A/N: I am not JKR, and own none of this. Longer note at end.
'No, no, NOOOO!'
The thrashing continued from the thin mattress she was knelt beside. The first few times she'd tucked Harry back inside the covers. Ignoring the fire in her limbs to try and keep some warmth in his. Merlin it was cold. She was half surprised she couldn't see her breath in front of her as she exhaled.
A scream now, manic, dark, seeming to come from some other person's cords. It didn't take a witch as smart as Hermione to figure it out either. Harry seemed stuck on a loop, reliving the same horrid nightmare from the sounds of things.
She'd tried waking him up. Tried rubbing his arm, patting his cheeks, gripping his hands. Nothing.
In some ways it was better when he was like this. At least it wasn't the interminable silence. At least she wasn't left alone with her guilt.
She'd been shaking beyond belief when she entered Bathilda's room. Seeing Harry with the snake, making the split-second decision to send out the spell. Screaming as they apparated through the shattered window, still screaming when they hit the ground. Harry had fainted, she'd thought, when they reached this forest plot. Without his help, she was left to reach into her bag, pull out the tent and begin the various enchantments that kept them safe. All the while, she was convinced You-Know-Who would find them at any moment. That she'd have to defend Harry, alone.
But it was silent.
The wind whistled through the branches periodically, but all the birds seemed to have left this desolate spot. No squirrels running by, not even a mouse darting up at the hope of food. Nothing to harm, but nothing to help.
There was only Hermione, arms shaking as she levitated Harry onto the bed and covered him with as many blankets as they owned. There was only her to turn the kettle on, and try to pass small sips of weak tea past Harry's lips so that he could be hydrated. Only her to grab a balled-up washcloth to try and wipe his feverish brow.
There had never been a book she'd read that described this situation either, so she just had to hope she was doing the right thing.
It wasn't until Harry seemed a little less feverish that Hermione began to notice her own shaking increase. As she turned her attention to herself, she was shocked to see the pockmarks of blood along her sleeves. Making her way slowly to the little loo, she pulled herself up on shaking legs to see that her arms and chest were dotted with crimson. She pulled away her jumper to see tiny fragments glittering within the blood.
Glass. China. Everything that had instantaneously ricocheted back on her when she cast the blasting curse. Her punishment. It was a punishment. She should never have agreed to go to Godric's Hollow. Should never have allowed Harry upstairs with a stranger. Never should have cast such a dangerous curse in close quarters. Now it was her fault that Harry was suffering. So what did it matter if she stung? She'd earned it.
Taking a flannel and running it under the tepid water, she tried to clean herself up as best she could. This was made more difficult by listening to Harry's steady breathing, waiting to hear footsteps crunch through the snow outside. Nothing came.
She tentatively stepped back out into the main room, eyes darting to Harry's prone figure on the bed. There was a slash on his cheek, presumably from where he'd been hit with debris also. She went over to him, pausing to get more hot water from the kettle.
Slowly she dabbed at the cut, which mercifully didn't look deep. As she did, she noticed the glint of gold around his neck. The horcrux.
God she hated that thing. Hated wearing it. Hated Harry when he wore it. Hated it the most when R…
No. Stop thinking about him.
It had been her mantra for what seemed like months. He didn't deserve her thoughts. He abandoned them.
It was perhaps with this viciousness still in her mind that she yanked at the chain harder than she meant to. The horcrux didn't yield, remaining solidly in place. She yanked again, hardly caring if she woke Harry at this point.
He didn't wake. The horcrux didn't yield.
Could something do as she asked? For once?
Frustrated, she pulled her wand out of her jumper sleeve and pointed it at Harry's neck. Wordlessly, she performed a severing charm. The locket slipped off his skin, leaving behind an angry, red mark.
A mark that would need Dittany.
Her shoulders sank. They were already running low on Dittany. She'd used up so much of their supply trying to fix Ro-
No. Stop thinking about him.
Reluctantly, she returned to her bag at the entrance of the tent. As she reached inside for the small bottle, she looked outside. Even now, she was half expecting to see movement beyond their bubble. A gentle snow had begun to fall. A perfect white Christmas scene.
It was Christmas after all. Thousands of children tucked up in their beds, eagerly awaiting the morning's gifts.
In another life, where would she be spending Christmas? Back at Hogwarts, getting ready for the feast or watching Ginny and Harry play Chess? In Davos with her parents, drinking Glugwein and pretending to be interested in whatever asinine garden project the William-Thartons were working on this year? At the Burrow, with…
An ache in her chest surprised her. She was used to the hunger pains by now, could recognize them coming on and manage to snack on a single almond or something to keep it at bay. She'd even become accustomed to the sting of the cuts on her arms by now. But this…this emotional pang got her.
There had been no time to dwell on it though, because Harry had started thrashing in the bed. Her attention had focused back on him for the next few hours.
In between his bouts, Hermione could think for a few moments. It was a dangerous thing. She could think about how badly she wanted a big bowl of stew, instead of the lone fish she'd managed to accio out of the nearby river. She wasn't even sure she could risk turning the stove on, and thus send smoke out the top announcing their position to whomever was around. This fish had been mildly warmed with a charm, but was still closer to disgustingly raw.
Or she could think about how tired she was. How she longed for a proper bed, with a pillow that wasn't as thin as cardboard. Her one at Hogwarts, where the House-Elves warmed her sheets with hot pans, perfect on a cold night like this, slavery aside. She could sink underneath those sheets and sleep for ages. A proper lie in, with no threat pressing against her.
Or yet how cold she was, a cold she'd never known. How it could seep into the marrow of her bones, chills travelling through her muscles in short, wrenching spasms. No matter how many cups of tea she drank, it was never enough to soothe her now frigid core. The water in their loo could get mildly warm at the best of times. And despite the times she put on multiple jumpers, her fingers were still solid blocks of ice. The tent did little to protect them from the elements outside. Granted, she hadn't thought when she'd packed this tent that they would need it during the coldest time of the year. She hadn't thought about a lot of things when she'd been packing.
Harry let out a single, long pitched scream. It made all the hairs on her frigid arms stand at attention. She turned back to him, saw his arms pinned against the blankets as his mouth remained wide open. There was a small hole in his jumper. As if the wool had pulled against something. But of course it wouldn't. It was a Weasley jumper. Those were indestructible.
Not that she had one. But he traipsed away from them in such a rush, that a maroon one was left as a taunting reminder. Of her weakness.
Tentatively, she touched the wool, checking for a pull. Instead she found what appeared to be a small puncture mark. With a horrible feeling, she grabbed the fabric, yanking it away from Harry's arm. Sure enough there were two small round holes.
The snake.
It had bit him.
Because she'd been too slow. Too trusting. Too weak.
What if it was poisonous? What if it was like the one that almost killed Mr. Weasley? Hermione couldn't take that chance. She took the precious dittany, and used the small stopper to clean and clear it. It looked like it was healing.
Thank Merlin.
The idea of losing Harry, of being totally and utterly alone…it terrified her. Even in her worst moments of childhood, when loneliness threatened to overtake her, she'd never had this sensation. Her parents were gone now, hopefully safe, hopefully still ignorant of her existence. Any of her other friends at Hogwarts probably assumed she was on the run, that she'd fled the oppressive regime. It wasn't like she could go to one of their houses even if she did know where they lived. The price on her head was too high to ask them to pay. And truthfully, she hadn't felt alone because for the past six years she'd had them. Even when fighting, their presences around her acted as a balm. Knowing they were there made her feel strong. Made her feel like she could handle anything.
And then he left.
She looked at Harry, who had gone still and silent again. The rise and fall of the blankets let her know he was still breathing. There were times when she was on watch that she could feel Harry's eyes on her. Could feel him asking the unanswered question that hung between them.
Do you wish you'd gone too?
As if it had been an option. As if she hadn't sworn to Harry, to herself that she would stand by him. That she would be at his side no matter where they went. She'd promised him. She'd promised Dumbledore. His words to her beside the mirror of Erised came clearly ringing back to her the evening after he left.
'We never plan on abandoning those we love, Miss Granger. However, in dark times like these, sacrifices must be made. Whatever happens, you must swear to me that you will do everything to protect him. No matter the cost. Otherwise, Mr. Potter might not reach the age at which you saw him in the mirror.'
And she could still see him like that in the mirror. The smile. The laugh lines. She wanted so badly for that to happen to him, that he could have the chance to grow old. She just never imagined that the sacrifice Dumbledore meant was…him.
A sudden gust of wind whistled through the tent, blowing snowflakes close to where she was sitting. She shivered. Harry made a soft whimper. Her eyes darted up to his face, scrunched in pain. But he slumbered on. She took the opportunity to cast a quick drying spell over her. Despite not being damp, it did help to make her feel temporarily less cold.
As she did, a sudden thought occurred to her. She had no idea where Harry's wand was. He'd had it in his hand when they jumped from the window, but somewhere between him fainting and her getting him into the bed, she had no clue where it could be.
And Harry loved his wand. He was so particular about it. Never mind the number of times she'd told him not to stash it in his back pocket. She and…had spent a few evenings discussing how dependent Harry was on the twin cores to help defeat You-Know-Who. Whether anything in the prophecy had alluded to it. But those discussions always reminded her of when Harry told them about the prophecy, about the twins' stupid punching telescope, and then he would break out into a smile. No matter how chilly the air outside was, that smile warmed her up.
No. Stop thinking about him. She reminded herself more forcefully this time.
In an effort to distract herself, she got up on her stiff legs and made her way to the tent flap. Eyes as keen as could be, she searched the threadbare carpets for any sign of it. No such luck. Then, as if through molasses, she remembered that she was in fact a witch. And a witch who had spent hours teaching Harry the summoning spell.
'Accio Harry's wand!' she muttered as she waved her own wand.
Nothing happened.
A sinking feeling began in her stomach.
'Accio Harry's wand!' she recited, a little louder this time. She pointed her wand out into the snow beyond the tent.
Nothing happened.
The sinking feeling grew. Had it been left behind? Had he fainted earlier than she believed?
No. It couldn't be. Hermione was certain that Harry only fainted when they landed here. His wand had to be somewhere. This meant that she would have to head out into the snow.
She chanced a glance back at Harry. Would he be alright if she left him alone? He was breathing steadily, blankets moving softly with each inhale. There was nothing else for it. She needed to go out.
Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Hermione exited the tent. Whatever warmth had existed within its walls vanished the moment she stepped outside. It was hardly a blizzard, more like a gentle dance of snowflakes to the ground, and yet she began shivering intensely. Merlin's pants it was cold.
In a rare stroke of luck, the snow helped point her to where they had landed. The outline of Harry's prone form was still visible, the ground slightly more depressed. She walked quickly over there and illuminated the snow with her wandtip. She thought she could see his wand, and quickly drove her hand into the snow. It was only a stick.
She continued to search. Her wand caught a flash of something. Glinting nearly a foot away was a bright red feather peeking through the snow. One that looked suspiciously like a phoenix feather.
Bile rose in her throat.
She rose and made her way to it, praying to whoever might be listening that it wasn't what she thought it was. Reaching once more into the frigid pile of white, she felt her hand grasp a polished bit of wood. Pulling it out slowly, she recognized Harry's wand.
Well, she recognized half of Harry's wand. The half with the phoenix feather. She wiped some snow away further until she found what was unmistakably the second half.
His wand was in half.
He was going to be so angry at her. And with good reason. It was her fault that it was destroyed. Why, why had she agreed to go to Godric's Hollow? She should have known something like this was going to happen!
Ignoring the cold, or perhaps numb to it, Hermione sank to her knees, the two wand halves in each hand. What on earth were they going to do now? A wave of hopelessness crested over her, and she was surprised to hear a whimper escape her throat.
What if the wand was the key? And she'd just ruined it? What hope did they have of defeating You-Know-Who now?
High, cold, laughter emanated from the tent, breaking her from her downward spiral. She turned to face the opening in time to hear Harry scream once more. Picking up the pieces, she walked back inside, depositing them on the table and pointing her wand at the kettle once more. She pressed a flannel to Harry's sweaty forehead, hoping it would soothe him in some way. She was no healer. That much had been made clear in the tent.
It didn't take long for the water to come to a boil, and Hermione busied herself making some broth. Harry had to get some sort of nutrients in him. Come to think of it, maybe she should have some as well. As she reached to get two mugs from the cabinet, she noticed how bright red her hands had turned.
Then she realized how cold she was. How long had she been outside for? It hadn't seemed very long, but unless she was mistaken, her fingers looked like they were frostbitten. Clumsily, she tried to grab hold of the kettle and pour hot water. They felt thick, and stubby. She could hardly get the bouillon container open to pour some flakes into each mug. It took a while, but she managed to bring Harry his mug, with a small spoon to try and drip some into his mouth.
Her shivering made it so that she dribbled some out of the mug on her way there.
This was the coldest she had ever been in her life. Worse than coming out of the lake after the second task. And she didn't dare remove any of the blankets from Harry.
Then she remembered.
On the day he left, Ron had taken first watch. At the end of it, he was chilled and decided to make himself a cup of tea. Hermione tried to stay out of his way, so as not to provoke his ire. She heard him fill the kettle, turn it on, and take one of their tea bags out of the box. They didn't have many. Tea was prized now. Harry had managed to knick a box from the supermarket, but the places with supermarkets were rare, and so each bag was a hot commodity.
Ron poured himself a cup, and turned to sit at the table. Something must have happened, because the next thing she knew, there was a shattering of china and a string of expletives from Ron's mouth. He'd dropped the mug. The tea bag was now soaking into the carpet. His Weasley jumper had a large splotch of tea on the right arm.
'Do you want me to-' Hermione had started to say.
'I don't need you to baby me,' Ron had snapped back, nearly biting her head off. She dropped it. He went into the loo, and a few moments later, emerged wearing only his tee. She watched him dig in his rucksack for another jumper, which he pulled on. Then he promptly went to go sit with Harry, ignoring her completely.
And if it had been any other afternoon, Hermione wouldn't have remembered it. But hours later, after she'd exhausted herself by sobbing his name into the rainswept woods and crying silently under blankets that still carried his scent, she'd found that damn jumper in the bathtub. It seemed he'd tried to scrub out the tea using soap, but had failed in doing so.
Without full procession of her faculties, Hermione pulled it on, grateful that it still smelled like him, from his scent burrowed into the fabric, to his soap on the sleeve. It was all she had of him now.
By the next morning, when it was time for them to leave, she'd put the jumper back on his bed, certain that he would come through the trees at any moment, apologetic and blushing furiously. She'd begged him not to go. He, who had once sworn to her that he would rather die than let anything happen to her, was going to come back.
Except he didn't.
And she was so angry, and hurt, and devastated and heartbroken and…still she wanted that last part of him. Whenever Harry was on watch, she went over to his bunk and pulled on that jumper, trying to keep the last vestiges of his scent in her brain as she fitfully slept. After a few days, the scent was nearly gone. In anger, she'd shoved that jumper under his mattress so she wouldn't have to think about it anymore. Then she swore to herself that she wasn't going to think about him ever again.
It had been weeks since she'd made that promise. She'd broken it a hundred times over. But she'd never gone back to his jumper. Until now. When Harry had gotten a bit of the broth down, Hermione put down the mug and went over to Ron's bunk. She lifted up the mattress, and found that maroon jumper crumpled exactly where she'd left it.
Damn him for having such wonderfully warm clothing.
Putting survival ahead of her stubbornness, she yanked the jumper over her head, instantly feeling a tiny bit warmer.
And then it hit her. That faint hint of him that still lingered in the jumper. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since she'd smelled him at all, this whisper of him had her eyes welling up.
She missed him. She missed him and she had no idea if she would ever see him again. She had no idea if he was still alive. She missed him and she was furious that he'd left. She missed him, even though he broke their promise. She missed him with an ache that seemed to gnaw at her heart.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She did nothing to stop them. Why bother? It was Christmas, and she was on the run from the law. It had been only her and Harry for the past few weeks, and now it was just her. And she was tired. She was so tired of fighting on her own. They were supposed to be in this together, and he left. And she should hate him for leaving, but if he walked through the tent flap right now, she would kick his sorry arse and then never let him go again.
Harry moaned once more from beside her.
She gave herself one more moment of self-pity before warming the flannel once more. The least she could do was her job. Protect Harry. Even if she was still miserable and tired and frozen.
Somewhere, she hoped Ron was at least warm. She didn't dare hope she'd see him again.
A/N: A thousand apologies for the delay. Bad news is that I decided to start another degree, which is eating up my time on top of all the other obligations.
Good news-when I planned out this story (collection?) I had mostly written two of the holidays. Luckily for you all, it was the final two, so there shouldn't be much of a delay at all! Lots of love, and thank you to all who leave comments, or kudos. Stay safe!
3 Ashy