginny."

"Is it helping you?"

I stare blankly at her, unable to understand what she means.

She gestures at my book and says, "Ever been broken-hearted Harry?"

I stay quiet and start resenting her prodding of wounds that have not healed yet. She smiles sadly at me and continues, "Have you told her yet? Have you told Hermione?"

I'm not sure what she was referring to -- whether it was my heart condition or my feelings. Either way, I don't lie when I answer, "No." My voice low.

"Why not? What are you scared of? If you don't say anything, you will lose her."

I shake my head at this, "I tell her and I will lose her. Much better this way. If she doesn't know, I don't lose her."

Seemingly disgusted by my response, she stands up. Disappointment evidenced in her every being. She was halfway across the floor towards the exit when Ginny stops a beat and turn back around, "Where did the courageous Gryffindor we all love go?"

I shift at the weight of her disappointment before I reply, "He's gone. He died when Voldemort did."

"We don't know you, anymore Harry. May be we never really did. But if you see the Harry we thought we knew back then, can you tell him to snap out of it and stop being a prat. Because if you don't get out of this funk you are in then may be you don't really deserve her after all."

That's the second time I heard that. I've always known it. But it sounds all the more true hearing someone say it. I see white dots dance in front of my eyes as a familiar twisting pain sears into my chest. Like a hot knife has been plunged into it and someone was callous enough to push it in even further before twisting it. I leave 10 galleons on the table before I head onto Godric's Hollow. I was weeping inconsolably in front of the gravestone of my parents. I scream out loud and rail at the injustice of everything. Everything was just too much and since I haven't had found anyone I could tell all of this to as a reprieve, I end up scooping dusts of dirt and holding onto their tombstone for strength.

I had no idea how long I was going to stay out here but I felt like I could better mull things over at Godric's Hollow then being at Grimmauld's or talking to Ron. May be I should talk to Ron but I think I already know what he's going to say. Just goes to show up to what level of desperation I have sunk into if I seriously considered asking Ron for advise. Well, considering where I am and where he is at this point in his life, I guess it's a good place to start as any. When did I become the uncertain, emotionally daft sidekick? I mean if it were just fighting back against evil megalomaniacs, who wanted to kill me, that would have been fine. I think I'd rather go figure that out and have that looming over my head than all this sorry and sordid mess. It's just twisted and all that rubbish about being brave and setting your sweethearts free to see if they will come back, is just absolutely bollocks. I fell asleep on the ground. For how long, I didn't really know but when I woke up, I had to admit that Ron and Ginny were right. I'm not making myself worthy of her by being a coward and so I head on home. Determined to spill my guts when she comes back and end this once and for all. I wait until I feel strong enough so that I don't fall off my broom before I head back. The pain does not subside but at least it's the kind of pain I have gotten used to living with. I'm breathless as I land in the foyer of Grimmauld's Place – quite happy for the respite that Hermione is in France. Unfortunately, fate is a comic with a penchant for black humor because as soon as I straighten up from being winded from my flight, I end up looking straight into Hermione's eyes where she was standing in the threshold. Apparently, the end will happen sooner than I realize.