A/N – The bones of this story came to be when I couldn't sleep last night, so I put something down on paper. It will be more than a one-shot, but less than a full-length story, 2 or 3 chapters at most. As I wrote, the story veered away from my original idea into something totally different, I can't say I'm particularly pleased with that, but it is what it is.
My focus is going to remain on Somewhere in Time, but I was hit with a blockage after a couple of thousand words of the latest chapter I was working on, so this may be the diversion I need to get my mojo back with that! Very AU from here on in, EWE and as always, unabashedly HHr.
Chapter 1 – From the Pinnacle to the Pit
It was over. He was victorious. He had lived.
The trouble was, he wished he hadn't.
He sat in Hogwarts infirmary surrounded by privacy screens. Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts healer had insisted that he be left alone, something which only served to further endear her to the weary wizard. He was physically, magically and emotionally exhausted. It was the last of those which was effecting him the most.
Painful memories came flooding back. The fight with Malfoy and his goons in the Room of Requirement, the chaos of the fiendfyre which destroyed the last horcrux leaving his nemesis, Voldemort (he would never legitimise him by calling him Lord Voldemort), the former Tom Riddle, mortal.
After the maelstrom of the Room, he had turned to see his best friend, and the girl he had grown to love over these past six years kiss his other friend, his first friend, but one who had shown time and again a dark side of his own, a set of weaknesses, jealousies, and who had abandoned him, and her, more than once.
It broke his heart and if he was being honest with himself, robbed him of the will to live. It was why he was able to walk into the forbidden forest, head held high and stand there, unguarded as Voldemort struck him with the killing curse for the second time in his short life.
Just like the first time, the curse failed to kill him. He found himself in a strange purgatory surrounded by people he knew or recognised. No words were spoken, but he could feel their sadness, their disappointment. He could sense their judgement and feel them trying to persuade him to return to the land of the living.
He didn't care.
Ultimately, he wasn't given the choice. If he had, he would have stayed there forever. It was the spectre of his parents who had made the decision for him, he didn't know how they did it, but they ejected him from whatever spectral plane he was on and he found himself back in the land of the living.
He was angry. He was beyond angry. He burned with a rage he had never felt before. He looked up at the shocked serpentine face of Voldemort and with a howl of pure fury unleashed every ounce of magic he possessed. The results were devastating. Voldemort was obliterated. Those who saw it said it would haunt their nightmares for years. Voldemort was surrounded by magic, it wrapped around him like a cloak and started to melt his skin. Voldemort's mouth opened in a silent scream as the flesh sloughed away from him, leaving his skull exposed, his eyes the last to melt as they locked on his opponent with hatred. He couldn't even scream as his body collapsed in on itself, leaving a pile of bloody bones on the ground.
Those around Voldemort were similarly affected, more than a dozen death eaters died the same way as their leader. Dozens more elsewhere in the battle fell to the ground, writhing in agony as their leader died for the last time. They had known that taking the dark mark created a symbiotic bond with Voldemort, but had failed to realise that if Voldemort was fatally wounded, his magic would try and sustain him for as long as it could, that magic would draw magic from those bound to him. When Voldemort died, the magic of his marked and bound followers was stripped from them, leaving them utterly bereft of any magical ability. Most died from the shock.
He snapped out of his recollections of events just a few hours ago, his mind flitting back to her.
He had loved her since the day they met, he just didn't know it. He had grown up in a house where love was an unknown commodity, at least for him. His guardians, he didn't even regard him as relatives, hated him, bullied him, abused him, starved him. How then, would an eleven year old boy know love, know what love was, know how it felt. Most normal eleven year olds couldn't tell you what love was, let alone one who had been starved of the most basic of affections, who had never known the touch of another human to be anything other than pain.
It was to his unerring credit that he had not grown up dark himself. It was his innate capacity for love which had saved him, even if he didn't know it himself. He didn't love easily, he didn't love frivolously, but when he did love, truly love, he loved completely.
He thought back to various events and sadly ruminated on his growing, unrequited, love for her. He now recognised the first spark on their very first meeting. She was bossy, she was opinionated, she could be annoying, but she was genuine, she was untouched by malice of thought, she was, for want of a better term, pure.
He thought of their years both together and as part of the so-called Golden Trio. He shook his head sadly at himself, that it had taken him so long to figure out that he was deeply, irrevocably, impossibly in love with her. He had tried to date other girls in the ignorance of his feelings, but any dates had been disasters. He had even allowed himself to become ensnared by his other friend's sister who had hero-worshipped him since childhood. It didn't matter that she was absolute in her adoration for him, his heart was elsewhere. So he ended it, knowing it would likely be the final fracture in his first friendship.
Her growing estrangement from him during the last year had been hard on him. Harder than he ever let on. He couldn't understand it until he saw the kiss. Then it all became clear and he cursed himself for his inability to demonstrate, to show, to vocalise, to make obvious the love her had for her. It cost him everything. He grew up without love, so despite learning what love was and knowing, knowing to the very core of his soul that he loved her completely, he wasn't able to show it.
Madam Pomfrey had told him that They were there to see him. He refused, telling the healer to send them away. He didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to be left alone with his misery. With his guilt at the deaths he had been unable to prevent, with the knowledge that despite it all, he hadn't truly won. There would be no victory which would be complete without her.
He lay back on the infirmary bed. He wished his magic had recovered so he could apperate away. He wished his body had recovered so he could run away. He wished he had his invisibility cloak so he could sneak away. He wished that Dobby had survived so he could get him to take him away.
He closed his eyes and let his emotions take him. He wouldn't cry out loud, he certainly didn't want to attract any more attention. Silent tears ran down his face into his pillow as he made his wish.
Harry Potter wished for nothing more than the sweet merciful release of death.
- OoOoOoO -
Harry woke up, disappointed for having done so. He didn't remember dreaming, which was the only comfort he had as the crushing weight of sorrow and loneliness resumed its occupation of Harry's chest. He felt hungry, but didn't want to eat. He lay there, unmoving, trying his best not to think about anything until he saw the ripple in the privacy screens which told him that Madam Pomfrey was about to make her morning visit.
Right on cue, the healer stepped into his bubble. "Good morning Harry" she said softly. Harry had been a regular enough visitor that the need for formality had long been discarded, although Harry always struggled bring himself to call her just 'Poppy'. She was one of the few in Hogwarts who had his absolute respect. "How are you feeling this morning?"
She took a look at the haunted eyes of her charge and her own heart broke a little for the boy.
"I've been better, Madam Pomfrey. I've certainly been better."
Poppy wanted to grab him and wrap him in a hug that she could see he so badly needed, but she was the matron, he was a patient, and her sense of professionalism would never allow her to blur any boundaries. "Oh, Harry. No one should ever have had to go through what you have, for it to be you, with all you have gone through already…" Tears threatened to fall from the normally stern medic.
"You won't find me arguing there, but if I'm being honest, I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to have to go through it. Fate picked me as her chew toy for a reason I guess."
Not for the first time Poppy marvelled at the boy, no, the young man before her. She could only imagine the torment he had suffered, but here he was saying that he wouldn't have subjected anyone else to that. If Fate had picked Harry Potter, she knew what she was doing.
Still, she had a job to do. "I think we should get you up and about today Harry. I've looked at your vitals, you are recovering, if a little more slowly than I'd like. I think that it's a combination of your physical and magical exhaustion that means one can't help the other bounce back the way it normally would. It's going to take time, Harry, but you will be OK."
Harry just nodded. He knew in his heart that he would never truly be OK again.
"Hermione is outside, she wants to see you." Poppy couldn't help but see the anguish reflected in Harry's soulful eyes. The flicker of understanding which she felt made her heart hurt anew.
Harry shook his head. "No."
"She is pretty insistent, Harry, and you know what she's like."
"No."
"Ok, I will tell her that you are still not well enough for visitors. Take your potions, and once the infirmary is a little emptier we will get you up for a while. You might not feel like eating much, but you have to have something, so we are going to be having lunch together, and we are going to have a chat."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but realised that it would be pointless. When Poppy Pomfrey set her mind on something, there was generally no arguing with her. Hermione was alike that, he thought, and another flicker of pain flashed across his eyes, again not missed by Poppy.
Harry took his potions and settled back into the pillows. Poppy nodded sadly.
"You need a bath. I will see if I can get one of the house elves to pop on inside your screen. When they do, they will put a charm on the curtains, no one, not even me, will disturb you."
Harry just nodded and gave Poppy a small smile. "Madam… Poppy." The healer smiled at him finally calling her by her first name. "Thank you. For everything."
"It's what I do Harry. I just wish I didn't have to do it for you quite so often!"
With a smile she left Harry alone and walked through the infirmary which, whilst still much busier than normal was no longer the chaotic triage centre it had been the previous day. The worst cases had been transferred to St Mungo's and those who remained should be out of her hair in a day or two. She spotted her target, a thin, tired looking brown haired young witch sitting neatly on a chair in a quieter area.
Hermione's eyes snapped up to the healer and she jumped up. "Can I see him Madam Pomfrey?"
Poppy shook her head. "Sorry Miss Granger, not at the moment. Harry isn't ready for visitors just yet."
Hermione was a combination of confused, sad, worried and disappointed. "Why? He shouldn't be left alone, Madam Pomfrey, he needs…"
The healer cut her off, sometimes the only way to deal with an over-wrought Hermione Granger. "He isn't being left alone Miss Granger, I've just been to see him, he has been given his morning potions regime, he is going to have a bath, we will see how he feels later." She deliberately left 'later' ambiguous. 'Later' could be this afternoon, tomorrow, the weekend, next week.
"Did you tell him I was here?"
Poppy nodded and watched how the young witch seemed to deflate a little. "I need to see him" she almost whispered. "I've been so horrid to him, I need to let him know that I'm sorry."
Poppy felt sorry for her until she remembered the look of sheer hurt and anguish that flitted across Harry's face when she had mentioned Hermione's name. "I don't know what went on with you two, or three" – Hermione couldn't help but miss the inflection on the 'three' part and silently winced inside – "but what I know is that Harry has been through more than anyone, he has suffered more than anyone ever should and he has done more than should ever be asked of anyone. If he wants to be left alone for a while, I'm not going to deny him that."
Hermione understood. The decision to be left alone was as much Harry's as it was Madam Pomfreys. A tear fell from Hermione's eye.
"Where is Mr Weasley anyway?"
"He's with his family. With Fred dy… dy…. With what happened to Fred, and Mr Weasley being taken to St Mungo's he went with them."
"Why are you here then?" Again, she couldn't help but have an edge to her voice and again that was not missed by the smartest witch of her age. Poppy wasn't one hundred percent sure what the tale with the three was, but she could take a good guess.
"Ron has his family around him, Harry just has us, one of us had to stay here for him." It was close enough to the truth, Hermione thought. It didn't tell the whole story though.
"I'm not sure Harry believes he has anyone at the moment, but that's not for me to say." This breach of protocol was so unusual for Poppy she surprised even herself, but her affection for Harry was deeper than he, or anyone else knew.
Over the years, Harry had been her most frequent visitor, and whilst he was always itching to get out of the infirmary as quickly as he could, he always made sure that Poppy knew that it wasn't because of her. Harry was the most polite and grateful patient Poppy could remember having. She didn't know how he did it, but he somehow found out when her birthday was, meaning that every birthday that since his second year had seen Poppy receive a card and a small gift. The card would say, in Harry's unmistakable scrawl how thankful he was for the care she gave him. Poppy had been the Hogwarts healer for longer than she cared to remember, but of the thousands of students who had passed through her care, only one had ever taken the time to send her a birthday card.
She watched closely at Hermione's reaction to her statement and saw the tear falling. She had a great deal of respect for Hermione, and she knew that of the Golden Trio she was the brain, whilst Harry was the heart. She wasn't wholly sure what Ron's role was, but knew that Harry was the glue. It was only the knowledge that Hermione had supported Harry so effectively through the last six years that stayed Poppy's tongue from lashing out at the hurt she had clearly caused the young man that, if she was being honest with herself, she would have adopted given the chance.
"Madam Pomfrey…" started Hermione, only for her to be stopped by the raised hand of the healer.
"Miss Granger, I am not going to enter into a discussion about it. Harry will not have visitors at this moment. Now, as you can see we are still very busy, so please excuse me."
Hermione was shocked at the tone of the healer's voice. Normally so full of warmth and compassion she was clipped, cold, distant, unfailingly professional. Cuttingly so. She just nodded and left the infirmary, not really knowing where she was going to go, just letting her legs take over.
She found herself leaving the castle into a warm day, heading, as if on auto pilot to the lake where she kept walking. She eventually stopped, still without thinking and sat down. She knew there would be no one else around. Those left at the castle were busy either making sure that the damaged areas were safe, working in the infirmary or getting ready to leave. The rest of the school year had been cancelled.
As she sat her mind drifted. She remembered the first time she met Harry Potter, the impossibly thin, nervous, quiet young boy she encountered on the train. She remembered fixing his classes with a spell she had read in one of her class books. She had been so desperate to try magic and she was so sure she could do it. The spell worked and she remembered the look he had given her, a look of absolute wonder. It had touched her heart.
She remembered the rest of the first year, the challenges, the fights, the troll, Quirrell, Harry being triumphant. Second year she remembered second year, the whole chamber of secrets debacle, she was surprised that she could remember her petrifaction, remembering Harry visiting her every night under cover of his cloak, her spending time talking to her so she wouldn't feel alone, how he unwittingly confessed the abuses that his damnable relatives had inflicted on him, how he was terrified at losing her. She remembered the soft feeling of his lips on hers as he tried to revive her the way he had read in Sleeping Beauty. She remembered that was when she had started to fall in love with Harry Potter.
Third year saw the threat of Sirius Black, the ride on Buckbeak which only served to solidify the feelings she had for him. When it was established that Sirius wasn't out to murder Harry but was in fact his godfather, they had worked as a team to free him. The whole broom incident was a torment for her, she was utterly convinced that Harry was in danger and reacted the only way she knew how – by blanking out everything else and taking charge. The schism that caused, she knew now, was driven more by Ron than Harry but she couldn't help but feel hurt at Harry's actions. She knew she should have spoken to him first and it all would have been avoided, they had a long talk about it and resolved their issues, but it still caused her to pause.
Fourth year was, she thought at the time, the low point of her life, as Harry was forced to compete in the tournament designed to kill him. Ron abandoned him only to be welcomed back when he seemingly repented. Part of her hated Harry for that, part of her loved him even more for it. Looking back, knowing what she did now, she saw that Ron was Harry's first friend, and Harry, the loyal prat that he was, was unwilling to cast him aside. She had hoped that Harry would ask her to the Yule ball, but when it was clear that he wasn't going to, she had started to try and repress the feelings she had for him. When one of the other champions asked her instead she said yes. On the night she saw the rage in Ron's eyes, later made flesh by him ranting at her, but in Harry's eyes, she saw sadness. She saw something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it niggled at her. Then there was the final task, the death of Cedric, the return of Voldemort and the breaking of Harry. When she haw Harry so broken, she broke too. She wanted to comfort him so much, but she was scared. Harry was always at the centre of the maelstrom and whilst she would never abandon him, her fear made her start to subconsciously pull away.
If Fourth year was bad, Fifth year was a disaster. Dumbledore had made is clear that Harry was to be isolated during the summer, something she both raged at and was pleased by, much to her never ending shame. In retrospect, it was the worst thing you could do to an already broken boy. Leaving him in an abusive home whilst he was so utterly crushed by what had happened was something that, in later years, she would never forgive the now departed headmaster for. That turned out to not be the worst, the attack at the Ministry and the death of Sirius had broken Harry even further and solidified Hermione's subconscious decision to distance herself from Harry. That distancing had caused her to force herself to grow closer to Ron.
She conveniently forgot all the times he had belittled her, had denigrated her, called her names, used her purely as a homework helper, never showing her any real friendship. For the first three years at least, Hermione knew that she would never be friends with Ron were it not for Harry. Why then she decided to try and force the transfer of her affection from one to the other was something that someone else would have to work out, someone with a suitable professional background.
If Fifth year was a disaster, Sixth was a tragedy. Harry had tried to rebuild their friendship but she kept him at arm's length. She used the potions book as her excuse, and despite seeing how much it was hurting him, her own fears and insecurities had by this point taken over. She had convinced herself that Harry would never love her, and that self-convincing had solidified into something tangible. She would later describe it at something akin to aversion therapy. She was training herself to be distant from the boy she loved to protect. She argued with him over the book, over Malfoy, over everything. When the headmaster was murdered and it was proven that Harry was right, the shame she felt snapped the last of her self-worth. She had, she felt, burned her bridge with Harry, which in turn drew her closer to Ron.
That brought us to this year. Harry losing Hedwig , his brief 'relationship' with Ginny, which everyone, especially Hermione could see was never going to work, the disaster at Bill and Fleur's wedding, the Horcrux hunt which saw Ron abandon them again. He did come back again though, and once again Harry forgave him, and once again Hermione both hated and loved him for it. There was the battles, and the losses and then there was the kiss. She had gradually given up on the last of her self-esteem and after one of the battles, when Ron, for arguably the first time in his life had considered the impact their actions may have had on something else, she kissed him. She knew Harry saw it, and after the kiss, she could see the change in his eyes. That 'something' which had been in his eye since the Yule ball in fourth year wasn't there any more.
That was when she realised what it was. That look in Harry's eye was only ever there when he looked at her. There's a muggle saying, that you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Hermione saw the truth in that the first time she looked into Harry's eyes after she kissed Ron. She knew what that something was. She knew it from the tips of her fingers to the depth of her soul.
Love.
That's what the something was. That certain indescribable something what Harry only ever had when he was looking at her, was love. Harry's love for her. A love that she hoped was there, but couldn't see. A love that it seemed she had killed.
The despair she felt literally weakened her to the point she wasn't sure she could go on. Harry turned at that point and walked away. Hermione, for the first time in months, looked, properly looked, at her best friend. She thought she had seen him broken before, but that was nothing compared to now.
Harry, she now realised, had always had an aura about him. Not a spectral aura like some claimed they could see, but a sensation. When she was near Harry, she could feel him. She had become so attuned to that sensation that it didn't really register until she saw him walk away and realised that she couldn't feel him any more.
She wanted to chase after him, but with all the battles going on, with Voldemort's proclamation that he would let everyone else go free if Harry Potter presented himself to him, she never could. When she heard that her heart almost stopped beating. She knew. She KNEW. The lack of aura, the loss of the spark in Harry's eyes. She knew. Harry had lost the fight. He'd lost the will to go on, he was going to walk into Voldemort's camp.
She fought for all she was worth to get to the Forbidden forest, but Ron had held her back. In an instant, she hated him. On some level she knew he was looking after her, but at that point in time she viscerally hated him. If looks could kill, he'd be lying on the floor. She wanted to go to Harry, she wanted to put the spark back into his eyes, she wanted to tell him she was sorry, she wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but she was stopped.
She saw the unmistakable flash of green in the distance, heard the roars from the forest, and escaped from Ron. There was neither man nor beast on hell or earth which was going to stop her. The group made its way to the forest to see the sight which damn near broke her.
The unmoving body of Harry Potter was lying on the grass. Voldemort had his arms raised in triumph, his death eaters gloating. She just stood there. She couldn't move, speak, she barely breathed. She didn't know how long they just stood, looking at the body, when the impossible happened.
Harry Potter came back from the dead and he was angry. Voldemort had his back to Harry when he noticed that his death eaters had stopped celebrating. He turned and spoke the only word Hermione had heard him say since the proclamation. "Impossible…" It was all he was given the chance to say when the fury in Harry was made corporeal and his wild magic stripped the flesh from Voldemort and killed him. When it was over, Harry just collapsed to the ground to collective screams. Again she wanted to run to him, but this time she was beaten to it by others. Harry was taken to the infirmary, the last time she had seen him.
Since then, she had been quiet, Ron couldn't get anything much out of her and was already getting frustrated. She understood his own pain was part of it, but had no comfort to offer. When Ron said he was going to St Mungo's and asked her to go with him, she refused. The conversation was fresh enough to be burned in her memory still.
"I don't believe you. I've just lost my brother, almost my dad! Why can't you be there for me? This morning you kissed me and now…"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what? Sorry for kissing me?"
"Yes."
Ron wasn't expecting that, if he was honest. "What?"
"I shouldn't have done it. I've done a lot of bad things, Ron, but the way I've treated you is amongst the worst of them. I see that now."
"What are you trying to say? I thought you liked me, I mean the way things have been the past while, it was kinda obvious."
"Ron… I'm a mess. Look at me. I've been a mess for so long I didn't even realise it. I've been a bitch to you, to Harry."
"So that's what it's about. Harry fucking Potter."
She had looked at him. "Why do you say it like that?"
"What's he got, Herms, tell me? What's he got that I don't?"
Hermione looked at him and it was as if the scales had fallen from her eyes. "It's never that simple, Ron. I know you wish it was, sometimes I do to, but…"
She could see him gather himself to launch into some kind of rant but she stopped him. "Don't hate him Ron. Not because of me. Harry hasn't done anything wrong. This is all my fault.". Tears fell from her eyes as she remembered something from first year. "Me? Books and cleverness, there are more important things like friendship and bravery and…" How different would life have been if a twelve year old Hermione Granger had found the courage to finish that sentence. "Don't hate him, please. I'm not worth falling out over."
She stood. "Go to St Mungo's Ron, be with your family."
As she walked away she head him call out. "Finally, you are wrong about something. You are worth it."
She didn't look back.
- OoOoOoO -
The last couple of days had become a form of purgatory for Hermione Granger. Every morning she would wake up and otherwise abandoned Gryffindor girl's dorm and on autopilot head to the shower. The great hall was still being repaired, so the Hogwarts house elves were providing meals in the dorms for those few who remained.
Hermione stayed for two reasons. Firstly, she had nowhere else to go. Ron, she had presumed, would have taken her to The Burrow, but she didn't want that. Not that she had spoken to Ron since he had left for St Mungo's. Her heart ached at the pain she knew she had caused him. He was a flawed character, certainly, prone to petty jealousy, lazy, gluttonous, but he had, at his core, a good heart. Harry saw that, it was why he forgave his many trespasses against him, but that was what Harry did. He saw beyond the façade of others, whilst keeping his own so tightly wrapped around him, very few got to see what glories were hidden beneath.
She couldn't go home, she wasn't even sure she would still have a home to go to. She had obliviated her parents of their memories of her and with a strong compulsion charm, sent them to Australia. She planned at some point to go and get them, see if she could undo the memory charm the way she thought, prayed, she could.
So, she stayed in the Castle.
Harry of course, was the second and, if she was being honest, bigger reason. Speaking to him had become her passion. Her obsession. Harry however, didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to see her. It was breaking her heart, but she knew that she had only herself to blame.
The way she had treated Harry, for months, years maybe, was unforgivable. Four years of falling ever more in love with him had been destroyed by her own actions. Harry had been destroyed by them. She desperately hoped that one day he would forgive her. Maybe then, she could start to forgive herself.
After her shower and simple breakfast she would make her way to the hospital wing, find what was rapidly becoming 'her' chair in the infirmary and sit and wait for Madam Pomfrey to come along. Every morning she would ask to see Harry, and every morning she would get the same, flat response.
This morning was no different, but instead of listlessly exiting the infirmary, Hermione stayed in her chair and broke down. The sound of her distress made Poppy stop and turn around. The sight of the young woman before her, openly letting her heartbreak come out, softened the healer's own heart.
Poppy had spent time talking to Harry. Her being one of the few people Harry trusted, she already knew of his abuses at the hands of his aunt and uncle. She knew of his problems with trust, she knew how closed he could be, she knew that whilst he kept people on the outside, if you ever managed to get inside his defences, you would find a man with an almost infinite capacity for love. He hadn't given her the full story, but as he dispassionately retold the story of his cursing by Voldemort, she realised what had caused him to act as he did.
Her ire for Hermione Granger was never stronger than it was that first night. She was set to ban her from the infirmary all together, but something stayed her hand.
Harry was now recovering quicker than she had anticipated. His magic, which was always powerful, seemed to be growing at an exponential rate. She hypothesised that the part of Voldemort, the connection, whatever you wanted to call it, was parasitic, disrupting if not draining Harry's magic. Now that it had been permanently severed, Harry's magic was, for the first time since he was naught but a toddler, enjoying a free reign through his body, and it was working overtime to get him back.
The previous day, Poppy had given Harry his wand back, and the sparks which flew from the end shocked them both. It was as if the wand was bonding with him anew. She let him cast some simple spells, a lumos here, a wingardium leviosa there, some basic transfiguration, everything came, he said, much more easily than it ever had, lending further weight to Poppy's thoughts.
Now, she stood here watching Hermione come undone. She walked back to the distraught girl. "Miss Granger, Hermione, look at me."
Hermione looked up at Poppy, eyes still flooded with tears, sobs still coming thick and fast. "Do you want a calming draught?" A shake of the head was the answer. "I think it may be useful" she went on. "If you agree to take at least a light dose to get you over this, I will go and speak to Harry again, ok?" A nod of the head this time. With a flick of her wand, Poppy summoned a potion to her hand and gave the same to Hermione, who tipped it down her throat. Almost instantly the sobs, whilst not stopping completely, subsided. Poppy nodded. "Sit there, please, don't move and focus on your breathing, I will be back shortly." Another nod.
With a sigh, Poppy went back to the opposite end of the infirmary. It was much much quieter, but Harry still had his privacy screen on one side, blocking him from the majority of the ward. "Harry" Poppy started gently. "Hermione is here again to see you."
"No."
"Harry, I don't know exactly what went on with you and her, I have an idea, but that's none of my business until you decide you want to tell me. But what I do know is that there's a young woman who has been coming here every day asking to see you, who has just had what looked for all the world like a breakdown in the waiting area."
Harry looked up at that. For the first time since Voldemort's defeat, Poppy thought she saw something other than misery and despair in those expressive green eyes.
"I think it would be good for you too" she continued.
"How would it be good for me, Poppy? What good would come out of seeing her?"
"If nothing else, Harry, it will give you closure, if that's what you think you need."
Silence.
"I know she's hurt you. I think she knows that too. One of the times she was here, she was desperate to see you, she said she wanted to say she was sorry." Harry's eyes hardened again but Poppy continued. "Maybe you think you don't want her apology, maybe you think you don't owe her that chance, but if you don't, it will eat away at you Harry. You know it, I know it. Maybe you don't owe her anything, but don't you think you owe the friendship you once had the chance to say sorry, even if it winds up being a goodbye."
More silence. Poppy sighed on the inside. "Harry, I'm getting Hermione, I'm bringing her over, and the rest is up to you."
More silence. 'He didn't say no' she reasoned to herself. She walked away and back to the waiting room.
Hermione looked up expectantly. "Did he say…"
"He said no to start with" Poppy watched the last of the light in Hermione's eyes fade "but I spoke to him further. Come with me." Some of the light came back. As they approached the curtain, Poppy could see that Hermione was actually shaking.
"Miss Granger" she said softly enough that Harry wouldn't hear. "Please do not hurt him any more than you already have." Before Hermione could respond, she walked away.
With a deep breath, Hermione took the last couple of steps and walked around the curtain. As soon as she saw Harry lying there, as thin as he was the first time she saw him all those years ago, she couldn't help herself and burst into another set of flooding tears. "H….H…..Harry…"