A/N: Finally finished this next chapter!

naley1223: Thanks! And I'm sorry, but my lips are sealed about pairings. :)

firebird-fenix: Sorry, but as I said to naley, I won't be commenting about the pairings. Or plot devices, come to think of it. :) Thank you for reviewing!

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

Chapter 2: Contention

For a few hours after having given their letter to Madam Pomfrey, Harry idly wondered if Hermione's nails had anything left of them to satisfactorily chew. She had been biting them almost the entire time, save those moments when Harry bravely reached up to pull her hands away for their own safety. To his surprise whenever he did it, Hermione looked at him sheepishly, but did not scold or glare for the intrusion upon her bad habit. Honestly, Harry had seen Hermione engage in far worse nervous habits, like leaving gouge marks on her face from clutching it fearfully during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Still, this one was bound to become a painful nuisance for Hermione if she didn't stop soon.

All of this was while Madam Pomfrey was still present in the hospital wing. Harry hated to think what odd habits Hermione would jump to once the mediwitch actually left for St. Mungo's. For that matter, Harry didn't want imagine what levels of anxiety he would come to. Who knew what news Madam Pomfrey would bring back? The best information the witch had was a vague guess as to Professor McGonagall's condition based on her last assessment of the witch. Suppose McGonagall's situation had worsened since Pomfrey last heard? It would be the kind of luck Harry expected for himself, but for his Head of House, he was uncertain how her luck played out normally. Generally, she appeared to have it all together, but Gryffindor recklessness had it limits...

Shaking his head to dispel the thought, Harry settled more comfortably on his bed. Hermione stared off into nothing, thankfully not biting her nails for the moment, although her fingers tended to twitch nervously upwards once in a while. Had the two of them not planned to be exceptionally well-behaved before Pomfrey left the school, Harry would have sat beside his best friend as a source of comfort, if possible. Comforting someone was low on Harry's list of talents, yet he would have tried his best with Hermione.

Both of them started audibly – Hermione with a yelp and Harry with a sharp inhale – when the door to Madam Pomfrey's office clicked open quite suddenly. From the blackness of the office's interior, the witch herself stepped out in her usual medical garb, with the addition of a lightweight gray traveling cloak and the notable absence of her typical mediwitch's cap. While the woman's hair looked just as steely in color as her personality, it was somehow less austere without that stiff white cap topping it with such pristine precision.

Catching their gazes upon glancing up from the small bag in her hand, Madam Pomfrey barely restrained a roll of her eyes. Harry nearly grinned, slight though it was.

"I should have known you would ignore my instructions," she sighed irritably, hands on her hips in an eerily accurate impression of Molly Weasley. "Didn't I tell you to sleep? You need rest, Miss Granger! And you, Mr. Potter!"

"I can't sleep, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione tried hesitantly to explain, left hand at her teeth for the ritual nail chewing. Harry practically leaped out of bed to pull the offending hand away when he noticed it began to bleed, shocking both the mediwitch and his friend in equal measure. Realizing what had almost happened after a glance at her now-bleeding nails, Hermione turned pink in the face and gripped Harry's hand fiercely enough that it turned white. Not that he cared at the moment; as long as it helped her.

Glaring at Harry for his abrupt behavior, Madam Pomfrey suggested acidly, "If you would be so kind, Mr. Potter, as to retrieve the cart with your dinner trays from the end of the ward?"

As Harry moved to obey the instruction, he gestured at Hermione's fingers where they rested on his hand. Satisfied when Pomfrey swiftly pulled out her wand to heal the small injury, Harry walked over to retrieve dinner for him and Hermione. After a brief interrogation on the nail-biting habit Hermione had acquired, Pomfrey turned to another question. "And why is it that you cannot sleep, Miss Granger?"

"I'm so worried about Professor McGonagall," Hermione answered very sincerely. From where Harry stood at the end of the ward, he could tell she was biting her lip now instead of her nails. "That was such a terrible ordeal for her. And Ron... He's still not awake and it's been several days already."

Softening almost imperceptibly at the genuine worry in Hermione's voice, Madam Pomfrey sighed resignedly before replying, "Mr. Weasley will be fine. His mind and body need ample rest in order to repair the damage done by the brains that attacked him. Time is the best medicine he can possibly have. If he were to wake up too soon, it could disable a complete recovery. So you will have to be patient. As for Professor McGonagall, I will be able to tell you more about her condition after I return from St. Mungo's. However, I can tell you what I told Mr. Potter earlier..."

At catching a slight creak near his end of the ward, Harry's attention was abruptly diverted from the cart carrying their dinner and also from listening in on the explanation he had already heard once. He looked sharply over at the only other occupied bed on that side of the hospital wing.

Fury coiled inside him upon finding Umbridge eavesdropping on the conversation, despite her seemingly immobile position. There was an incline to her neck and head that was too unnatural for a sleeping person. Using skills only a seeker possessed, Harry also noticed Umbridge's eyes were only halfway shut on her upturned face. Deciding rapidly that he could one-up the great ugly toad all too simply, Harry chanced a look at Madam Pomfrey, who was still discussing Professor McGonagall's health with a grim-faced Hermione. Taking his chances with the brief distraction, the young wizard did the one thing that he knew would put the toad back in her place.

Harry watched with a gleam of triumph when Umbridge began shrieking to high heaven at the sound of clip-clopping hooves; jumping up in her bed, smashing the water jar on her bedside table with a mad swing of her stubby arm, and batting away imaginary pursuers. Madam Pomfrey jumped a mile at the cacophony of sounds and hurried over to do what she could to calm the so-called professor, but Hermione stared wide-eyed only long enough to catch sight of Harry from the corner of her eye. He ignored her suspiciously narrowed eyes and happily rolled their dinner over between the beds they had been occupying for the past several days.

"What did you do?" Hermione hissed at him with something bordering on disbelief.

Shrugging casually without a shred of guilt, Harry quietly answered, "She was listening in. Thought I might just persuade her otherwise."

"It's no laughing matter for someone to be carried off by centaurs for days, Harry!" Hermione reprimanded him shortly.

"You can't possibly defend that monster!" Harry hissed back, glaring angrily at the bushy-haired girl. "After all she's done to everyone? That evil woman deserves to know what it's like to be outnumbered and mistreated! Look at what happened to Hagrid and Professor McGonagall! That's no laughing matter, either!"

Hermione opened her mouth to comment, seemed to think for a long moment about the situation, then clammed up with a chastised expression. "I'm sorry. I just... I guess I was thinking about how we got chased through the Ministry and... thought how I would feel being chased by a herd of centaurs. The conditions were a little... similar."

Cutting off Harry's heated response, she carried on hastily, "I know it was her own fault! What we were doing was different, I know that. And after all she's done... sending those dementors after you, forcing Dumbledore out of the school, the blood quill, humiliating Trelawney and Hagrid, going after Hagrid with force, attacking Professor McGonagall, and then trying to use the cruciatus curse on you... Oh, Harry, I don't know what got into me! How could I feel sorry for that vile woman? Even for a moment?"

Hermione became so distressed and teary-eyed that Harry hurried to get off of his bed and over to her side to reassure her. Thoughtlessly, he dropped his fork on the tray in his rush. Umbridge let out another loud shriek at the clatter and kicked her short legs rapidly in a strange imitation of running. Madam Pomfrey, who had almost gotten the woman settled, looked frustrated that her work had been for naught. That was the only thing that made Harry feel even slightly guilty about the situation: that the mediwitch had to keep putting in an effort whenever Umbridge lost it. Nevertheless, the young wizard felt great satisfaction at Umbridge's actions coming back to bite her.

The best part about it for Harry was not her mad appearance, but the fact that waving her arms crazily at an invisible attacker ended with the toad almost knocking her own teeth out. The smack echoed in the near-empty hospital wing, and even Madam Pomfrey looked to be biting her lip to keep from laughing at the slip as she spelled something into the other witch's stomach. Hermione snuffled out a strange sort of triumphant laughter, her tears evaporating entirely, and Harry snickered freely at what his accidental handiwork had accomplished.

Anymore attempts at eavesdropping and he would ensure Umbridge turned up at St. Mungo's. Hopefully sharing a new room with Gilderoy Lockhart and the furry, barking Agnes. Just what that pathetic excuse of a witch needed. Neville's parents deserved a room of their own, anyway, especially away from those two awful professors.

Thinking of Frank and Alice Longbottom brought Harry's mood down to a very low place all of sudden. Poor Neville, having to live with his parents never knowing him or understanding anything around them. Losing his appetite immediately, Harry pushed his tray off to the end of the bed and sat back against the headboard, arms wrapped about his bent knees.

Catching on easily to his change of mood, Hermione pushed her own tray to the side as well. "What is it Harry?"

"Nothing," he mumbled uncomfortably. Hermione had already faced an emotional moment mere seconds prior. He wasn't going to make her nearly cry again.

"Harry, you can't bottle everything up inside," Hermione pleaded, albeit sharply, with him. "Look at how you exploded at the beginning of this year. It's not healthy."

"Yeah, because I meant to be stuck in that house half the summer, with no one to talk to and no information to go on!"

Hermione's mouth shut with a slight snap and she said no more. Harry turned away with little more than a grunt of dissatisfaction. Madam Pomfrey, meanwhile, had finally settled Umbridge back into her bed and stood at last to leave Hogwarts for St. Mungo's. Glancing over at the two awkward friends, the mediwitch groaned vaguely and threw her hands up into the air at the abrupt change in their camaraderie.

"I'll be back later tonight," she sighed tiredly. "Please attempt some rest."

Neither of them answered her plea, to which she stormed out of the main doors of the hospital wing muttering mutinously. Now Harry could have been wrong, but he would have sworn Madam Pomfrey grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "May as well be talking to a stack of bricks."

Blinking a bit of his surprise away, Harry found his mouth twitching; he just wasn't certain if it was laughter, irritation, or both that made it happen. Shrugging the strange feeling away, the young wizard focused instead on what he was going to do for the next several hours while he and Hermione were not on all that good of speaking terms. A lot of things could be ruled out such as their summer homework. Harry felt positive that he would need all the activity he could find this summer in order to keep his mind off of... No. He had already promised himself not to think of it yet. Now willing to accept any kind of mental distraction whatsoever, Harry searched through his bag until he found a reasonable pastime.

Imagining a bit gleefully what was sure to be Hermione's gasp of utter surprise, Harry trudged up the book Ron had sworn never to read. Hogwarts: A History. Much as Harry had expected, not two minutes after he opened the book, Hermione let out of a weirdly strangled noise that resembled a cat whose tail had been trodden on.

"You said..." she started, voice quite croaky from shock, "You said you never..."

"Never read this book?" he asked blandly, allowing his green eyes to find their way up to her brown ones. "I think you're confusing me with Ron. I just haven't read it since the summer before first year. Where do you think I got the name Hedwig from, anyway?"

Feeling distinctly annoyed at her lack of faith in his intelligence, yet a little smug because of her shock all the same, Harry let his eyes fall back down to the page again.

By the time Harry thought her to be asleep, Hermione's soft voice intruded upon the silence.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Startled at the sudden sound, the boy in question looked up at her with questions in his eyes.

"I don't mean to always shove you and Ron into the same mold," Hermione admitted, biting her lip. "It's just that you so often agree with him. I mean, you're both boys, after all, and you both love Quidditch, and... so many other things. You and I don't seem to have the same kind of... interests, I guess."

"We both care about Hagrid," Harry inserted more kindly than he had been feeling for the past couple of hours. "I may not have the same... er... intensity about house-elves, but I don't want Dobby to go punishing himself and all that. We think kind of similar sometimes about puzzles and things. Have you noticed that? We... uh... well, we do have things in common."

Honestly, Harry didn't know what else to really list. For all their friendship, he and Hermione shared precious few interests on a large scale. He just felt comfortable around her most of the time and she had always been supportive. Like she had been when they went to the Ministry...

It was lucky that Hermione responded when she did, or else Harry didn't want to think where his mind would have gone. "Yes, that's true, Harry. But we're usually on the opposite sides of things. You're so geared toward action. I just don't think that way."

"Does that mean you can't even try to see my side of things?" Harry asked, somewhat hurt be the insinuation that Hermione could not accept the fact that he reacted differently than did she.

"I shouldn't have to change my views because you feel a different way," was Hermione's suddenly heated reply. Again, Harry felt like he was getting lumped in with Ron's tactless behavior.

"And I should?" Harry questioned incredulously, but he continued before she could insert her opinion again, "Why is it that your opinion should be upheld as the best one and mine should be treated as highly unlikely? I'm not asking for you to change your deep beliefs, Hermione, I just would like to know you aren't trying to change my deep beliefs to suit your own! Why can't you ever accept that people think differently than you do?"

Newly incensed with Hermione's hardheaded single-mindedness, Harry turned once more to the book in his lap, hardly able to concentrate anymore through his frustration. Surprised though he was, Harry was grateful Hermione restrained whatever comments she might have had. And he was absolutely positive she had plenty to say after his unexpected outburst.

Harry was beginning to get worried that his temper would explode on Hermione at the least opportune time. After all she had gone through since the Ministry, he had no right to allow such an event to occur. It was so hard, though, to keep acting like he wasn't upset beyond reasonable conventions. Hermione still did not know about... about his... loss. If Harry's current feelings of raw pain and helpless despondency in reaction to that very loss were any indication, she wouldn't be likely to find out any time soon, either. Keeping Hermione in the dark, however, was a very bad idea. She would find out eventually, and probably in a far less... well, supportive environment. What would be truly terrible was if she found out in the Daily Prophet.

Again, though, Harry had to stop his mind from going too far. Thoughts of the newspaper articles, so obviously pitted against the innocent man who had been lost to him – no. That was enough. Gritting his teeth, the young wizard glued his eyes on the pages of his textbook. He didn't even really know what he was reading; just kept on mindlessly running his eyes across the words on the page. Time seemed to go much too slowly. The black of night was endless, with not even a clock ticking nearby to measure the minutes as they crawled forward.

What might have been minutes or hours later, Harry started out of an awkward doze to find himself reclined in a most uncomfortable position, hunched forward over the open pages of Hogwarts: A History and his glasses having slid down the end of his nose. Through the windows, only dark sky could be seen. As to what had woken him, Harry could not have fathomed, until a conspiratorial hiss from his left drew the boy's jumpy attention.

It was Hermione, who looked to have been calling him longer than she wanted, if her frustrated visage was any indication.

"What?" Harry barely breathed, not daring to speak any louder out of pure instinct.

Hermione only had to nod once towards the front doors before Harry's ears picked up on what she wanted him to know. Voices, at least two, could be heard at the entrance to the hospital wing. One, after a moment of hard listening, he found to be Madam Pomfrey's. The other, far deeper than the mediwitch's, he had difficulty zoning in on. At last, after leaning as far off of his bed as possible without falling, Harry finally recognized the second voice as that of Snape. Suspicious of what the two could possibly be discussing at that time of night, he rose from his bed and (quite against Hermione's warnings) risked several steps closer to the main doors until the voices came in clearly enough to understand.

"—certain she does not need any assistance?" Snape was saying, tone more worried than Harry had ever heard it. He wondered who Snape was referring to.

"Do you honestly think she'd accept it?" Pomfrey countered exasperatedly. "The woman can barely sit up and already the staff are running scared when she so much as looks askance at them."

That explained everything, really. A slight grin crossed Harry's face at the thought of Professor McGonagall terrifying the staff at St. Mungo's like she did her students at Hogwarts. Although why Snape would be so concerned was beyond Harry. Didn't they have a rivalry going on?

"All the same, I shall give you a message to give her tomorrow, if you wouldn't mind?" asked Snape.

"Of course I wouldn't mind," agreed Madam Pomfrey. "Just don't expect a civil answer."

"Hardly an expectation I would encourage," Snape replied dryly. If Harry believed the man had a sense of humor, he might have thought that was a joke of some kind.

"Will you be giving all the details to the Headmaster tonight, then?" the mediwitch inquired.

"I most definitely will be," the professor answered firmly. "As you well know, he is the only one who will keep her responsible for her own health."

"He is not the only one," Pomfrey argued, seeming to know something the potions master did not, "but nevermind that for now. I have four patients to look in on. Well, three patients that actually mean something to me. That barbaric woman should have stayed with the centaurs, as far as I'm concerned. Anyone who could attack Minerva and Hagrid in such a fashion—"

The witch cut herself off so abruptly that Harry could only imagine her words would have become unfriendly indeed, had she continued. He was pleased to see that they agreed on that topic, at least.

"I could not agree more," Snape almost snarled, fury in his voice. The strength of his feelings about Professor McGonagall's well-being shocked Harry. "Let us hope that Madam Umbridge's behavior is treated accordingly by the ministry, although one can hardly expect it to be with Fudge still in power."

"Don't speak to me about that man," Pomfrey grumbled, swatting something in agitation by the sound it. "Ooh, the things he tried to claim before I spoke with the healers…"

"He was there?" Snape truly did snarl this time. "He dared to show his face near her room?"

"Tried to walk right in just yesterday!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed angrily, then forced herself to speak softer, "Thank Merlin the Headmaster was visiting. Nearly cursed that dratted man, he did. Not that I blame him."

"And your three patients?" the professor changed the subject, clearly unhappy with its current course. Here Harry listened even more intently than before.

Taking in a breath to steady her former frustration, the mediwitch explained, "Mr. Weasley is still unconscious. The brains in the ministry are not a harbinger of permanent damage, unless they remained latched onto a person for days, so all the boy needs is rest. Miss Granger, on the other hand, is thankfully awake and her body is healing rather rapidly, considering her condition when she arrived."

"And you third patient?" The general congeniality of Snape's tone convinced Harry that the man had no idea who the other patient was.

Sighing in a troubled way, Madam Pomfrey answered, "Mr. Potter has been a help, to be sure. Had he not seemed so terribly distressed I would have sent him off after the initial check."

"Are you telling me that he is not injured in any way, yet is laying about under you care?" There was that hatred and disdain Harry had been assuming he would hear.

"On the contrary," Madam Pomfrey's voice had become icy, "Mr. Potter offered to aid me in the process of healing his friends and has been a great help in securing Miss Granger's emotional health in the positive. And as I told you, if you have been listening, the boy was in great emotional distress. Now if you would excuse me, Professor, I shall check on my patients."

The rapid staccato of her heels gave Harry all but a few seconds to practically leap into his bed, shove the textbook to the foot of it, and fake sleep the same as Hermione did. Not a second after their eyes closed, the door to the infirmary opened much less agitatedly than its matron had walked into it. Her heels clicked past Harry and Hermione with absolutely no hesitation and soon enough the door to her office opened and closed.

While Harry wanted to get up and ask about their letter, he knew better than to question it at that time of night, when they were supposed to be asleep and not know the mediwitch was back. Even more pressing, the young wizard felt distinctly like he was being watched. It was not a comfortable feeling, so Harry could only guess Snape was nosing in from the doors of the ward. Inching his eyelids open to a miniscule degree, Harry noticed that Hermione's eyes were less than half open and staring right at the main entrance. Lifting his eyelids completely, Harry snapped as quietly as possibly to get his best friend's attention, his body thankfully covering the gesture from the doorway.

Glancing over at him, Hermione shook her head in the negative to ward off talking, but gestured upward. The gesture was incomprehensible for a moment, until the bushy-haired witch dragged the arm she was laying on all the way up to her face and inconspicuously rubbed at her eyes as though she were tired. Slowly – with as little movement as humanly possible – Harry mimicked her movements, reaching up to remove his glasses with one hand and laying them on the corner of the bedside table. A subtle node from Hermione, who looked as though she was merely readjusting her head on the pillow, informed Harry he had done it without drawing attention.

By the time Harry finally fell asleep, Hermione's eyes had been completely closed for quite some time and the feeling of being observed had never left him.

Bright light stinging Harry's eyelids was the next thing he experienced, and unhappily at that. Groaning, the teenager turned to bury his face in the pillow beneath him.

"Wake up, Harry!" Hermione's voice intruded on his dozing, her words annoyed and bossy. He did not deign his friend with an answer, but shuffled more comfortably on the bed.

"Harry Potter, don't you ignore me!" she reproached far more loudly than before.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he murmured into the pillow, covering his ears mockingly. "You must be feeling better."

"Come on," she snapped slightly, whacking something with what he guessed was a thick sheaf of parchment, trying to get his attention. Her voice turned excited in the next second, "We've got a letter from her!"

"What?" Harry flung his body up from its comfortable position, wide awake suddenly. Everything was blurry in spite of the glare from the windows, prompting him to grope for his glasses on the bedside table and slip them on. In the next bed, Hermione's face was fresh and healthy-looking, not a sign of pallor about it. In her hands was a large, thick, unaddressed envelope. "We got one?"

"We did!" Hermione smiled, but winced vaguely at her too-quick move to gesture Harry over. "Madam Pomfrey said the professor wanted me to swear not to open it until you were awake, too."

"She knows you well," Harry shook his head, trying desperately not to grin a little.

"Shut up, Harry," she retorted with a roll of her eyes, waving him over with a much gentler movement. Quickly settling beside Hermione, Harry let his friend open the envelope in anticipation of them reading of the letter. To their surprise, the envelope was large for a very good reason; there were five more envelopes inside of it.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, pulling out the other three envelopes to read their labels. Confusedly, she and Harry found one addressed to the two of them, an individual letter for each of them, and two other envelopes addressed only with an L and a P, respectively. Sharing a puzzled glance, they both set aside their personal letters and set about reading the rather lengthy message for the both of them.

Dear Harry & Hermione,

First and foremost, thank you for taking the time to inquire after my well-being. I truly appreciate your effort in doing so after what you both went through at the Ministry. My health is indeed improved from what it was a few days ago, you will be glad to hear. The fact that I am awake and writing this letter certainly must speak to that fact!

Harry chuckled at the professor's sarcasm. He had the feeling Madam Pomfrey had known about this particular sentence very specifically.

Secondly, I must say I am thoroughly appalled that you and your classmates had to watch such a display of brute force and underhanded politics as Dolores Umbridge enforced that night. I must admit to some frustration with my own shortcomings, however, in not having my wand out in the first place. Do not make the same mistake I did! I have no doubt a certain vigilant wizard would be shouting at me for it, if he knew.

With the word vigilant included in the sentence, it did not take a genius to figure out the wizard their professor referred to was Mad-Eye Moody. Snickering and giggling for a moment at the accurate deduction, the teens read on.

But now that is neither here nor there, I suppose. As to Hagrid's response to the situation, I thank you for letting me know of it. He is a very loyal friend to whom I am lucky to be acquainted. Regardless my dislike of his oftentimes irrational and emotional behavior, I do appreciate Hagrid and his dedication.

Ah, I also wish I would be returned to the school soon. Unfortunately, even I must admit that is something of a work-in-progress right now. Please, if you would, give my regards and gratitude to Miss Patil and Miss Brown for their tearful concern over my health. I have enclosed a small message to each of the young ladies in the larger envelope you received from Madam Pomfrey.

Thank you both, again, for writing to me. The days blur together in this sterile prison cell and it is good to hear from the world outside. Even more encouraging is news from Hogwarts, which has most certainly become a second home to me over the years.

I wish you both well.

Sincerely,

Professor McGonagall

"Well," Hermione spoke quietly, the letter still open in her hands, "that was far more than I guessed she might say. She was quite frank, wasn't she?"

"Definitely," Harry agreed in an equally quiet voice, amazed at just how bluntly and amiably the professor had written to them. "I never expected that kind of letter. I mean, I was prepared to be satisfied with only a brief reply saying she was awake and on the road to healing. And a little note about staying out of any more trouble would have been normal, too. But this…"

"I know," Hermione nodded, face pensive. "It doesn't seem like her to put her thoughts on paper so plainly for a couple of students, regardless of who we are. She is obviously a very private person. I wonder why she was so personal this time?"

"Maybe it's like she said," he suggested thoughtfully, pointing at the words sterile prison cell. "She's stuck in a hospital and by her own admission hasn't gotten a lot of company. She's probably in pain, assuming guilt for not being here to help us, and feels useless. Like how I did this past summer."

Harry could definitely appreciate the professor's position. As a matter of fact, he felt right sorry for her. Minerva McGonagall was a force of nature, quite honestly, and to think of her being out of commission was very odd.

"You're right, Harry," Hermione sighed. "I'm so sorry about this summer, Harry. It must have been just terrible to be stuck there without anyone really there for you. And oh, poor Professor McGonagall. That sounds awful. I hate being stuck here, but at least I have a friend with me."

Their argument the previous evening seemed to have completely flown out of Hermione's mind, from what Harry could tell. He couldn't say he was unhappy about that, either. Arguing was such a waste when all they had was each other to talk to.

"Why don't we read our other letters?" Harry mentioned, his curiosity growing by the minute.

"Yes, of course," Hermione agreed, eagerly picking up her envelope.

Moving back to his own bed, Harry just as eagerly opened his letter and began to read.

Dear Harry,

My gratitude may seem to become overzealous, but I cannot help thanking you again for taking the time to write. You, of all people, have faced the greatest woes after the incident at the Ministry. For you to take such pains to worry over another in this difficult time is a sign of your character.

In your grief, you may not want to hear the name of your godfather or even think it. It is painful, I know. I have lost loved ones, too. While it may hurt to say the name, I must do so all the same. Please forgive me if it is too much too soon.

Harry stopped immediately before reading any further. It was, indeed, too much too soon to think the name. Even hinting toward it was painful, let alone actually reading it with his own eyes. For some time he sat there, not daring to read any more, his heart pounding painfully in his ears and stifling thoughts swirling through his mind.

Something, though… something wanted to push him onward, to make him read that name. There was some force, buried deep, that called to him and drew him to the letter again. Whatever it was, wherever it came from inside of himself, Harry forced it away viciously. He didn't want to read anymore. How could she? How could Professor McGonagall have been so cruel as to say the name, even realizing that it might be of utmost pain to her reader?

In spite of his hurting, Harry could not find it within himself to be angry at the professor. He could hardly fathom why, though. It was not normal for him to withhold anger when he was disturbed. Usually he was willing to let it explode when it got to such a point. But knowing what McGonagall was going through just then seemed to stay his hand. The woman was suffering. And she was suffering because she had defended Hagrid. Harry simply could not be angry with her.

Whatever was in Hermione's letter, she never said anything about it for the rest of the morning and afternoon. For this, Harry was glad, albeit concerned that she had read something too terrible to correlate to him. One fleeting thought, however, suddenly sent Harry panicking. Had Professor McGonagall informed Hermione of Harry's loss? Was that why his friend was so quiet? Setting up far too quickly, Harry found himself meeting Hermione's troubled gaze.

"Hermione?" he began to say, frantic, still gripping the message from his head of house.

"The professor didn't tell me anything specific, Harry," she whispered, immediately keying into what had Harry so frazzled. "She only said there was something you couldn't speak of just yet. I knew that, of course, but… I think I know what it is now."

"I won't talk about it," she cut him off as he moved to speak again. "You don't have to talk about it unless you want to. I promise I won't ask."

This promise was more generous than Harry could possibly have imagined from Hermione. She usually felt that talking about things was the best way to handle every circumstance.

"Thanks, Hermione," he murmured, deflating instantly and dropping back onto the bed.

"Your welcome, Harry," she answered just a quietly. Something was rustled for a few moments and Hermione sighed once, then the ward was silent.

Judging by the light surfacing the room, it was early evening and a 'good time for sleep' as Madam Pomfrey kept telling them, but Harry didn't bother trying to sleep. His mind was so full of thoughts that he finally understood what Dumbledore meant about the pensieve the previous year. Of course, reminding himself about Dumbledore only added onto his list of confusing and perturbing thoughts. What had been so important that the headmaster tried to speak with him so immediately after the events of the Ministry? Yet, the information the man had tried to impart clearly was not that important, else Harry would have been called to his office by now, surely. It was all so confusing!

Grunting his irritation some time later, the young wizard twisted violently around to lay on his side facing the main doors, only to find himself looking straight at Remus Lupin, who was peeking in through the doors of the infirmary. Startled out of his wits, but altogether glad to see a familiar face, Harry leapt up and headed straight to the man, who held his hands up to stop the teen in his tracks. The wizard instead came up to Harry, leading him back to the bed and sitting on the one next to it.

"Harry," Lupin greeted him, looking grayer and more lined than ever. "I didn't mean to wake you. I only wanted to make sure you and the others were all right."

"I wasn't asleep," Harry immediately corrected the assumption. "I've got so many things to think about that I couldn't sleep. I think Hermione fell asleep again, though."

"We'll be quiet then," Lupin smiled wanly, but the smile faded rapidly. "How are you, Harry?"

"Fine," was the instant reply, causing the werewolf to shake his head. The gesture made Harry feel a little sheepish. "Well, physically fine, anyway."

Nodding his understanding, Lupin reached over to pat Harry's shoulder. "I know what you mean."

It struck Harry very abruptly in that moment that Remus Lupin was hurting, too. He had barely gotten his best friend back after thirteen years of believing him a traitor, only to lose the man two years later. Something felt as though it were stuck in Harry's throat of a sudden. If anyone knew what he was going through, surely Lupin did?

"I just… he was…" Harry attempted to put his thoughts into words, but fell flat. Shaking his head, he sighed his unhappiness.

"It's hard to think of him," Lupin commiserated kindly. "Isn't it?"

That was the second person who knew firsthand Harry's feelings about his loss and his wish to not speak of it. He was beginning to realize just how normal it must be to feel that way. "It hurts to think his name, to remember him… I almost thought I was going to be with him when – you know…"

Lupin's face turned alarmed, although he hid it well enough. "What do you mean, Harry? When did you think that?"

"When Voldemort possessed me in the atrium," Harry admitted, somehow feeling ready to talk about some things. With Lupin, at least. A sharp inhale was all the response Lupin had, allowing Harry to continue. "It was worse than the cruciatus curse. And I can certainly tell you about that after last year."

Fury coiled in Lupin's eyes at the reminder, so Harry moved forward still. "He taunted Dumbledore, told him to kill us both. And I was… I could hardly concentrate on anything. It was so painful. And I thought he should do it. The pain would end and I would be… with him… with Sirius."

That something that had so powerfully pulled on Harry to speak the name, to face up to it… it had come back. He could no longer ignore it. Through the pain of loss, through the grief, he felt better for saying the name. Tightness behind his eyes was all the warning Harry had before he felt tears welling up.

"Sorry," he muttered embarrassedly, trying desperately to swipe the tears away before they fell, but Lupin scoffed out loud and pulled Harry into a hug.

Face buried in the last Marauder's shoulder, Harry finally allowed his body to tremble and tears to trail down his face.

A/N: Oh, when they read about Moody, it was Harry doing the snickering and Hermione doing the giggling. Thought you should know that. :)

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