I keep my shield on as a precaution for half an hour. When nothing happens and I don't hear any sound, I take it down and tip toe to the living room to peer inside.
He is on the sofa, sleeping. In his hand there is an empty vial. It doesn't take me long to make two plus two. All those empty vials are nothing less than sleeping potions.
I've never trained as a healer, but I don't think it can be that good to take that many, and God only knows how many he already got. Together with alcohol and drugs. He is basically poisoning himself.
I need to find where he keeps them and make them disappear. I tremble at the thought of when he will find out, but it must be done.
I got here just in time. I ought to stop this madness before it's too late.
After Voldemort's bringing down, I was afraid something of the kind may happen, I was prepared to intervene in such a case. However, as years stretched on in a seeming quietness, I grew amazed at his capability to lead a normal life. An exceptionally strong mind. But there is a limit to everything.
And he started to be dangerously close to it when Lily died. Everybody noticed he wasn't the same afterward. I guess his mind started to waver then. Slowly he recovered and, I believe, only thanks to Ginny's support. But now he hasn't got anybody to support him.
Well, I'll do my best to be that support and what more, I'll do it without lulling myself with romantic fantasies. I'll do it as a friend, or I won't do it at all.
My mind is occupied by determination mingled by gloom reflecting on the situation, as I sat beside him taking the vial from his hand. He looks so innocent while sleeping, so different from the person who tried to attack me less than one hour ago.
I caress his unshaved face and I sigh. The poor man. He seems doomed for infelicity.
Well, I've got a lot to do here before he awakes.


The house is now clean. It took me two whole hours. I'm exhausted but I still must find where he keeps the potions.
I start to fumble in all the drawers and cupboards. I hesitate when in one of them I find crammed in several framed pictures. Family pictures. I realise now the walls are bare.
He hid them here and, judging by the state of the frames, it hasn't been a quiet affair. I almost cut myself with some loose glass.
Sadness pervades me. They look so happy in these pictures. Life has been very unfair with Harry; it's reserving him only challenges and hardships with very brief spaces of serenity that only have the power to exasperate the sorrow now.
I close the drawer and I keep looking for the potions, but only half-heartedly, I've to be honest. The only break he gets is in sleep.
I found them finally. They were in the kitchen, under the sink. There must be at least twenty of them, plus the ones he already drank. How in the name of heaven he managed to get hold of so many, I have no idea. St. Mungo's surely doesn't give them so easily and absolutely not in these large quantities. I refuse to believe Ted is procuring them. He must have found another way.
I make them disappear but for two or three I hide somewhere else in case of emergency.
I go upstairs to prepare for the night. I linger in front of his room where the bed is made. When I got there to clean there was an unbelievable mess. Wardrobe, drawers, all were open, the content scattered on the floor.
Ginny's stuff had been removed. Molly did it, right after Ginny died. She thought it was for the best; she didn't want Harry to affront that task in case he would wake up. At the time I thought it was wise, today finding the room in this condition I'm not so sure of it any longer.
He is not sleeping there anyway. And I can see why.
My mind set itself on Ginny's memory. I know I'll miss her. She has always been such a good friend to me. Even when she found out about my sentiment for Harry, she has never stopped considering me a friend.
There had been coldness at first. I saw how she tried to behave normally but she has never been a person who can pretend all is good if it's not. I always liked her for it.
She confronted me and I had no choice but to admit it. She had been really irked by it. I cannot blame her; I would have chopped my head off in her shoes. And rightly enough. For years I accepted Harry's tenderness knowing that to me it had a totally different reception from his friendly intentions and all under her very eyes. I allowed Harry to do it, I indulged in it, I paid him back with the same. I got profit of his naivete and of Ginny's trust. I'm indeed a horrible person.
I tried to explain that I never and ever got profit of the situation though, that Harry has always been blameless and rather stupid I may add as well.
At first, she admitted quite honestly her incapacity to accept the situation and she wasn't very happy about me seeing him. But Harry must have talked to her and when she invited me for his birthday, we discussed it all over again. I assured her I wasn't a threat for them, I would have never sabotaged their relation, I'm not so stupid as to think I could be benefitted by it in any way. Harry would have only been distraught, and it wouldn't have increased my chances with him in the slightest. He sees me only as a friend; I'm painfully barely a woman to his eyes.
'I know Hermione.' She just said 'I'm sorry to have accused you of it. It was unfair. I trust you as I trust him. Go ahead being the good friend you have always been to him. He needs you'
All this forbearance and trust made me indebted to her forever and more.
I must help Harry for her sake also. I'm sure she would have expected me to step in.
Everybody misses her so much. It has been rather a shock for Ron and probably I failed in my role of a wife. I didn't offer him any comfort. I just had so much between my hands in those nights after her death.
The magical community was in uproar. The minister was struggling to keep the situation under control. Hordes of people from all around the globe were converging to St. Mungo trying to get in. Floonetwork in total black out, people stuck in chimneys for hours, the street in front of the hospital was so jammed the Minister had to contact the other Minister to explain the situation and cover it with a muggle event so to be able to close the whole area to traffic. Angry mobs tried to force their way into the Minister and into Azkaban in a clear attempt to find 854 for a lynching.
Demonstrations exploded here and there against the Minister to have allowed this to happen (apparently there had been a shortage of staff in Azkaban and not enough funds to hire additional help).
The Azkaban guard in charge for that shift has been suspended, which I'm rather sorry for as he is a very good fellow and doesn't deserve it. Harry used to talk very highly of him. He has a family to maintain the poor man and it is not very likely he will be able to find another employment after a debacle of this kind.
Prisoners, getting a hint of the racket, were uprising hourly causing dangerous mayhems and increasing the risk of some more breakout. Every man and woman available have been called to help. Me included.
The little time off I got it was dedicated to Molly to help her with the funeral. We had to ask for an additional permission to have the whole town evacuated by muggles (it has been pretended a dangerous gas leaking).
We had to cast thousands of spells on the cemetery to make sure the event to remain private because every single witch or wizard was even too aware that Ginny was going to be buried close to Lily and many were stationed there as soon as the news of her death spread.
Presents, letters and flowers needed to be collected from St. Mungo's door.
And there was Harry. In a coma. With very little chances of waking up. When I wasn't working or not helping Molly I sat by his side, focalising all my remaining energies on him. Sometimes I was so exhausted I fell asleep holding his hand.
I didn't spend much time with Ron, perhaps it has been a mistake on my side.
It seems like everything else was more important but reflecting on it now, in the quietness of this room, I can avow to myself that it shouldn't have been.
I decide to sleep in James' room as usual during my overnight stays in this house.
I falter closing the door. Do I have to lock me inside? It seems almost offensive in Harry's regard but, in the end, remembering his look, I decide it's better. I don't want to take any useless risks.
I fall asleep thinking about him, downstairs, stunned by the potion. For the last time.