Chapter 42
You Owe Me Nothing
From their position in Harry's bedroom, Ron and Hermione heard the killing curses that felled Harry Potter and Bellatrix LeStrange. So much had happened in such a short period of time that they could do nothing more than crack open the door, their wands pointed ahead.
"YOU!" cried one the death eaters from the sitting room sofa, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
"Repaid a debt," replied Peter Pettigrew calmly from just inside what used to be the front door. Before the pair on the sofa could move to reclaim their wands, scattered on the carpet next to Harry's still body, Peter took action.
"Stupefy. Stupefy," he carefully intoned, knocking the unfortunate pair out for the second time in the previous five minutes.
The two teens leaned back from the door, expecting Pettigrew to rush down the hall to throw stunners at them. Or worse. Yet the seconds passed, and the animagus did not appear. Had he left? They cracked the door open again.
They heard the sound of a body being moved on the carpet. Peter roughly shoved Bellatrix's body aside with his foot and then moved over to the leather sofa. Ron and Hermione only caught a glimpse of his back, not in a position to cast a spell at him. Their fear slightly receded, as Pettigrew did not demonstrate any intention to harm them.
"Incarcerous," he stated twice, assuring the imprisonment of Bellatrix's lackeys by wrapping cords around their hands and feet. Calmly standing in front of the couch, Peter used his wand to levitate the bodies to more comfortable positions. Surveying the scene, he realized that the front door needed to be repaired from the reducto blast, so he casually flicked his wand to the word, "Reparo." After the splinters of wood and the crumbs of drywall reassembled themselves, Peter nodded his head in satisfaction. Potter dead. LeStrange dead. His debt repaid. All as it should be.
Stepping to Dumbledore's favorite chair, he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position. Ron and Hermione saw him come into and out of their vision, but when he sat, they could only see the side of his nearly bald head. They looked at each other in confusion, underlain with the realization of the horrible tragedy awaiting them in the sitting room. Ginny and Harry. Both dead.
"You may want to tie my hands and legs," Peter Pettigrew called to them, indicating his awareness of their presence, "Then you will need to contact the Ministry. There will be quite a job for them here. Who knows how many muggles heard all of this noise."
Could this be a trick? Hermione glanced at Ron, and the two pushed the door open all the way.
"Throw your wand out where we can see it," Ron ordered down the hall, though he could barely speak from the lump that had formed in his throat.
"Certainly," replied Pettigrew, and a second later his wand bounced on the carpet just before the start of the short hallway.
As soon as the wand became visible, Ron and Hermione slowly stepped forward, dreading the scene awaiting them. Once they entered the sitting room, they saw a nicely-dressed, clean, well-groomed Peter Pettigrew seated serenely, staring straight ahead. The two stunned death eaters half sat, half lay on the sofa. Bellatrix LeStrange's body had been pushed awkwardly against the wall by the front door, her head askew. Ginny Weasley's face lay on its left side on the carpet, her body almost completely stretched out. Thick red hair sprayed in a thousand directions.
Harry Potter's knees bumped into Ginny during his fall. He lay on his right side, his left arm resting on Ginny's back, his head tilted downwards.
"Why?" Hermione grunted, the only word she could utter.
"I will be happy to explain," replied the former friend of James and Lily Potter, "but it would be prudent for you to make sure that I cannot escape. Then you will need to contact the Ministry. Rest assured, I will tell you anything you wish to know. I no longer have secrets to conceal."
Good advice, they knew, but Ron and Hermione could barely function. Hermione realized that soon she would break down, for this day was and would always be the worst day of her life. She had to keep herself together a little longer.
Ron knelt next to his sister, running a hand through her thick, tousled red hair which spread out helter-skelter on the carpet. Finally turning her attention to the man sitting idly in the chair, Hermione forced herself to move the four steps to stand in front of him.
"Is anyone else coming?" she asked in barely more than a whisper, "Does anyone else know?"
"No. Only these three. They did not know that I followed them." He held out his arms, wrists tight together. "You really should tie me up."
The witch nodded, but for several seconds she could not think of the spell.
Noting the confusion in her eyes, Pettigrew added helpfully, "The incantation is 'incarcerous.'"
Of course it is, thought Hermione, and in a moment she bound the wrists and ankles of the intruder. It never occurred to her that Pettigrew could transform into his animagus form if he wished, but the middle-aged wizard appeared intent on ensuring his own capture.
Ron began to cry as he held his sister in his arms. She quite clearly had died. Her head hung limply when Ron lifted up her back, and already the color of her skin paled. Hermione moved over to Harry, and kneeled by his head.
"Why, Harry? Why?" she whispered, barely able to speak at all as the first tears formed in her eyes. He looked at peace, she thought. At least he can finally have peace. Yet something seemed different about him, compared to Ginny. The color of his skin had not changed, but of course his skin had already paled from weeks of living indoors. Still, something seemed different.
She ran her fingers through his messy hair and along his smooth cheek and chin. He shaved that morning, she recalled. His skin retained its warmth, but of course only a short time had elapsed since the curse hit him. Hermione carefully turned Harry's body into a more natural position, and then she saw it. Or did she?
Did his chest move? Initially she thought it did, but a moment later she decided that she may have imagined it. Kneeling motionlessly next to her best friend, she stared at his chest. It happened again!
Grabbing wildly for his wrist, she pressed her fingers to find a pulse. After pressing her fingers against the artery in Harry's neck, she jumped to her feet.
"RON, HARRY'S ALIVE!" she shouted, "We have to get him to St. Mungo's."
"But how?" Ron sputtered.
"I DON'T KNOW. WE HAVE TO MOVE."
But Ron could not move. He continued to hold his sister's body, staring blankly at Hermione.
At that moment, a pop could be heard in the kitchen. Hermione turned and saw Dobby rushing towards them.
"Something has happened to Harry Potter," the elf cried, "Dobby could feel it."
"Yes, Dobby, but Harry is still alive. We have to act right away. I have to go to St. Mungo's. Stay here and do what you can for him. And watch him too," she instructed the elf, pointing at Peter Pettigrew.
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Excruciatingly painful hours followed. Within minutes of informing St. Mungo's that Harry Potter lay near death, Hermione side-along apparated one healer back to the flat. She immediately returned to St. Mungo's to bring another healer, and the two worked intensely on Harry, after the second healer quickly confirmed Ginny's death.
One more time, Hermione returned to the wizarding hospital, where representatives of the Ministry awaited her, having been notified by the hospital administration. Remus Lupin stood at the head of the half dozen officials. Upon seeing her former professor, Hermione finally lost her composure, and half collapsed into the werewolf's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. Remus comforted her for a few seconds, but he knew that they had to move quickly.
"Hermione," he requested softly, "Please take me there. We have much to do."
The young witch nodded her head, took a deep breath, and grasped Remus' shoulder. Within a few minutes, the tiny flat overflowed with healers and ministry officials. Obliviators arrived on the scene to handle the muggle police and neighbors. Not only did they have to deal with Ginny's body and Harry's precarious hold on life, but Ron lapsed into a profound state of shock. Two healers briefly examined him and then accompanied him to St. Mungo's.
Aurors arrived to gather up the three prisoners, stunning the docile Pettigrew to prevent him from transforming into a rat. Remus glared at his former best mate, and Pettigrew stared back unapologetically. The two exchanged no words. The aurors unceremoniously dragged the body of LeStrange into the kitchen until the more important matters could be resolved. Remus and others gently questioned Hermione to gather a general idea of the morning's events. She sat on the sofa half stunned, watching the activity in silence.
Dobby sat in the corner of the kitchen, his head in his hands, observing the activity, holding himself entirely responsible for the tragedy. If only he had stayed . . .
Once the Daily Prophet caught wind of events, every reporter in its employ covered the multiple aspects of the story: Harry Potter's condition, the death of the daughter of a high-ranking Ministry official, the death of a feared death eater, the capture of three other death eaters, the condition of Harry Potter's best friends, and why the four teens were holing up in a muggle flat in the first place.
Universal agony swept through the magical world as news of the events trickled out, and the Prophet published two editions each day as its reporters made new discoveries.
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Hermione sat glumly in a metal chair pressed against the wall of Healer Samuel Spencer's small office at St. Mungo's. Also pressed into the office stood Minister of Magic Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin. Remus insisted that Hermione be included in the high-level meeting, both because of her worry over Harry's condition and since she could provide the best direct information regarding the previous morning's tragedy.
"Mr. Potter's physical condition has improved considerably, and in fact he probably was not as close to death as we originally feared when we first arrived at the scene. With some basic treatment, his vital signs improved, and he remains stable." Healer Spencer held an open file in his left hand while running his right hand through his long greying black hair.
"So does that mean we can expect a full recovery?" asked the Minister of Magic hopefully. A quarter of a year in office had worn on Shacklebolt, whose newly lined face evinced the pressures of his position. No doubt his hair would have greyed had he not already been completely bald.
Hermione also perked up at the healer's words, but something in his manner betrayed his true feelings.
"Unfortunately I cannot promise that. Ultimately that question will be answered by Mr. Potter himself." Confused expressions met Spencer's tired but composed face.
"Mr. Potter is in a coma because he wants to be," the aging healer explained as professionally as he could manage, "A voluntary coma has only rarely been reported over the past five hundred years of medical history. Only twelve cases in that time have conclusively been diagnosed. As we eliminated other possible diagnoses, Mr. Potter's condition became clear to us all. We worked into the early hours of the morning. This most definitely is a case of voluntary coma."
Remus, Hermione and Shacklebolt considered themselves knowledgeable of the magical world, yet none of them had ever heard of voluntary coma. For a moment the two men seemed reluctant to say as much, but Hermione quickly admitted her ignorance.
"What exactly is a voluntary coma?" she inquired quietly, preferring not to speak, "I don't think I've ever heard of it. Why would Harry want to be in a coma?" Her eyes remained downcast.
Healer Spencer sat behind his small white desk and paused before composing an answer.
"Miss Granger, of the twelve recorded cases, five individuals died and seven survived. Naturally, studies of the seven survivors revealed much, but seven cases hardly qualify as an adequate sample to speak conclusively about these things. Nevertheless, one aspect of the condition is quite clear. The patient does not wish to live. More than that, the patient is willing himself to die. Quite simply, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter is attempting to force himself to die."
Hermione's heart raced at the healer's words, though her face remained deceptively passive. Remus and Shacklebolt shifted nervously.
"Of course, willing oneself to die is not easy, especially when Mr. Potter's body is young and relatively healthy, despite the difficulty of his recent months. Of the five patients who died, four were of an advanced age." Spencer closed the file and set it on his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Nevertheless, from what we have gathered in our interviews and examinations, Mr. Potter quite clearly is a man of supreme mental determination. I am afraid that we are quite worried. Extremely worried."
"What can you do for him?" the Minister of Magic inquired, "Do whatever you can. The Ministry will cover any cost."
"Mostly we can keep his body as healthy as possible through nutritive potions and therapies, making it more difficult for his body to expire. However, this will only buy time. Ultimately Mr. Potter must find a reason to live."
Spencer eyed the pretty young witch sitting before him, her eyes cast down to the white tile floor. Beyond what he reported, he had few ideas.
"Miss Granger. I understand that you are Mr. Potter's closest friend. Several people have described your special understanding of him." The healer leaned forward, attempting to make eye contact with the young witch, but she did not lift her gaze. "It appears your friend has some level of consciousness, or perhaps awareness would be a better word. His body tenses noticeably when his room is full of people, but he relaxes if only one or two are in the room. Right now, the only medicine I can prescribe is a heavy dose of friendship. I would like you to spend as much time as you can with him. Talk to him. Give him a reason to live."
"Will he even hear me?" she asked in a tired, defeated voice.
"Yes, I believe he will," the healer responded, "On some level I am quite certain that he will feel your presence."
"Harry wanted to die all year, but we wouldn't let him. Maybe I should let him now. Maybe he'll be happier dead than alive."
Remus' heart broke at the young witch's words. He had known the brilliant girl since her third year at Hogwarts and often marveled at her determination. Now sat before him a broken young woman, with one best friend unconscious and near death, the other barely functioning due to shock.
"Do you really believe that, Hermione?" the werewolf kindly asked.
"I don't know what I think," she replied, never moving her eyes from the floor, "My mind isn't functioning. It's all too terrible." Her voice dwindled to a whisper.
The three men could think of nothing to say, so they remained silent. Eventually Hermione looked up and slowly stood.
"I'd like to see Harry now if I may," Hermione requested abruptly, "Maybe that will help me decide what to do."
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Hermione held Harry's hand for a full hour, but she did not utter a word. He could feel her, she knew intuitively, and that had to be enough for the moment. She still could not speak about it. It was too early for words.
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A wave of relief pulsed through Harry's body the moment the killing curse connected with his chest. He expected to die quickly and quietly. No torture, no drawn out illness. What more could he hope for?
Yet when the curse hit him, he retained his consciousness. The curse itself caused him no pain, but he felt a surge of energy rush through him searching for a target. Suddenly his mouth opened involuntarily as Voldemort's howl of pain escaped, and Harry's body shook as the last remnants of the dark lord vanished into nothingness.
Harry realized with horror that the curse killed Voldemort, not himself. Yet he had not intended to live one more second. Ginny died. Now Voldemort died. Why should he live any longer?
"I will not!" the Boy Who Lived decided, and he crumpled to the carpet unconscious. A grey-blackness filled his world, a vacuum with no sense of time or space. He still lived, he knew, but he would live no longer. Now he understood clearly. His life had one purpose: to kill Tom Riddle. With success, the reason for living no longer existed.
I am not even a real person, Harry's inner voice argued, Someone placed me on the earth only because of a prophecy. The prophecy is fulfilled, so my life is over. One cannot exist without the other.
His world turned a shade darker, nearly pitch black. Soon it would end all together.
Except that he felt a warmth in his hand, which almost imperceptibly spread throughout his body. For the first time he thought of Hermione. She would suffer when he died.
She'll get over it, he told himself, initiating an internal dialogue, Time heals all wounds.
But she is suffering. Why do you want her to suffer? How do you know she'll get over it?
Hermione is strong. Stronger than I am. Stronger than Ron. She'll survive.
Is she truly that strong? Can she survive the horror that she just witnessed? She saw Ginny dead on the ground. She saw you. You wanted this; she did not.
I DID NOT WANT THIS! I DID NOT WANT TO DIE! That is why Ginny is dead now. If I had finished it all before, if I had not been so weak . . .
So you want to live! If you truly wanted to die, you would have succeeded in your attempts. Deep down, you want to live.
NO! I wanted to live. Past tense. Now I want to die! Why should I wish to live another second?
Hermione wants you to live.
The blackness of Harry's mind lightened to a deep grey.
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Ginny Weasley's funeral a couple of days after her death proved to be a horrible experience for all. Molly remained inconsolable, and the severe shock that still affected Ron also affected Ginny's remaining brothers to a lesser degree. The youngest child, the only daughter, the princess of the family. Her loss was unbearable.
Dozens of officials from the Ministry attended, including the Minister of Magic himself, which only contributed to the difficulty for the family. They would have preferred a quiet family affair. Ginny's death had been sensationalized by the Daily Prophet and other press outlets, resulting in a number of reporters and their assistants showing up uninvited. Indeed, many average wizards and witches arrived as well to express their condolences, and nobody had the heart to turn them away. The funeral turned into a somber circus.
Hermione attended the funeral, but barely paid attention. For some reason, sitting among the mourners caused her to think clearly for the first time since Ginny died, and as soon as the service ended, she inconspicuously slid away from the crowd and apparated back to Grimmauld Place. She climbed the stairs, walked past her room and into Harry's. Dobby previously returned his master's belongings to the room, and Hermione aimlessly rifled through Harry's personal effects, deep in thought. She opened his trunk and moved its contents around. At the bottom, an envelope caught her eye. She slid several books to the side and lifted it.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
The young witch stared at the words for a full minute, but she repelled the temptation to open it. Harry had prepared, she realized. He knew his death would come. How many times had he told her? Yet she refused to believe it, always convinced that somehow Harry Potter would prevail, that he would always be there for her. She could not imagine life without Harry alive. She needed him to be alive.
Am I being selfish?
Yes, I am, she answered her own question, I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't let you use this yet.
Hermione carefully placed the Will back in the bottom of the trunk, closed the lid, and with determination rushed out of the room.
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Pushing a simple metal chair next to his bed, Hermione stared intently at her friend of nearly seven years. Though unconscious and lying down, he did not appear to be resting at all. The tension in his body caused him to look like a cadaver, but his chest rose and fell regularly with each breath.
He's just a boy, Hermione thought as she stood next to the bed studying him, He looks so much younger now than he did a few days ago. If Harry could have seen Hermione, he would have thought the exact opposite. The trials of the past days had aged the young witch considerably, but in some ways it suited her. She took off her robe and draped it over another chair and finally sat down.
"Please forgive me, Harry, if you don't want me to bring you back, but I have to try," she whispered as much to herself as to the young wizard, "It's all been too much! I can't lose you too." Slowly she lifted his hand and entwined her fingers with his.
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Harry felt the same warmth in his hand that he felt once before, though he did not understand from where it came. Immediately his thoughts turned to Hermione, and the warmth spread throughout his body.
Thoughts entered his mind involuntarily, and for a moment he wondered why, but then he focused on the thoughts with great concentration. Instinctively he knew that consideration of these thoughts would ultimately decide his fate.
"I know that you want to die, Harry. I can't blame you, after all that you've been through. But please don't, at least not until you've heard me out. After that, you have to make up your own mind." Hermione had organized her thoughts on her way to St. Mungo's, but now that it came down to it, she decided to say whatever came into her mind.
"Ginny didn't die for you so that you would die too. You understand what happened, don't you, Harry? She sacrificed herself for you and placed the same protection over you that your mum and dad did when you were a baby. That's why the killing curse didn't kill you. I guess the curse didn't rebound on LeStrange because it found Voldemort instead. We heard him die, so I know that he's gone now. You're finally free. I know that you didn't want Ginny to block the curse, but it's too late now. Please don't make her sacrifice meaningless."
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand a little tighter and brushed the hair out of his eyes with her other hand. She closed her eyes and paused, as if allowing Harry to consider her argument.
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She shouldn't have! Harry thought, as he had thought a thousand times before. He knew good and well why he survived the avada kedavra; he understood Ginny's sacrifice. It was wrong! When my mum did it, it made sense. A mother will always sacrifice herself for her child. But why Ginny? She shouldn't have done it! His body, which had relaxed when Hermione took his hand, tensed again.
She shouldn't have done it! he repeated again.
But she did, he answered himself, you can't change what happened. Ginny sacrificed herself for you, whether you like it or not. She wouldn't want you to die. Then her sacrifice would be in vain.
This is my decision! Harry hotly countered, Why should I live any longer? Voldemort is dead; I have no purpose any more. This is about me, not Ginny.
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While Hermione meditated with her eyes shut, thoughts came into her mind unbidden.
"It's not just about you, Harry," she whispered to her unconscious friend, having no idea why she spoke as if responding to a statement by him. "You mean a lot to many people. To Ron. To me. To the whole wizarding world. You are a hero now. Everyone wants you to survive after what you have done for them."
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The wizarding world can go to hell! Harry answered the thought which appeared in his mind, They don't care about me. I'm just a name, a celebrity. Let them name a street for me if they want. I don't care about them!
But Ron cares about you. He's lost his sister; he doesn't want to lose you too.
How do I know that? It's my fault she died. LeStrange cast the curse at me, not her. Ron will blame me; he should blame me! We would never be the same again.
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"You're probably wondering about Ron," Hermione murmured softly, "He's not doing well. He says he doesn't blame us for Ginny, but I know he does. Deep down he does. I wanted Ginny to join us; Ron didn't. In his mind, Ginny shouldn't have been there." She bowed her head until it touched the top of Harry's hand. "He's right, of course."
She visited Ron three times since Ginny died, first at St. Mungo's and then at the Burrow. The tragedy left him an emotional mess, and Hermione did not know if he would ever fully recover. Though outwardly he claimed that he did not blame Harry or Hermione, she could feel the anger and resentment inside of him. He had been so cold towards her. She knew that their friendship would never be the same.
"First I lost Ginny, and now I've lost Ron," she told Harry quietly, "I can't lose you too. It's too much."
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"Ron blames me, as well he should. He doesn't care if I live or die. He'll be better off without me.
He blames Hermione, too, Harry's other voice argued, She has to be suffering terribly. Do you want to finish her off by dying too?
I don't want to cause Hermione to suffer, but . . .
But what? You know she will. She's lost everything except you. If you go, she might crack.
Hermione will not crack! Harry's first voice retorted, Yes, she will suffer. No, she doesn't deserve it, but she will survive. What must be must be. She can be happy without me, given enough time.
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"I feel like I'll never be happy again, Harry," Hermione confessed, stroking Harry's arm. She noticed that he had more hair on his arms than she had realized. Only seventeen years old. Still a boy; almost a man. She released his hand and rose from her chair, leaning over the invalid. Running both of her hands down Harry's smooth cheeks to his chin, she saw that the hospital staff must have shaved his face. His hair remained long and tangled, but it fell backward towards the pillow, and the scar on his forehead stood out.
She returned to her seat and again entwined her fingers with his. The "conversation" with Harry exhausted her, and unconsciously she scooted the chair a few inches closer to the bed and rested her head on Harry's left shoulder. The stress of the last few days overcame her, and in a moment she fell asleep.
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"We found her like this, Healer Spencer," a young healer's assistant explained quietly, her blond hair tied tightly behind her head, "We were not sure whether we should wake her."
Samuel Spencer moved silently around Hermione to the other side of the bed. His patient's head tilted towards his pretty young friend, just reaching the top of her head. The constant tension in his body clearly had eased, and he appeared more peaceful at that moment than at any time since his admittance. Spencer did not need to be a genius to decide which orders to give. Flicking his hand, he motioned for the assistant to leave the room, and he followed a few steps behind, pausing one last time to assess the scene.
In the hallway after he carefully closed the door, he issued the stern order that Harry Potter's young woman friend must not be disturbed under any circumstances. For the first time, a sliver of hope entered his heart.
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The warmth which Harry felt earlier intensified. Whereas before Hermione had entered his thoughts, now she invaded his entire body. In a way, it reminded him of the terrible months with Voldemort inside of him, except that this feeling did not sicken him. He wanted more. For the first time, he recognized Hermione's physical presence.
She's here. You can feel her. You can feel her love. Do you want to leave that behind?
His other voice wavered.
I don't know what I want. But I like this feeling; I can't deny it.
Of course you do. It's love. Hermione loves you.
I know she loves me, but not like that. Not like Ginny loved me. His internal voice sounded unsure.
Can't you feel that? The last time you felt anything like that was with Ginny last year. But this is just as strong. Hermione loves you. Don't deny it.
Does she? Does she really love me like that?
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Hermione opened one eye but did not move her head. She did not recall having lain her head on Harry's shoulder, but she liked it, especially because she felt Harry's head resting against hers. She snuggled an inch or two closer, creating more contact with her friend, and reached her hand up to his hair, gently running her fingers through the tangled black locks.
The question had formed in her mind: Do you love Harry? She understood the intent of the question perfectly. Everyone knew that she loved Harry, that they had a special connection, an unusually close friendship. But the question did not refer to that.
Do you love Harry?
She knew the answer. For a long time she had known it but had never admitted it to anyone, especially herself. Harry liked Ginny, maybe even loved her. They were made for each other. Hermione accepted that. She would always be Harry's closest friend, his confidante, the person who understood him best, but she could not be his lover. Ginny was so pretty, so alive and full of energy, so perfect for him.
Except that she was not. Hermione slowly realized during the past months that Ginny was not perfect for Harry. Nobody is perfect for anyone. When they broke up after Dumbledore's funeral, Hermione believed with all her heart that the two would be back together as soon as school began, yet they never reunited. No, Ginny was a wonderful person, but she was not perfect for Harry. Nobody was.
Hermione knew she had a problem on that day months before when she cried on Harry's shoulder at Grimmauld Place, just hours before she broke up with Ron. Try as she might, the memory of Harry wrapping his arms around her, comforting her, never left her. But she had to repress it. Harry had so much to face; he could not be distracted. And the moment in Connery's Knoll when she saw Harry dripping wet out of the shower, the towel wrapped around his waist. Her feelings became harder and harder to repress, but repress them she did.
Until the kiss. Not the first kiss; that could be explained away as her nervous concern for her closest friend about to face possible death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. But the second kiss could not be so easily justified. She tried to turn around to leave his bedroom, but an irresistible force nailed her feet to the floor. That same force seemed to push her head back towards Harry, and the second kiss, longer and more tender than the first, ensued. She could do nothing to stop it, and when finally she managed to flee the bedroom to the safety of the locked and silenced bathroom, she suddenly and momentarily faced reality. The fact that she loved Harry smashed through the thick steel walls in her brain that had always contained that emotion previously. Despair overcame her, knowing that Harry may very well be in love with Ginny, and that her love would always be unrequited. After half an hour of tears, she forced herself to repress those feelings again, though less completely than before.
There was always Ginny. She knew how Ginny felt about Harry, freely admitting it to Hermione in their many bedroom conversations. Ginny at times suspected that perhaps Hermione felt the same about Harry, but Hermione always assured her otherwise.
Everything had changed now. She would no longer repress these feelings. Harry needed to know the truth, and then he could decide whether to live or die.
Hermione slowly moved her head, making sure to place Harry's head in a comfortable position. Lifting his arm onto his chest, she again entwined her fingers with his and gazed down at his face. Slowly she bent forward and gently kissed his forehead, just to the side of his scar.
"I love you, Harry." she whispered directly into his ear, and then kissed his forehead again, "Please don't leave me."
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Healer Spencer clucked happily as he completed his examination of his most famous patient. The pretty young witch sat silently by the wall, clearly troubled. Spencer could not help but steal glances at her during the fifteen minute procedure, and he debated internally whether he should inquire. Finally he completed his work and cleared his throat. Hermione shook her head out of her meditation.
"How is he?"
"Significantly improved, Miss Granger, though by no means out of the woods. Certainly his color has improved, and he has truly relaxed for the first time. I have instructed the staff not to interrupt you while you are here. Whatever you are doing, you should continue it."
The young witch did not demonstrate any pleasure at the news, surprising the older wizard. Instead she bit her lower lip and cast her eyes upon the grey tile floor.
Spencer moved to the door, which had been left ajar, and closed it. Pulling up one of the metal chairs, he sat across from Hermione, and studied her for a few moments.
"Perhaps it is not my place, Miss Granger, but I can't help but notice your ambivalence to this positive development. For the first time, I feel some optimism that your friend may choose to live. That is, I can assure you, entirely because of you." The healer paused, examining Hermione closely. "I do not know the details of your friendship with Mr. Potter, but clearly your presence has sparked something inside of him. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?"
Hermione had only met the healer on a few occasions and certainly had not developed a confidential relationship with him, yet she felt his concern and sensed that he could be trusted. In a way, she could speak more frankly with him than with Remus or someone she knew well.
"The thing is, Healer Spencer, I feel that I'm being selfish. Harry always does things for others, and he knows that I want him to live, I'm sure of it. But I want him to live because HE wants to live, not because I want him to. I'm afraid that he'll decide to live only because he doesn't want me to suffer. I don't want him to come back only to be miserable the rest of his life." She sat up straight while addressing the healer, her hands tightly folded in her lap.
Samuel Spencer had dispensed a lot of advice to grieving families over the decades, but he never faced a situation such as this. Nevertheless, he understood the young witch's point, and his advice came to him immediately.
"Tell him. When I leave in a moment, tell him exactly what you told me. Mr. Potter must make the decision. If he comes back, that means he wanted to come back, even if in some way he is doing it for you." He paused a moment and glanced over to the bed where Harry remained unconscious. Hermione followed his gaze.
"I do not mean to be overly blunt, Miss Granger, for I know that no matter how Mr. Potter decides, you are a most special person to him. Ultimately, however, he will decide whether you are worth it. If he comes back because of you, that means that you are worth it to him. If he does not, then the horrors of his life will have proved too much to overcome."
As the healer spoke these words, Hermione's eyes slowly dropped their gaze from the man's eyes down to the floor. She remained silent after he finished, and he felt that he had said enough, hopefully not too much. Standing up, he placed his hand on the girl's shoulder for a moment and then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
The healer's advice made sense, but Hermione resisted it for several minutes. What if Harry took her up on it? What if he decided that she was not worth it? Would she prefer him to come back even if he did it only for her? At least he would be alive. She paced the small hospital room, and Harry seemed to sense her disquiet, for his muscles tensed. Finally she stopped at the foot of the bed and stared intensely at her closest friend. So much had happened to the seventeen-year old boy in his extraordinary life.
He deserves it, she decided, he deserves to make up his own mind, to decide what he wants. Trembling, she returned to the seat next to the bed, again taking Harry's hand.
"I want you to live, Harry. I love you. But I will not ask you to come back for me. I will be here if you do, but you have to decide. What do you want to do? I know that you wanted to die, and if that is your decision, I will accept it. I will try to move on." The tear ducts overflowed, and a steady stream fell from both eyes. She gripped Harry's hand even tighter, and she thought she felt him grip back. Heartened by this, she continued with the difficult words, her voice remaining soft but strong.
"You've done so much for me, Harry. You've saved my life more than once; you saved the whole world. You owe me nothing, but I owe you so much. Thank you, Harry, for everything you've done for me, and for everything we've done together. Whatever you decide, remember that I love you."