Chapter 43
It All Went to Hell
"So what's it going to be? You can't stay like this forever, you know."
"I know."
"Great! Are you going to decide any time soon?"
"It's not that easy. It seemed so obvious before, but now I'm confused. Hermione wants me to come back. She'll suffer if I don't. I don't know what to do."
"Yes, she will suffer, but she wants you to come back because YOU want to live, not because you feel sorry for her. Do you want to live?"
"No! . . . I don't know! . . . I don't know!"
"I think you do know. Let's be honest with our self. If you truly wanted to die, you would be dead by now. Something has stopped you. You're acting a little like Malfoy in the tower. He had every chance to kill Dumbledore but couldn't do it. You've had every chance to end it, but you can't do it. You want to live!"
"Of course I wanted to live, but everything has changed now. It's all wrong. Ginny is dead. All my fault. Voldemort is gone. Ron blames me. Only Hermione is left."
"You say that like it's a small thing. Hermione loves you. Isn't that what you've wanted all your life? Nobody loved you on Privet Drive, and you craved it. Now that you can have it, you want to throw it all away."
"But you're acting like nothing happened. GINNY IS DEAD! BECAUSE OF ME! I can't live with that guilt. She shouldn't even have been there, and then instead of me protecting her, she sacrifices herself for me. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"
"Ginny loved you. She had the right to sacrifice herself. You would have done it for her; what gives you the power to deny her the same right? That's what people who love each other do. GINNY WANTS YOU TO LIVE! Not just Hermione, Ginny too."
"You're right, I know it, but I just can't accept it. If I go back, it will be so hard. All of these feelings will come gushing out. I don't know if I can handle it. And the Daily Prophet and Witch's Weekly will hound me, and I won't be able to go anywhere without being mobbed. Is that any way to live?"
"Is that any reason to die? Are you telling me you can't deal with the Prophet or the public? What kind of pretext is that?"
"Not a very good one."
"Right! Look, Hermione loves you. If you don't come back, sure, she will move on. Eventually. She's strong, stronger than you are. Sooner or later she'll find another man, get married; hopefully she'd be happy. But YOU could be that man. So the question is, Harry Potter, do YOU want to be that man?"
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St. Mungo's provided a bed for Hermione in the corner of Harry's room, a highly unusual procedure. Some instinct instructed her not to leave her friend, not this night, and Healer Spencer overruled normal regulations. A decision would be made soon. She decided not to alert the staff if Harry showed signs of dying, though she could not be sure she would follow that decision when push came to shove. Finally around midnight, she could fight off her physical and emotional exhaustion no longer, and she slipped in between the sheets of the narrow bed.
Three hours later, Harry Potter stirred, confusion in his brain. He remembered nothing of his internal musings, yet he knew beyond doubt that Hermione shared this room, wherever it was, with him. He lifted his head and for the first time since Bellatrix LeStrange's killing curse, opened his eyes. Immediately he scanned the room, searching for his best friend.
Though dark outside, the rooms at St. Mungo's had been charmed to retain a dim aura, just enough light so that a healer or assistant could see when making rounds during the night. Without his glasses, the entire room blurred in his eyes, yet he immediately recognized a lump in the corner. That lump had to be Hermione.
He laid his head back on his pillow and stared at the blurry dark ceiling above him. Memories trickled into his head, but a few minutes passed before he finally synthesized it all. He knew that he had wanted to die, and he remembered why. Ginny's lifeless body etched itself into his mind. He could not understand, however, why he came back.
Stiff from the days of inactivity, he tried to kick his feet off the bed, but lacked the coordination to accomplish this simple task. His foot caught for a moment in the sheets, and he had to reach out to prevent himself from falling, causing an audible rustling. Hermione's eyes shot open.
She saw him recover from his near tumble and swing his legs over the side of the bed. She almost followed her first inclination to jump out of her bed and into his arms, to embrace him with the power of two Molly Weasleys. Instead, she remained motionless, studying the young man, trying to determine his mood. The emotion that filled her heart, however, could not be repressed. He chose life!
From her bed, she saw the dark outline of Harry Potter sit motionless for several seconds, his uncombed hair silhouetted against the far wall. Slowly he bowed his head lower and lower. His chest started to expand and contract noticeably, and then Hermione could see his body shudder.
Harry was weeping. The enormity of the tragedy, and his responsibility for it, fully sank in. If he had trusted the power of love at Godric's Hollow, if he had maintained his possession of Voldemort instead of stabbing him, he could have finished Voldemort off. When he failed, he needed to remove himself from the world to kill Voldemort once and for all, and to prevent the sort of inevitable tragedy that took Ginny's life. Beyond that, he should not have weakened when Ginny asked to join them so many months ago. If he had remained strong, Ginny would not have been in the flat when LeStrange appeared. Guilt and sorrow in equal measures flooded his body.
Quietly and swiftly, Hermione slid out from between the sheets, and rushed barefoot across the cold tile floor. She wanted to embrace him, but she knew she needed to take care. What would he remember from his self-induced coma?
"Harry?" she whispered, reaching her hand out to his shoulder, "I'm here." The young man slowly raised his head, and despite the poor lighting, Hermione saw deep within his tear-filled eyes. She knew immediately. Harry Potter was a deeply troubled young man. Even in the dark, the pain and fear in his eyes entered directly into Hermione's soul. They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an hour until Harry's chest started to heave again.
"Why?" he croaked with his unused voice, "Why did she do it?" No longer able to repress his emotions, he sobbed. Hermione calmly spread her arms and moved forward. Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around her back, burying his head in her shoulder. He wept uncontrollably. Hermione joined him with her own tears, though they wept for different reasons.
"She loved you, Harry. I can't give you any other reason. She did it because she loved you." Her own tears intensified, and she rested the side of her face on top of Harry's head, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and neck. For the first time, she could share her sorrow with someone who truly knew how she felt.
Finally Harry exhausted his store of tears, and he breathed deeply to compose himself. He lifted his head off of Hermione and stared absently into her neck, deep in thought. Hermione readjusted her arms automatically, and ran the fingers of her right hand through his long, messy hair. Her own hair appeared especially bushy after three hours of sleep.
"I'm so happy you came back, Harry," she barely whispered, "I don't know what I would have done if . . ." She bent down a few inches to bring her eyes even with Harry's.
"It should have been me," the troubled young wizard quietly responded, "She shouldn't have done it." His eyes glazed. "It should have been me," he whispered to himself. Hermione could feel him trembling.
"No, Harry. It shouldn't have been anyone."
"Voldemort's gone," Harry blurted out softly, just realizing that the constant presence in his body no longer existed, "LeStrange killed him, not me."
"Ginny's sacrifice saved you. Her love protected you, just like your mother's, but it didn't protect Voldemort. He's gone forever." Harry nodded his head an inch in agreement, fully understanding the events of the previous week.
"So love did kill Voldemort. Not my love, but Ginny's."
"No, Harry, your love too. Ginny would not have sacrificed herself for anyone, only someone she truly loved, someone who loved her back."
"I wish she hadn't done it," he responded simply, dropping his eyes, "I was ready to die. She had so much to live for. What do I have? I have no family. My loss wouldn't have mattered. It was supposed to happen. It was my destiny."
"There's no such thing as destiny, Harry. We make our own destiny." The young man lifted his head and again stared into his friend's eyes.
"What am I going to do now?" he asked with a trembling, fearful voice. Hermione took his head between her hands and locked her eyes with his.
"You're going to live, Harry Potter. You're going to overcome this, and you will become a happy person. I'm going to help you, and you're going to help me. We need each other now more than ever."
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Two weeks later, Harry sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin sitting across from him. Each enjoyed tea and cookies prepared by Winky, who had taken it upon herself to tend to Harry's every need. Dobby helped, of course, but his own guilt at the tragedy affected him greatly, and Winky took over, ably managing the mansion. Harry soon learned why she earned her reputation as an especially competent house elf. She even knew how to cut her master's hair, lopping several inches off his unmanageable mane until it reached to the middle of his neck. Combined with regular meals, Harry's physical appearance improved more quickly than his emotional health.
Remus had briefly greeted Harry at St. Mungo's after the young wizard regained his consciousness and stopped by Grimmauld Place for short visits, but the chance to enjoy a true conversation had not presented itself. On his first day off in weeks, Remus made a point of flooing to Grimmauld Place to check on his former student. He knew that the past two weeks must have seemed like a tornado to the poor boy.
Healer Spencer required Harry to remain in St. Mungo's for three days, to observe and question their most famous patient. Voluntary comas occurred so rarely that Harry needed to be studied for research purposes. Unfortunately for later generations, he proved to be especially uncooperative, answering questions as briefly and unhelpfully as possible. A stream of distinguished visitors managed to enter his room, including the Minister of Magic himself. Harry behaved rudely, often times not answering their questions nor responding to their expressions of relief. At times he trembled uncontrollably.
If Hermione had not been at his side constantly, who knows what would have happened. She managed to control these visits, doing her best to cover for Harry, but as the first two days passed, she realized the stress these visits placed on her friend. At first, she asked nicely that no further visitors be allowed entrance to Harry's room. Unfortunately, the staff could not bring itself to prevent the VIP visits, until finally Hermione, nerves already frayed, put her foot down.
"I DON'T CARE IF MERLIN HIMSELF WANTS TO SEE HARRY. NO MORE VISITORS!" No more visitors arrived that day, nor the next, when Harry departed for his home.
The magical world erupted in spontaneous celebrations at the news. Ginny Weasley's death had long been forgotten by the public; only the survival of the great Harry Potter mattered. A communal cloud of guilt lifted, and now their world could return to normal, the way it used to be.
Hermione knew that Harry had only just begun a long, difficult road to recovery, but she trusted that he would in fact recover. She dedicated herself to that recovery, because she now knew that she loved Harry. More importantly, she accepted that fact. She also knew that Harry must love her too, even if he still did not realize it. He would not have come back otherwise.
The Daily Prophet and other publications begged to be able to interview Harry and to photograph him. Naturally Harry refused, not caring a whit about such things. Rumors began to circulate, however, that Harry may in fact have died or remained in critical condition, that the Ministry attempted to manufacture his survival for Minister Shacklebolt's political purposes. Finally Remus convinced an extremely reluctant Harry to allow one photographer, who arrived an hour before Harry left St. Mungo's.
The Prophet sent its top photographer, Benjamin Duval, for the job. He managed to take a haunting portrait of Harry, looking dangerous and unhealthy with piercing green eyes. But the photographer also captured Harry with Hermione taken when the young witch lovingly fixed his long, unruly hair as best she could for the official photograph. The candid picture of the two together removed any doubts in the magical community that the young wizard and witch were a couple, whether they knew it or not.
"You've had quite a couple of weeks, haven't you?" Remus asked knowingly, sipping his tea, "In fact you've had quite a year."
Harry could only shake his head, his emotions still a terrible jumble. His one and only meeting with Ron provided the most painful memory. His best mate never came to visit him in the hospital or at Grimmauld Place. Harry understood from Hermione that Ron suffered from his own issues, but Harry had to see him.
Molly had flooed to Grimmauld Place several times since Harry's return. She greeted Harry as she always did, with the most affectionate of hugs. Though Molly and Arthur assured Harry that they did not hold him responsible for Ginny's death, Harry found it painful to be in their presence. Arriving at the Burrow, Harry could not help but notice that Ron had not even descended the stairs to greet him. Harry asked Hermione to remain downstairs for the moment.
When finally Harry entered Ron's room, the two mates stared nervously at each other. Without preamble, Ron spoke first.
"I don't blame you, Harry. I want you to know that. It just all went to hell. For some reason I can't seem to cope."
Ron looked terrible. Lines on his face had aged him by a decade, and a perpetual sadness penetrated his eyes. He lost weight and had a sickly pallor to him. Even his hair seemed to hang more limply.
"You're right, Ron. It all went to hell. It should have been me; that's what's so hard."
"She shouldn't have even been there," Ron replied, "If I blame you for anything, it's for letting her join us in the first place. I know that she wanted to help, but we should not have allowed it."
"I won't disagree with you. I knew as soon as I said them that I would regret my words. I blew it. I was weak." Ron shook his head, disagreeing.
"I'm the one who is weak. Look at me! I'm falling apart, and I can't pull myself out of it."
"I feel the same way, mate."
"No, Harry. You're going to be fine. Hermione's right. You may be my best mate, but you're also a great wizard. You've been through this before. You will recover. I'm not so sure about myself."
"It's only been a couple of weeks, mate. Give yourself some time. We all need time."
Ron and Harry remained on opposite sides of the bedroom where they had spent so much time over the past years. Good times for the most part. Those times would not return, not to the two of them. They knew instinctively that they could never be best mates again.
"What are you going to do now, Ron?" Harry asked.
"I need to get away from here, Harry. I think I'm going to leave for awhile. I need to finish seventh year, but I don't want to return to Hogwarts. McGonagall is arranging for me to go to another school. In America. Maybe I'll stay there afterwards, if I like it. It's someplace in California. Supposed to have nice weather all year long." Ron's eyes avoided Harry's, focusing on a poster on the wall instead.
The news hit Harry like a troll's club, and his mouth fell open from his astonishment. Not only would they no longer be best mates, they would not even see each other. He could not utter a word.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron continued, recognizing the hurt in Harry's face, "We can't put this back together again. There's no reparo spell for what has happened. I need to make a new start. Get away from everything here."
Harry immediately understood that one of the things Ron needed to "get away from" was Harry himself. The red head could never achieve his full potential while in the shadow of Harry Potter. Finally he nodded his head in acceptance.
"I understand, Ron. You do whatever you have to do. I hope it all works out for you." He lowered his head and stared at a pair of Ron's socks that had fallen to the floor. "I'm going to miss you."
Ron felt a lump in his throat, but he managed to control his emotions.
"I'll miss you too, mate. We had something special going. We'll be OK. It's just going to be different."
Sipping his tea again at his kitchen table, Harry told Remus, "I feel so lost. Ron's leaving. Ginny's dead. Voldemort is gone. No more prophecy. I can't seem to keep my feet on the ground. I feel like every time I take a step, I slip."
"A bit like gaining sea legs, isn't it?" Remus replied, "You slip and slide when you first board a boat, but once you've adjusted to its motion, you can walk steadily. That will happen to you in time. You have all the time in the world now. A whole lifetime."
"A lifetime I never thought I'd have," Harry mused, "I have no idea what to do next."
"McGonagall has agreed that you can return to Hogwarts. Seems like that might be a good idea. What do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Take your time, Harry. But remember one thing. You've lost a lot, I know, but you still have Hermione. She is a remarkable young woman. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. You know that, don't you?" Remus set down his cup and peered intently at the troubled young man.
"I know it, all right," Harry nodded, "I don't know what I'd do without her right now. I'm barely coping, but somehow when she's around, I can keep my sanity."
"If you ever had any," joked Remus, and despite himself, Harry smiled.
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During the first weeks of summer, Harry felt like a stranger in his own body. The challenges he faced for years, especially after learning of the prophecy, had assumed a physical component, though the young wizard never realized it. The sensation slowly and unconsciously had developed over the years.
Now suddenly that sensation vanished, and his body felt physically different. In a strange way, he missed that feeling - the sense of mission that he now lacked. Literally, he did not have to do anything anymore. The inheritances from his parents and Sirius Black could provide for him comfortably for the rest of his life, given Harry's propensity for simple living.
On top of that, Remus set up an appointment with a solicitor, who informed Harry that his image had been misappropriated by the companies that produced the posters from the iconic photograph taken by Benjamin Duval. According to the lawyer, these companies owed him tens of thousands of galleons, a princely sum, and would have to pay him annual royalties in the future. Harry did not especially care or understand, but he authorized the solicitor to negotiate with these companies. He would have preferred to disallow further sales of the posters, but as the solicitor noted, the dam had already broken. Harry would always be a wealthy man.
He never owned much more than the clothes on his back, and he could not think of any expensive luxuries that interested him. A fancy new broom? He already owned an excellent Firebolt. An expensive house? He already lived in a mansion far too large for his liking. Huge and exorbitant parties? Ridiculous. Travel? Maybe some day, but not any time soon. His investment income would pay for his current lifestyle many times over.
Yet Harry had to do something with his life. In the past he indicated a desire to be an auror, but after his ordeal of the past years, he no longer desired a career fighting dark wizards. Or more likely a mundane career tracking down illegal portkey travelers and the like. In fact, he did not desire a career related to the Ministry at all. Though Shacklebolt, Remus and Arthur now led the new government, that would not always be the case, and Harry could not forget his past run-ins with the Ministry. He wished them all the best, but he had no desire to be a part of it.
Should he follow Dumbledore's career in education? For the moment, the idea seemed laughable. Even though weeks had passed since he returned from the dead, he could only be termed a basket case. He slept terribly, at times shook uncontrollably for no apparent reason, and could not even conceive of facing a crowd of more than four or five people. Sometimes he felt reasonably well; other times his chest constricted with a panic that he could not control. Always the guilt stayed with him, and he knew it would never leave.
Everyone told him that he would recover with time. Be patient, they advised. Harry did not know what to think. The thought in the back of his head kept recurring: I could be like this for the rest of my life.
As difficult as the death of Ginny Weasley had been, the loss of Ron hit him just as hard. The sudden, unexpected loss of a best mate, a male best friend, left a huge hole. Ron had not yet left the Burrow, and Harry thought constantly about jumping into the fireplace to floo over. It hurt him to be told not to go, that it would not be in Ron's best interest. Not yet. Maybe someday.
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"My uncle told me something I've never forgotten, Harry. 'In a war there are no winners. Only losers and bigger losers.' I think you may understand what he meant." Harry nodded his head, understanding all too well Mr. Granger's statement.
Harry spent most of his time with Hermione that summer. Usually he apparated to her house in the morning because he loved being in a quiet muggle neighborhood, able to walk the streets unnoticed by anyone. They often ate lunch together at muggle restaurants, joining the Grangers for dinner, and he usually stayed after to chat with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
As best she could, Hermione informed her parents of Harry's ordeal, but they had difficulty believing that this thin, nervous, quiet young man contained the magical power that Hermione described (though they marveled at his demonstrations of wide-scale magic in their sitting room, and Mrs. Granger even used his talent to try out various arrangements), or that he was one of the most famous wizards in all the magical world. Nevertheless, after a few meetings, they took a liking to the lad, and their discussions became more enjoyable.
Mr. Granger especially warmed to his daughter's new boyfriend, even if she insisted that he not use that word in Harry's presence. She did not contradict him, he noted, and even a man could not fail to notice the strong connection between the two. If he was not greatly mistaken, this young man would one day become his son-in-law.
Of course, Hermione had only scratched the surface when informing her father of the adventures she shared with Harry. No mention of three-headed dogs, basilisks, dragons, or hippogriffs. Mr. Granger told Harry stories of his uncle who had served England in World War II. Harry realized that he was not the first person to have suffered a loss during wartime, which did little to improve how he felt.
As the summer passed by, Harry's thoughts inevitably turned to his immediate future. Professor McGonagall suggested that Hermione and he return to Hogwarts for their seventh year, though she indicated that Hermione could take her NEWTs now if she preferred. She had, after all, attended much of seventh year already, and nobody harbored any doubts as to her ability to pass the exams. Harry, on the other hand, only attended about two and a half months of the previous term, and in truth had not paid much attention to his classes.
Initially, Harry resisted the idea, as the mere thought of returning to the castle caused his nerves to flare. Soon, however, he realized that he had no alternative plans. A job? He would be mobbed anywhere he went in the magical world, and his emotional state remained precarious. Thus Hermione and he discussed their options.
"Do you want to return to Hogwarts, Hermione? You love school."
"It's a hard decision, Harry," she responded, sitting next to him in the sitting room of her parent's house. Her appearance had improved considerably as the summer passed, regaining her natural energy, enthusiasm and beauty.
"I don't know what else to do," Harry continued. His appearance also improved over the summer, but not his energy and enthusiasm. His left arm wrapped itself around Hermione's shoulder, and she comfortably snuggled into his side, each finding comfort in the warmth of the other. "I just can't bear living in the dormitories again. That's the only thing that is holding me back. And I would only go if you go. You have a lot of options that I don't."
Indeed, Hermione could easily pass her NEWTS, and with her fame and talent could enter any institute of advanced magical education she pleased. Or she could obtain a job with the Ministry or elsewhere. But she had no intention of abandoning Harry, not after what they suffered together.
"I do have options," she recognized, "but I don't think I'm ready yet. I'm still recovering too. We have a long way to go, and now Ron is gone. You and I need to stay together. We need each other. Let's go back to Hogwarts."
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Thus Harry found himself sitting for the first time on the sofa in his rooms at Hogwarts on September first, having just donned his black school robe. Hermione and he agreed to return to school for their seventh year, but Harry insisted that he would attend only if provided with his own rooms. Crowds bothered him, and he could not deal with the hassles of the common room and dormitories. Or the memories.
When he informed Professor McGonagall of the conditions to his decision, she smiled her agreement.
"What you are asking is strictly against Hogwarts regulations, Harry, which just goes to show that an exception exists to every rule."
Harry did not wish to ride to school on the Hogwarts Express, so Hermione and he apparated to Hogsmeade earlier in the day, Dobby and Winky transporting their trunks. Now that he arrived, however, he wondered if he made the right decision. Soon he had to walk down to the Great Hall and face the crowd of new and returning students at the opening feast. He already trembled at the thought of so many eyes staring at him. Maybe, he thought, he could skip it. At that moment, Hermione knocked on his door.
"Ready, Harry?" she asked brightly after he opened the door. Her smile vanished when she noted the fear and anxiety in her friend's eyes. "It will be OK, Harry, I'll go in with you, and we'll take a seat quickly. You have to face this sooner or later." Harry reluctantly nodded his head.
The two friends walked hand in hand through the halls. Though they had never declared themselves to be "together," they generally acted like it. Invariably, they held hands or Hermione would slip her arm around his elbow. When sitting down, they often pressed their bodies against each other, Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulder. Nothing more than that, however. Ginny's death and Ron's abandonment still haunted them both. It was too early for more.
They arrived at the door to the Great Hall a few minutes after the other students, who had already taken their seats. Hermione squeezed his hand before releasing it, and the two stepped hesitantly through the opening. Hogwarts' enrolment had returned almost to normal (though the Slytherin table remained sparsely populated), and the hundreds of faces turning to stare at Harry could have just as easily been a million as far as he was concerned. He had not faced a crowd of this size since his ordeal. Involuntarily his arms began to tremble.
The chattering in the hall silenced in a moment as word spread in two seconds that Harry Potter had arrived. For some ten seconds, not a sound could be heard, and Harry froze. Finally an especially outgoing Ravenclaw wizard, a fifth year, stood on his bench, and at the top of his lungs shouted.
"THANK YOU, HARRY POTTER."
After the shock of the statement wore off, the entire hall erupted in applause and shouts of support. Harry's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his trembling increased to visible shaking. Panic overcame him. He had to get out of there; he could not face this. Without thinking, he turned to run back to the protection of his rooms, except that he felt an arm slip around his elbow and a hand slip into his.
"It's OK, Harry," Hermione assured him softly. Despite the noise in the Great Hall, Harry heard her perfectly, and his frightened eyes instinctively found hers. "Let's find a seat."
She pulled him by the elbow a few feet to the end of the Gryffindor table, where several students moved aside instantly. Harry Potter could sit down anywhere he wanted. Hermione helped him swing his leg over the bench, and then sat beside him. She wrapped her arm around his back and whispered calming words into his ear.
The hopes of hundreds of young witches crashed at the sight. Harry Potter was not available.
The opening feast quite understandably turned into a boisterous celebration of the triumph of good over evil. Though Professor McGonagall carefully avoided any further mention of Harry's name, his presence in the hall could be felt by all. Hermione grasped his trembling hand every moment of the ordeal, worry filling her heart. She thought Harry had improved so much over the summer, not back to normal, but over the worst of it. Now she understood that he had miles to go.
Harry could not eat a bite of the delicious feast prepared by the exuberant house elves, and as a result, Hermione could not either. When she realized that the feast would end in a few minutes, she turned to Harry.
"Let's leave before everyone else so you won't have to walk through the crowd." Harry nodded thankfully, and they quickly stood and walked the few steps to the door. Sure that every eye stared at his back, Harry forced himself not to turn his head. In a moment they escaped the torture of the feast, and Harry rushed towards his rooms. Hermione closed the doors and fell a few steps behind. She broke into a run to try to catch up, but Harry instinctively ran harder, trying to escape from his own mind.
"Harry! Slow down! Let's talk a while. Let's take a walk," Hermione yelled, and finally Harry gathered enough self control to slow down. To the right, a hall veered off the main passage, a hall which Harry knew did not lead to any of the house common rooms. He walked quickly in that direction, and when Hermione finally managed to grab his arm, he stopped and threw himself to the stone floor, leaning his back against the cold wall. His knees bent upwards, and he grabbed his head with his hands, pulling on his hair. Hermione sat down beside him, breathing heavily.
"What's wrong with me, Hermione? What's happening?"
"You're still recovering, Harry. Don't let this pull you back. There will always be some difficult moments, but you will get better. You have to believe it."
"I just don't understand it! I've been nervous before. I've been in crowds before. Why am I so weak now? I'm supposed to be a strong person."
"All right, let me see if I can think of a few reasons, Harry Potter. Oh, here are a few." Hermione raised one finger on her left hand. "Your parents were murdered when you were a baby, and at the same time a dark lord tried to kill you too, somehow leaving a piece of his soul inside you. Then you were abused for ten years by miserable relatives who don't deserve to share even one percent of your DNA. You learn you are a wizard only to discover that the same dark lord wants to kill you. Not only that, but there's a prophecy that says only you can kill him." She ran out of fingers on her left hand, and moved to counting with her right. "Then it turns out that this dark lord can only be killed if six horcruxes are destroyed first. So you destroy five of the six, going into a coma once and almost dying another time. Finally you kill the dark lord only to discover that the residue of his soul entered your body and that you couldn't get rid of it. You suffered with that spirit inside of you for more than three months until it was accidently killed by the sacrifice of your girlfriend. Not only did she die right in front of you, but then your best mate can't cope with the loss of his sister and leaves for America. Should I go on? There's more." She gave up trying to count with her fingers. "I haven't even mentioned basilisks, or philosopher's stones, or dementors."
"You make it sound pretty bad."
"IT WAS BAD! Nobody should have to suffer through that. The fact that you are sitting here right now instead of an asylum shows what a strong person you are. Nobody else could withstand what you have."
"So have I cracked? Is that what you're saying? Am I always going to be like this?"
Hermione snuggled as close as she could into Harry, pulling one of his hands down, and wrapping her fingers between his.
"You haven't cracked. You will be fine, but you have to have patience. One step at a time. We have all year ahead of us. Don't be in such a hurry."
Harry dropped his other hand from his head and gently stroked Hermione's arm while he pondered everything that had just occurred. He looked down at the witch's hair, but sensing his gaze, she turned to look up at him, their faces inches apart. Their eyes locked, and Hermione wondered if this would be the moment - the moment when Harry would kiss her for the first time.
The wizard knew that he could kiss her, that she wanted him to, and he wanted to, but his head remained frozen in place. Ginny's image flashed before him, and the guilt reignited in his stomach. Finally he turned away from Hermione, and looked down to the stone floor between his legs.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't. Not yet. I'm just . . . I'm just not ready."
Hermione had to call on all of her acting skills to mask her disappointment. She WAS ready, in fact had been ready since the moment Harry woke from his voluntary coma. But she understood, and she would wait.
"OK, Harry. When the time is right."