Not even bothering to check where he had appeared, Harry stumbled over to a dusty, stone wall and slid down until he crumpled in the muck and grime of the cement. The air was cool and a shiver ran down his spine despite the cloak he still had around him. He sat there taking deep breaths, willing himself not to break, to hold it together just for today. He needed his wits about him. He had to see Hermione.
Harry could feel the chill seeping in through the layers of his clothing, adding to the coldness inside him that had begun in Kingsley's office. The combination of this intensified as he felt it swell up inside him, robbing him of the air in his lungs as he began to shiver uncontrollably. Eventually it was no longer the cold making him tremble, but the raw emotion that was building inside him.
He tried but failed to suppress a gasp for breath. Sucking in more of the cold morning air he began to choke. Desperate to hold on to his sanity, Harry grasped his hair in his fists and pulled, hoping the pain would sharpen his mind.
'Just hold it,' he chided himself. 'Fight now. Mourn later.'
Slowly his breathing controlled. The cold weight upon his heart did not lighten, but it no longer suffocated him and he took in slow deep breaths. His senses rebooted, becoming aware again of the cold of the wall and the ground. It had rained recently, he could smell it in the air.
Harry felt it was far too soon when his body finally settled completely. Without thinking he removed his glasses to wipe his eyes, but they were dry. So was the rest of his face. He hadn't even cried. In fact he felt completely calm, as though nothing had even happened. He knew that shouldn't be possible; his world had literally been taken from him and he was far too calm. He had heard about the effects of grief – heck, he had gone through them before. He knew this shouldn't happen, but he supposed that his body was allowing him to focus now to get the job done; that was how his life had always gone.
Harry closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. His latest trip had taken a lot out of him, but he was pleased to notice an absence of both the pain and tingling that had accompanied his magic recently. He wished he had thought to question Kingsley about the strange sensation, but perhaps the problem had solved itself. Feeling that finally something was going right and his magic was returning to normal, Harry turned to look out on to the street.
Still hidden beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry had appeared in a small alleyway across the street from the old, run down shop front of Purge & Dowse Ltd. The tired, red-bricked department store sat in filth and squalor, insignificant on the otherwise normal London street. Daily commuters would walk past, occasionally offering a passing glance at the shop that never opened, all too used to its constant state of disrepair. Beyond the façade of such an unimpressive building was housed St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
It was still far too early for him to enter the hospital. When he left Kingsley's office it had been just after 8 o'clock, sixteen hours before the portkey in his pocket would return him to America. He needed to approach this properly if he was to make it in and out undetected. Harry figured it would still be busy so shortly after the events at Hogwarts, and he was planning on using that to his advantage. Hopefully Healers and patients would be far too busy to notice any door that were to open seemingly on its own.
Harry decided he would enter later at night, so that if anything did go wrong it wouldn't be long before the portkey would take him away. He didn't feel up to apparating again just now and he didn't want to count on it as an escape.
What should he do until then? He thought about going for a walk but he didn't think his body could handle that very well. If he were to collapse somewhere nowhere near St Mungo's he'd never see Hermione. Harry figured his best bet was to just wait it out in this alley and try to clear his mind. Perhaps he could get some of his lost sleep back.
Bunching the cloak slightly behind his back for comfort, Harry set himself down for a long wait.
14 hours later
Harry was miserable. He had put his soiled jumper back on and still he was cold. He hadn't eaten anything since a pitiful meal in the Forks hospital and now he was starving. He hadn't even been able to sleep and now he hadn't slept since… he couldn't even remember the last time he had slept without having been knocked unconscious first. He was exhausted.
Harry slowly stretched out his cold, stiff muscles and pushed himself up to a standing position. The world lurched and he had to hold on to the slimy wall to stop from falling down again. He righted himself, heart beat pounding in his skull and he was able to appreciate for the first time just how weak he was. Apparating was definitely off the agenda for tonight.
The sun had set a while ago and the streetlamps had turned on, casting the world in a cold light. The street was now empty of people, everyone having gone home to dinner. Harry tried not to think about the hot dinners the people of London were surely enjoying.
Though he wasn't entirely sure of the time, Harry felt he had left it as late as he could. It could only be a couple of hours until the portkey would leave, giving him enough time to take it as slowly as he needed without rushing. Getting the last couple of cricks out of his back, Harry took a few shaky steps and made his way across the street to wait outside the hospital.
While the presence of Muggles in the street had steadily declined as the evening wore on, there was no decrease in the number of people going through the big glass window of Purge & Dowse Ltd. Throughout the day Harry had seen several people go in and out of the window that lead inside to the hospital. Once or twice he had thought he saw someone he knew, but he put that down to exhaustion.
Harry's plan was simple: he was to wait for someone to come to the shop front and speak to the mannequin dressed in green nylon. When the dummy motioned for them to step through the window, Harry would follow close on their heels. Simple.
He only had to wait about ten minutes before a middle-aged couple came bustling down the street to the window. Harry felt his heart quicken as he thought for a moment he knew them. There was no streetlamps near the entrance to the hospital and so Harry couldn't quite be sure, but some part of his mind was shouting a warning to him that he had seen these people before. Squinting in the darkness, his stomach lurched as he realised who they were.
"H-hello. We're back to see our daughter? H-Hermione Granger?" the man spoke nervously, as though speaking to a shop window dummy made him uncomfortable.
Harry was rooted to the spot. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that Hermione's Muggle parents would come to see their daughter. Weren't they in Australia? Someone from the Ministry must have gone to find them to see what had become of their daughter. He couldn't do this, not with them there. It was too risky. He needed to wait – come up with a new plan – but he didn't have the time.
'No. I have to see her.'
Before he could change his mind, Harry leapt through the window behind the Grangers, emerging into the brightly lit waiting room of St Mungo's. There were people everywhere: a dozen people were lined up to speak to the witch behind the desk, another large group waiting by the lift to travel to a higher floor. It was going to be difficult to move through everyone under the cloak.
Harry only then realised he had no idea where to find Hermione, and he could hardly ask someone for assistance. He scanned the waiting room, trying to see where Mr and Mrs Granger had gone. No doubt they would know where their daughter was, all Harry had to do was follow them. Trouble was, in his delay at following them through the window, he had managed to lose them in the crowd. He was on his own.
Harry made himself as small as possible and began to scurry through the crowd in an attempt to get to the welcome desk. He bumped into several people, but the room was so crowded that they didn't even bother to turn around. He noticed a number of large posters covering the wall, but they were all too obscured by people to read any of them. When he had made it through most of the crowd he could see the floor guide up on the wall behind the desk. Harry scanned it until he found what he was looking for, and began to make his way to the stairs to go to the fourth floor – Spell Damage.
As he reached the stairwell, Harry got his first proper glance at the posters he had only glanced at earlier and his mouth fell open.
WANTED
HARRY POTTER
ON SUSPICION OF AIDING THE DEATH EATERS
THOSE WITH INFORMATION REPORT TO THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
PRIZE OF 5,000 GALLEONS
Harry stared up at his own face, grinning beneath the bold accusation. It was Undesirable No.1 all over again. Now having a better vantage point, Harry could see the same black and white image of his face all over the walls of the waiting room. If any of these people knew he was there…
The stairs were much quieter than the lift and so Harry could climb them quickly without needing to worry about knocking into anyone. As he came out into the main corridor of the fourth floor, he looked ahead and saw Mrs Granger disappear into a door further along. There were more of the Wanted posters on this floor, as Harry made his way down the corridor under the scrutiny of his own gaze.
The last time he had been here, Harry had been with Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and they had run into Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry hoped Hermione wasn't sharing a room with him.
When he got to Hermione's room he was relieved to see she had her own private room, just like some of the other long-term residents in this ward. Taking a deep breath, Harry walked through the door, which had been left open.
It was a nice room overall. Hermione's parents had obviously done their part to make the room as homely as possible. There were photos on the walls of her family and friends and a small bookcase beside the bed, full to the brim with textbooks. Harry's stomach clenched slightly at a moving photo of him and his two best friends at the end of their first year. God, they were small. Harry would do anything to have that day over again.
Dragging his eyes away from the happy but painful memories, Harry looked over to the girl lying on the bed and his throat tightened. At first glance, she was still Hermione: the large bushy hair was the same, the grazes and bruises were healing, leaving behind the same face of his friend. But looking deeper, Harry could see that she wasn't there. As her parents sat on either side of the bed talking to her, there was no recognition in Hermione's eyes of the people she loved. The bright twinkle of intelligence had gone too, a blank emotionless stare left in its place. This was not the Hermione he loved as a sister; this was her empty shell.
Raising his hand to his mouth, Harry swallowed the sob that threatened to escape. He could only watch in silence as her parents spoke soothing words to her about her life, encouraging her to remember. Harry stumbled back and slid down on to the floor and listened.
"Hermione, dear, do you know who these people are?" Her mother held out the photo Harry had stared at earlier.
Hermione's blank gaze shifted from her mother to the photograph in her hand. There was no flicker of recognition.
"That's me, there," she stated simply. "I don't know who those boys are. I've been wondering. Are they people I met at school?" Her voice was dull – void of all emotion. It broke Harry's heart to hear it.
"Yes, sweetheart," her mother encouraged. "The boy there is Ron Weasley. And the other boy is… Harry Potter." Mrs Granger hesitated only slightly before saying Harry's name. Harry wondered if she believed the Wanted posters.
"Harry Potter? But he's a criminal!" Hermione said shrilly. "I certainly would never make friends with a criminal."
Harry couldn't take anymore. He left the room and stood outside in the corridor. He wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. One of his best friends, the girl whom he loved like a sister, thought him a criminal. In her vulnerable state, she had seen the posters covering the hospital walls and believed their every word. Harry had been condemned before Hermione had even had a chance to remember. He wondered if her parents had told her about Ron. He wondered if they knew.
Harry didn't know why he stayed. Why he didn't just leave. Was it loyalty? Stupidity? He had done what he came to do; he had seen Hermione, and while it had ripped him apart inside he did not regret it. Still, he stood outside her hospital room not wanting to go, but not wanting to stay. He was torn.
After what felt like hours of indecision, Harry had made his mind and turned to go back to the stairs. Just as he got halfway down the corridor, he heard Mr and Mrs Granger's voices.
"We'll be back soon, Hermione," her father said. "We'll bring you something." And together, he and his wife left their daughter's room. They walked past Harry, who had stopped in his tracks, and went to climb the stairs to the tea room.
Without thinking, Harry turned back the way he had come and strode back to Hermione's room. He stood in the doorway and watched her. She was still holding the photograph of the three of them, gazing at it with that lifeless stare. Harry looked at her, silently begging her to remember who he was before becoming a wanted criminal. He wanted to talk to her and tell her about their years at Hogwarts, the stories her parents would never know to tell her. The stories that, now, only he could tell.
Harry found himself walking to her bedside, and soon he was close enough that he could have pulled her into a hug like he so desperately wished to do. Instead he watched on in still silence as she frowned at the lost memory in her hands.
"Why," Hermione whispered, "would I befriend a criminal?"
"Because I'm not a criminal." And before he could stop himself, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his head and looked at Hermione, who had turned sharply at Harry's sudden appearance. There was a brief moment where Harry thought he saw a flash of recognition in those glassy eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Harry opened his mouth to speak but Hermione beat him to it.
"HELP! THE BOY FROM THE POSTER IS IN MY ROOM! HARRY POTTER!"
