Now And Forever
Chapter 17
By Abraxan
Author Notes:
Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my fabulous betas, Alexander, Asad, Iris and Rich! Thanks too to Mark Anders Harrison for help with a Latin incantation, and Mike McKean for his help with a sports question!
NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM!!! "Star Sons 1 - Dawn of the Two" an original fantasy novel by Abraxan (Lynda Sappington)! Click here to order! If you want an autographed bookplate, send a business-sized SASE to:
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"’Mione? Is that you?" When he received no answer, his shoulders slumped and he opened his book again with a heavy sigh.
Harry gave his friend a sympathetic look. "She stays at school awfully late, doesn’t she?"
"Yeah, and it drives me mad. I miss her."
Harry understood the feeling. He was lonely for Ginny, too. "What’s she doing that’s keeping her at Oxford so late every day?"
Ron lifted a shoulder and dropped it, sighing again as he did so. "Some project for one of her classes."
"A project? Then it should be finished soon, right?" Harry said, hoping to cheer Ron up a bit.
"Yeah, I guess." Ron sat with his shoulders slumped, head bowed, looking miserable.
Ron’s attitude had been getting worse every day. Worried enough to brave the question that had been plaguing him, Harry said, "Is everything OK between you?"
Ron looked up at him, startled out of his reverie. "Huh? Oh! Yeah, we’re fine." He dropped his eyes and said no more.
Harry crossed his fingers and plunged on. He couldn’t help them if he didn’t know what was wrong. Of course, it was possible there was nothing he could do to help, but if he didn’t ask . . . well, he was just going to have to be blunt about it.
"C’mon, Ron, I know you too well. What’s going on? I’m not trying to be nosy, you know that, right? But I’m worried about you. You’re not paying attention in class, and you haven’t been too sharp in practice lately either."
"Noticed that, did you?" Ron’s expression grew even more morose. He was silent for several minutes. Harry sat watching him but said nothing to interrupt Ron’s thoughts. "D’you think they’ll kick me off the team?"
"It isn’t that bad yet, but you’ve got to concentrate, both in Quidditch and in class."
"It’s just hard for me right now." Ron fell silent, the misery in his heart evident on his face and in his posture. Finally, he sighed. "I don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s withdrawn and grouchy all the time. Maybe it’s hormones, I don’t know."
Harry frowned. "Hormones?"
"She says that’s what makes her short-tempered every month—you know." Ron shrugged, not wanting to go into any more detail about the mysteries of women.
Harry understood what Ron meant now. "If it’s causing problems, maybe she should see a healer."
"She says she’s fine."
"It doesn’t sound as if she’s fine."
Ron lifted one shoulder and dropped it in a very discouraged shrug. "I figure she’s just busy at school and too tired. She’ll get over it eventually. I hope so, anyway."
"Yeah, me too."
* * * * *
Several days later, Harry arrived at Number 12, Grimmauld Place and headed up the stairs to get some notes he’d left on the library table that he needed for class. Partway up the stairs, he paused, straining his ears to hear a soft sound that had caught his attention.
The house should be empty except for the elves. Ron stayed after practice to study the new playbook, and Hermione should be at Oxford. He drew his wand and crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. He stopped by the drawing room door and listened. Nothing. He moved on softly, going from room to room and listening. At the library door, he stopped and listened again. There was the sound again! It was quiet, but it was definitely coming from this room! Slowly, quietly, Harry opened the door, his wand at the ready. He lowered his wand when he saw it was Hermione.
"Hermione?" he said as he approached her.
Hermione whirled around, her face red and blotchy, fear in her eyes. "Oh! Oh, Harry, it’s you." She stuffed something in the couch cushions and sat trembling and uneasy, her face streaked with tears.
Harry could see she was making a valiant effort to stop crying. He sat down on the couch next to her. "What’s wrong?"
She waved her hand in front of her face as if she were trying to shoo midges away from her eyes. "Nothing. I’m fine."
Harry grabbed her waving hand and held it, noticing how fragile it felt. Hermione had never been the least bit podgy, but she’d lost weight, so much so that her hand felt like little more than bone. He shook his head and studied his friend’s face. She looked gaunt, with deep hollows under her cheekbones and dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t looked this bad at Christmas. What happened? "No, you’re not fine. And you haven’t been fine for a while. You’re exhausted, short-tempered and much too thin. Are you eating at all?"
Hermione jerked her hand away from him and looked at him with a bit of the usual fire in her eyes. "Of course I’m eating! Dobby and Winky feed us very well!"
Harry put his hand on her shoulder, nearly wincing when he felt the bones protruding there. "They make wonderful meals, yes, but are you actually eating them? Or are you ill?"
"I’m not ill!"
"Then what’s wrong? Ron’s worried about you, and so am I. Why were you crying? And why aren’t you at Oxford? Did you finish the project that was keeping you late all the time?"
Hermione dropped her eyes to watch her hands nervously twisting in her lap. "There is no project."
She’d spoken so softly, Harry wasn’t certain he’d heard her properly. "Did you say—"
She looked up at him, tears spilling from her eyes now. "There is no project. I lied about it."
Harry was totally confused. "Why?"
She dropped her eyes again. "I just wanted to be left alone."
"Why? What’s wrong? Come on, Hermione, you’re driving me mad here! And Ron’s already round the twist with worry." As she hesitated to answer him, Harry thought of something. "What did you stuff in the cushions when I came in?"
"Nothing."
"I don’t believe you." He shoved his hand in the cushions and pulled out a light blue jumper. "Why are you hiding this? Is it yours? I don’t remember seeing it."
Hermione had stiffened when he pulled the jumper out of the cushions. Her face was set in angry lines, but tears trembled in her lashes. "It . . . it was . . ."
Suddenly, he knew. "Your mum’s."
She nodded, her lips pressed together, looking entirely miserable.
Harry looked at the jumper. It was quite ordinary, a simple cable-knit made from soft wool. He caught a faint fragrance from it and lifted it to his nose. "What’s that scent?"
She shrugged. "I don’t know. It just smells like my . . . my mum. She wore that jumper a lot. It was her favourite."
Harry thought he understood now. "You’re smelling this scent and remembering your mum and it hurts. Is that it?" She nodded. "So is your grief over your parents what’s making you ill?" She shrugged again. "And this non-existent project at Oxford. What’s the deal with that?"
"I can’t study in the library there. I never know what will start me crying again. I’m rarely alone here, and I just wanted a place where I could be alone—just in case, you know." She sniffled. "I found a relatively private spot at Oxford, so I try to study there, but sometimes . . . sometimes I can’t study at all, no matter where I am."
Harry was shocked. Hermione, unable to study? "Why not?"
She shook her head and sobbed, unable to speak for a moment. "I . . . I was such a bad daughter, Harry."
"No you weren’t!"
"I was! I was horrible! For years, I spent as much of every holiday as possible with Ron—and you, too—instead of with my parents. Sometimes I’d spend the whole holiday with Ron and his family. I should’ve gone home! If I’d known . . ."
"If you’d known, you would’ve spent that time with your parents. But you didn’t know, Hermione. You couldn’t have known they’d die so young. Did they ever say they minded your spending so much time with us?"
"They loved both you and Ron, and they liked the Weasleys," she replied, "but I had to talk them into letting me stay nearly every time. Eventually, they stopped arguing with me about it and just let me go. I told them . . . I told them . . ." Fresh tears spilled down her face. She looked up at Harry, her face twisted in misery. "Oh, Harry! I lied to them. I told them you both needed my help with your holiday homework or you’d get detention."
Harry almost smiled. "So they thought we were both terrible students?"
"Not exactly, just that your grades improved a lot with my help."
Harry snorted. "That wasn’t a lie."
"But that wasn’t why I spent holidays with you two! I just . . . I wanted to be with Ron, even before he finally admitted he cared about me. And of course, I wanted to do everything I could to help you, too, and it was easier to help if we were together."
Harry wished he could do something to make things easier her, but couldn’t think of anything at the moment. Perhaps just keeping her talking until she relaxed was the best thing he could do. He tucked a stray hair gently behind her ear. "Did your parents know you fancied Ron all those years?"
"Mum knew. She thought it was a bit funny that I cared about a boy so much that it distracted me from studying, especially when the boy was too thick to realize . . ."
Harry did smile this time. "Yeah, that would be Ron. So why were you here today? Did something happen at Oxford?"
She took a shaky breath and looked up at him. "I didn’t have any classes today, and I knew Ron planned to stay at the stadium to study the new playbook. I didn’t expect you to come over, so I just stayed here. Since I was alone, I pulled out Mum’s jumper. I thought if I just had a really good cry, instead of holding it in all the time, I might finally get past my grief."
"And did you?" Harry said in a gentle voice. He slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him, hoping to console her at least a little.
"No."
"I know Ron wouldn’t mind comforting you. Why did you need to be alone?"
"He lost two brothers!" she wailed. "He’s still in so much pain! I couldn’t add to that."
"Hermione, he’s doing better—"
"You don’t hear him at night."
Harry sighed. "You’re right, I don’t." He moved his hand on her shoulder a bit, trying to find a spot that wasn’t quite so bony. "You didn’t look so thin over the holidays, and that wasn’t long ago. What happened?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "I tried what you did. I’ve kept a glamour on me for ages so I’d look all right, but I didn’t bother with it today, since I thought I’d be alone all day. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me."
"Well, you failed spectacularly there. Ron and I have both been worrying about you, especially Ron. He talked to me about you just a few evenings ago. He’s losing his mind wondering what’s wrong and what he can do to help."
"Oh, I never meant—" She dropped her face in her hands, looking totally disconsolate.
He ran his hand gently across her back to comfort her. "I know you meant well. He’ll understand." At least, I hope he will. Harry chewed his lip a moment, wondering how he could help his friends, both of whom needed to deal with grief that seemed to be overwhelming them. No inspirations came despite his best efforts. Holding Ginny usually makes me feel better. Maybe—
"Come here." When she looked up, Harry gathered her in his arms, tucked her head into his shoulder and held her tightly. "You can cry all you want. Go ahead."
She tried to pull away. "No, I’ll get your shirt all wet."
"I have others, Hermione. Go on. If you need to cry, I have a shoulder right here for you to cry on. Ginny says it’s a pretty comfy shoulder, at that." He gave her a cheeky grin, trying to tease a smile out of her. He was rewarded with the tiniest of smiles.
Hermione snuggled against him for a moment, finding a comfortable spot for her head. "Ginny’s right. You have a very comfy shoulder."
"I’m glad you approve. Now go ahead and cry all you want, okay?" He handed her the blue jumper, which she clutched to her chest. A moment later, she bowed her head over it and sobbed for a few minutes, then turned to Harry and buried her face in his shoulder, her arms around his neck as she wailed in an agony of grief.
Harry rubbed her back and wondered how she’d held such guilt and pain in for so long. Several long minutes passed with Hermione sobbing her heart out on Harry’s shoulder. He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, chilling his shoulder a bit. Finally, she pulled back and looked at him, her eyes calmer than before.
"You’re right. That helped," she said, gazing up at him. "You’re so sweet. Thanks."
"Any time."
"Harry?" She hesitated, then cupped his cheek in her hand, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "Life’s so short. We shouldn’t put off important things."
"I agree. What important things are you putting off?"
"Saying something that you should hear as often as possible. I love you, Harry."
Harry was a bit startled, but decided to take her comment at face value. "I love you too."
"Carrying the flirting a bit far this time, aren’t you, mate?" Ron’s voice made Harry and Hermione both jump and face the door. He looked uncertainly from his wife to his best friend and back.
Had Ron heard him and Hermione saying they loved each other? From the uncertainty in Ron’s eyes, Harry suspected he had. "This wasn’t flirting, mate."
Ron frowned. "Then what was it?’’
"I was comforting Hermione."
"Comforting . . .?" Ron shook his head as if he didn’t understand.
"You know how you’ve been so worried about Hermione?" Harry said. "You were right to worry. I found her crying when I got here a little while ago and came in to see what was wrong. She’s in a lot of pain, Ron. You two need to talk."
Ron looked at his wife. "Are you ill?"
Hermione stood up, her mum’s jumper still clutched in her hand. "I . . . in a way, I guess I have been. But I’m getting better. Harry helped me. That’s what he was doing, Ron. Helping me."
"Helping you with what?"
Hermione seemed incapable of answering him.
"She needed a shoulder to cry on," Harry said at last.
Ron turned to Hermione, his blue eyes dark with pain. "What’s wrong with my shoulder? Why did you need Harry’s?"
"I . . . I was . . ." Hermione shook her head and lowered her eyes, crying again.
"What?" Ron demanded.
"Hermione, if you don’t tell him, I will, but it should come from you," Harry said.
"’Mione?" Ron said, looking miserable. "What’s wrong?"
Hermione held out her mum’s jumper. Ron took it, looking confused.
"That’s my mum’s favourite jumper," she began, her voice shaky. "I’ve been grieving over my parents."
"Why did you need Harry for that? I’d—"
"You’re still grieving for your brothers. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems."
Ron crossed the space between them and gripped her shoulders, loosening his grip a bit when she winced. "I’m your husband, ’Mione. Your problems are my problems. You should’ve come to me." His voice was firm but sad.
She moved closer to him and slid her arms around his waist. "I know, but I just couldn’t, not for a while anyway. I love you, Ron. I didn’t want to hurt you."
Ron looked puzzled. "How could sharing your grief hurt me?"
"I was just trying to protect you," she said. "You’ve been hurt enough."
"Tell him everything, Hermione, so he’ll understand," Harry urged.
Hermione led Ron to the couch and sat down with him, and hesitantly explained her guilt over spending holidays with Ron instead of her parents, and how she couldn’t forgive herself for being such a bad daughter.
Ron shook his head. "Do you think your parents thought you were a bad daughter?"
"No, but—"
"Then stop beating yourself up. You can’t change the past. They loved you. They wouldn’t want you making yourself ill from all this, would they?"
"No," she said in a small voice.
Harry watched Ron talking to Hermione in a calm, mature voice. Ron was being wonderfully understanding and supportive. If Hermione had only given him a chance months ago. . . .
"And another thing," Ron was saying now. "You never let me take care of you. You seem to think you have to take care of me." When she started to protest, he put his finger on her lips. "No, I’m serious. This is another case of it. You were trying to take care of me somehow, and you were making yourself ill from it. I won’t stand for that anymore, Hermione, do you understand? I’m the man of the family."
A small smile played across her face. "Yeah, you are."
"Then let me be the man of the family! I want to look after you and protect you and help you, but you won’t let me!"
"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I didn’t realize . . ."
"That’s right, you didn’t! I’ve been worried sick about you!"
"Yeah, Harry told me."
They both turned and looked at Harry.
"Thanks for helping her, Harry," Ron said at last.
Greatly relieved at how everything had worked out, Harry turned to leave. "I’ll just leave you two to kiss and make up, shall I?"
"Thanks for helping me, too, mate," Ron said, already pulling Hermione closer to him.
"Harry, wait!" Hermione called.
Harry stopped in the doorway and turned around to face her. "What?"
"You never showed me how to do the house design spell. I’d like something to take my mind off of school things. Would you show me that spell?"
"I’ll be back over here to study with Ron in a couple of days," Harry replied. "If you look more rested and not so thin and pale, I’ll be happy to show you. So eat well and get some rest!"
A small smile crossed her face. "You’re blackmailing me."
"I’m using incentives I know will work with you, to get you to do the right thing."
Hermione looked up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You sound like a parent." She winced a bit when she said "parent," but made an obvious effort to get past that pain.
"Someday I hope to have kids," Harry said with a mischievous grin. "Practicing on you and Ron isn’t a bad idea."
She actually laughed at that.
"Made you laugh," Harry said, delighted to see spots of colour appear in her pale cheeks.
"Yeah."
"If you pass inspection in a couple of days, I’ll teach you that spell. Goodnight."
"Night."
* * * * *
"Harry! Harry, guess what?" Ron called as he entered the locker room one morning a couple of weeks later.
"What?"
Ron beamed. "’Mione’s better. She’s playing with that house design spell and really enjoying it, and she’s eating more, too. I think planning for our future is really helping her."
Harry felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "That’s great!"
"Yeah. She was actually humming while she was playing with that spell last night, can you believe it? I haven’t heard her do that since . . . well, since before the war." He grabbed Harry’s shoulders and squeezed them. "I can’t thank you enough, mate. Really." He pulled Harry into a hug, then let him go and stepped back, blushing now.
Harry smiled. Seeing Ron so relieved lifted his heart. Maybe they’d all heal soon. He was sleeping a bit better now, with fewer nightmares per night, but still, it would be so good when he and Ginny were married. He knew he’d overcome his nightmares with her by his side.