Chapter Text
A loud, sharp knock on the window was what woke David up so early on this Christmas morning. His eyelids reluctantly fluttered open, and he stared at the dark ceiling while the remnants of some restless dream hurriedly fled his mind.
"M-hm…" Emma stirred beside him in bed, still half-asleep, her face deeply buried in the pillow. "Wha' 'appened…?"
"It's nothing. Go back to sleep," he murmured automatically, blinking hard in an effort to pull himself together. They had all gone to bed quite late last night – an exhausting week had taken its toll – so even he, used to rising at the crack of dawn, desperately wanted to collapse back onto the mattress and drift off again.
Boom! Shrrkk… Boom!
The sound came again, louder and more insistent this time, as if a big branch were banging and scratching against the glass… but that was absolutely impossible. As far as he remembered, there wasn't a single tree near their house.
Shrrkk… Boom! BOOM!
Grumbling under his breath, David threw off the blanket and climbed out of bed, immediately wincing at the cool air drifting through the bedroom. The dim yellow glow of the digital alarm clock on the bedside table read 7:12 AM. Still yawning widely, he groped for and switched on the bedside lamp, and then he drowsily shuffled four steps to the window, beyond which the sky had not even begun to lighten.
Shrrkk! Boom! KRRSHH!
"Oo-hoo-oo!" came a shrill, drawn-out call from outside the glass.
"What the hell…?" Still groggy with sleep, David stared in bewilderment at a very large tawny owl, hovering just outside at about his eye level.
The moment he stepped closer, it let out another loud screech and flapped even more furiously, forcing him to hastily open the window before it ended up smashing through the frame.
"Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo-oo!"
As he stepped closer, the owl let out another loud screech and thrashed about even more violently, forcing him to hurriedly open the window before it ended up smashing through the frame.
"Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo-oo!"
Bursting into the room along with a gust of freezing wind, the uninvited guest began circling under the ceiling before finally swooping down onto the dresser. A bulky parcel was tied to its leg, wrapped in brown waxed paper and secured with twine – clearly a package meant for someone in this house.
"Oo-hoo-oo!" the owl hooted deeply again, this time in a bass tone, staring at David with its wide, obsidian eyes.
"You want me to take this?" he guessed cautiously.
"Oo-hoo-oo-oo!"
"Alright… Just don't bite me, okay?"
"Oo-hoo!.."
Trying to be as careful as possible – both to avoid hurting the bird and to keep all his fingers intact – David quickly untied the knot around its leg. Throughout the process, the creature remained remarkably calm and patient, clearly accustomed to this kind of task.
"There… That's it. Uh… thanks for the delivery?" he said uncertainly, glancing at the owl.
It responded with another deep, rolling "Oo-hoo-oo-oo!" before suddenly taking off and fluttering back out the window, vanishing into the pre-dawn twilight.
"David?" Emma, startled by the commotion, was already sitting up in bed, rubbing her teary eyes and yawning desperately into the sleeve of her pajama top.
"A magical bird just flew in," David explained with a grin, shaking the parcel. "With a package!"
"I see… Do you know who it's from?"
"Not a clue. Maybe from Santa Claus?" he joked. "Want to take a look?"
Settling comfortably together among the blankets once again, they began unwrapping the mysterious package with equal curiosity, four hands working in unison.
"Hmm… are you sure this is not from Santa Claus?" Emma asked, looking in bewilderment at the large, dark purple bag covered in silver constellations that, if you looked closely, were slowly moving across the velvet "sky" they were embroidered on.
"Aside from the fact that he doesn't exist?"
"Two years ago, we thought magic didn't exist, and now our daughter is training to be a witch."
"Fair point…"
The contents of the bag only heightened the resemblance to a Christmas myth – for inside were neatly wrapped boxes, glistening in shiny paper and tied with ribbons. And to leave no doubt about the intended recipients, each gift bore a tag with a name.
"Look, this one seems to be for us," David said, fishing out a large silver box with a blue ribbon. The tag, written in shimmering turquoise ink, read:
To Mr. and Mrs. Granger, from Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore. Merry Christmas!
It was rather unusual to receive holiday greetings from the headmaster of a school, even a magical one. However, this was the least strange thing happening to their family these days.
The package also included a letter, enclosed in a thick parchment envelope with a wax seal, very similar to the one Hermione had received last year. The text of the message turned out to be lengthy, and the tone was bizarre, to match the author:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Headmaster's Office
26th December, 1993
My Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,
Pray allow me to extend my most sincere felicitations for Christmastide and the coming New Year. May it bring warmth, prosperity, and merriment – whether by fine pudding or an overzealous suit of armour, which, I find, serves much the same purpose.
I write not solely for seasonal pleasantries but to express heartfelt gratitude for the kindness shown to young Mr. Potter. It gladdens me to know he has enjoyed your hospitality — and, thus far, has preserved all his limbs intact. Should he begin hopping about like a chocolate frog, I suggest an inspection for hidden Bertie Bott's Beans.
It is my sincere hope Miss Granger has indulged in a modicum of rest amidst the festivities, though I suspect any book-shaped gifts were met with delight. I must beg pardon if parcels from my library have encouraged undue scholarly zeal during what ought to be a time of snowy skirmishes and toffee.
Might I request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience after the New Year – perhaps the fourth of January? I trust you will agree that such matters, being rather delicate, are best addressed with openness and consideration, and, if circumstances allow, perhaps with a particularly strong pot of tea.
I would be most appreciative of your reply at your earliest convenience. I have every confidence Mr. Potter's owl will prove a reliable courier, unless, of course, it has taken it upon itself to make an unexpected detour (owls, as you have no doubt already observed, are at times inclined to such fits of independence).
With the highest regard and most sincere wishes for your continued good health and prosperity,
I remain, dear Sir and Madam,
Your most humble and obedient servant,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
* * *
This letter echoed the earlier message from Professor McGonagall, the head of the house where Hermione had studied. The professor had also strongly urged them to meet after the holidays and was planning to visit them exactly one day earlier, on the 3rd of January.
Rereading Dumbledore's message – 90% of which consisted of some kind of twaddle – David, with growing anxiety, wondered what else these people intended to discuss with him and Emma. After everything that had already been said and done, what new matters did they wish to bring up? And why did they prefer to do so separately – perhaps even in secrecy from one another? Neither of them had mentioned any specific reason or topic for the upcoming conversations, yet David could not shake off a sense of foreboding.
Tormented by unresolved doubts, he absentmindedly fished out a smaller square box from the bag. It was wrapped in scarlet and gold paper, decorated with dancing snowmen – who, upon closer inspection, really were dancing as long as one was looking at them.
"And this one seems to be for the boy…"
"His name is Harry, David."
"I know his name," the man muttered. "I just don't want to say it out loud." He exhaled heavily, fully aware of how ridiculous that sounded, yet unable to force himself past it. Not yet.
His wife merely shook her head but chose not to press the issue.
Such conversations, along with their countless fruitless variations, had taken place between them far too often in recent weeks. The arrival of Harry Potter in their lives – not just as a friend or Hermione's first romantic interest, but as her husband, whatever that rubbish was supposed to mean – had been an utterly unwelcome shock, one that not even a thousand years could have prepared them for. And the issue wasn't even about this particular boy himself.
The problem lay in the fact that he was exactly what he was – just a boy, and Hermione was just a girl, and together they were nothing more than underage children, not people ready for marriage! Certainly not on the brink of the 21st century, and definitely not in their home! It was some kind of utterly barbaric, medieval, archaic absurdity that had absolutely no place in their family! End of discussion!
Not to mention that, by and large, they still knew next to nothing about this Harry, apart from the fact that he was, apparently, an orphan and had lived under the care of his uncle and aunt somewhere outside London for nearly his entire life. He was also, in a way, some sort of celebrity in the wizarding world, judging by the excitement with which Hermione had written about their meeting on the train.
Later, when she had grown closer to Harry and that other kid, Ron Weasley, her enthusiasm about "the very Boy Who Lived, whom they write so much about" subsided, replaced by a more neutral account of their school days and grades (both of Hermione's new friends performed terribly in their studies).
At first, David and Emma were simply pleased that their naturally introverted and shy daughter had finally managed to find herself some company. They had never particularly discussed it, but from many indications, both had long suspected that Hermione might be on the autistic spectrum or, at the very least, experiencing delays in social development. Lacking any other logical explanation for her behaviour, each had secretly spent years blaming themselves for not having been able to give her enough attention in her early years, believing that this was why she had grown up so withdrawn.
Pleased with Hermione's progress, they hardly paid attention to how quickly and remarkably easily she had managed to find company in this new school, which they had never even seen… At the time, they simply put it down to yet another miracle – those had been happening to them quite frequently lately.
Maybe, at some point, you simply stop being so surprised – especially after the day when, out of the blue, an elderly lady in a dark green robe and a wide-brimmed, pointed hat appears on the doorstep of your utterly ordinary, boring house and declares that your daughter is a sorceress or something… as absurd as that might sound.
Introducing herself as Professor Minerva McGonagall, the aforementioned lady then proceeded, in a dry and stern tone, to tell David and his wife something so utterly fantastical that, despite his usually reserved nature, he burst into loud laughter – her words sounded that much like a ridiculous joke.
However, all humour vanished the very next second when this woman, defying every known law of physics, turned into a cat right before his eyes.
Since then, his life and his family's life had been dramatically transformed. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing... at least, at first. All the strange and inexplicable events that had happened to Hermione when she was younger now had a reasonable – or, well, almost reasonable – explanation.
Magic – that's what it was!
The undeniable, objective fact was that their daughter, Hermione, was a witch. Not some "indigo child" or other trendy hipster nonsense, but a real witch, complete with bubbling cauldrons, moonlit Sabbaths, flying on broomsticks, black cats, and everything else that comes with it! Exactly like in fantasy films or children's fairy tales, with the only difference being that it was all true! Now, that was something to lose one's head over…
As it soon became clear, this also meant that Hermione had to attend the appropriate school for magically gifted children to learn how to control her powers, which, in principle, wasn't such a mad idea.
As educated people, both David and Emma believed in the importance of academic knowledge, although they were disappointed that now Hermione wouldn't be able to attend Westminster School as they had long planned. Instead, the three of them, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, headed to London, where they would walk straight through a wall and enter Diagon Alley – the most astonishing (and eerie) street you could possibly imagine! And that was just the tip of the iceberg!
The idea that alongside ordinary society in their country, there had been a completely separate, hidden world with its own infrastructure, education system, laws, and government for centuries, still barely fit into David's mind…
Each time he found himself face-to-face with some obviously wacky figure cloaked in a tattered dark robe, or came across some utterly disgusting or just freakish objects displayed in the moldy windows of gloomy shops, he couldn't shake the thought of where, for heaven's sake, he was sending his child?! Could he really let her off to that strange Hogwarts, located god knows where, for nearly a whole year, with no way to visit or even call, so that the only means of communication between them would be letters delivered by owls?!
Yet, Hermione looked utterly enchanted by the place… Unlike her stunned and bewildered parents, who clung to each other for support, she showed no fear at all. On the contrary, her eyes shone brightly as she fired off a hundred questions a minute at Professor McGonagall, who patiently answered in her professional, teacherly manner, pleasantly surprised to encounter such an inquisitive and lively child.
And then, David suddenly realized with striking clarity: here, in this strange and foreign place that terrified him so much, his own daughter felt completely at home. The way she instantly blended into everything happening around her, while he and Emma continued to stand frozen, staring in shock, spoke volumes.
In the end, after walking their feet sore that day and spending nearly a fortune on grimoires about potions, spells, and curses, as well as school robes, a wand, and an entire suitcase full of foul-smelling concoctions from the apothecary, they finally departed as a family back to the "Muggle" world to finish preparing Hermione for her inevitable enrolment at Hogwarts.
If only he had known then what it would all lead to! If he had even for a minute – no, a second – been able to imagine that in Hermione's second year, he and Emma would be suddenly pulled from their familiar routine and told that their little girl had, in some insane way, ceased to belong to the Granger family and was now married to a boy just as young…! He would never have let Hermione set foot in that damned magical world, that's for sure!
Even now, he was ready to fight tooth and nail to get her out of there as soon as possible, no matter what those people had to say! It was bad enough that he had entrusted these fools with the safety of his only precious child – and just look at what had come of it! He wouldn't make the same mistake again. Never!
If it were up to him, he would have already transferred Hermione to a normal school. After all, there were plenty of prestigious institutions willing to accept such a gifted and intelligent student even in the middle of the academic year. If only he could convince Hermione… but before that, he still needed to persuade his wife, who, for some reason, believed they should get to know this Harry better first…
* * *
Excessively exhausted after nearly a sleepless night and too upset by the flow of uncontrollable unpleasant thoughts to continue pretending to be carefree, David got out of bed with another heavy sigh.
He left the bag of gifts for Emma, cleverly offloading onto her the task of taking them downstairs and secretly placing them under the tree without the children noticing, while he preferred to escape into the shower in hopes of finding at least a little peace. He suspected he would need it before the inevitable encounter with the Boy Whom He Absolutely Did Not Approve Of, and who, nevertheless, was going to live in his house for at least another two weeks, whether David wanted that or not.
"Are the wizards planning to offload this kid on us in the summer as well?" he continued to think nervously while soaking under the hot water, shaving, getting dressed, and trudging wearily downstairs in search of a life-saving cup of coffee.
As much as his suspicions were far from baseless, considering the boy was most likely currently without any guardianship – the echoes of his aunt's screams about "useless freaks that nobody wants" were still ringing in David's ears.
No matter how he personally felt about Harry due to his ambiguous role in the current situation, he certainly wouldn't shout or, worse, lay a hand on a child barely reaching his elbow. Judging by how the boy recoiled from any moving object in his direction, it was clear he had a history of avoiding slaps.
Humanly speaking, David genuinely felt sorry for any child, without exception, who had to endure such unhealthy treatment, so he couldn't help but sympathise with Harry Potter… He just didn't understand why this had suddenly become his problem and personal headache, and where all these grown-up wizards from their so-called "Ministry" were looking. Or was it only a "Ministry" in name, but in practice as useless and lazy as their own government?
He wondered, do wizards even regulate child abuse issues and abandoned children at all? Did they have any specialized institutions for such cases? Any orphanages? Legal acts?
Looking at how quickly and decisively they had made the decision about his daughter's marriage, David came to the alarming realisation that either these people had absolutely no concept of children's rights and the age of consent, or they were still living in a reality frighteningly close to the Victorian era. And he wasn't even sure which was worse!
He just felt so utterly, disgustingly weak and useless in all of this, completely incapable of protecting his daughter…
"What a load of bloody rubbish!.." David muttered irritably under his breath as he switched on the coffee machine and spent a few minutes glowering at it, watching as it ground the beans and brewed him a fresh espresso.
Emma, who joined her husband half an hour later, already looking much fresher and dressed in a cozy home outfit, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, which slightly improved his mood.
"Another few owls just arrived," she said absentmindedly, dropping a handful of Earl Grey into the teapot.
"More presents?"
"Yes, and quite a lot. It seems we're expected to have an inspector again this year."
"Well, last time they couldn't prove we were keeping wild birds in the house…"
Moving to the living room, the two of them passed the time in their usual cozy silence, reading as they waited for Hermione and the other child to wake up and come downstairs. And, just like every Christmas since their daughter had turned three and begun to understand the meaning of presents, they didn't have to wait long.
No sooner had the sun fully risen and bathed the house in light than the sounds of rustling and doors opening could be heard upstairs. A few minutes later, Hermione came bounding down the stairs, still dressed in her pajamas.
At the sight of the pile of presents – which had definitely not been that large the night before – Hermione gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks in pure childlike delight.
"Merry Christmas!" David and Emma giggled at their daughter's genuine excitement, watching with warm smiles as she rushed to the tree and eagerly began unwrapping the parcels with her name on them.
Her friend, as always, lingered awkwardly in the background, shifting from foot to foot in complete uncertainty, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do in a situation like this.
"Has he really never received Christmas presents before?" David frowned, struck and unsettled by the unpleasant realization that this kid might have suffered far more neglect than it first seemed.
Still, he had no intention of pitying the boy – let alone getting attached to him because of it. This was still none of his business, no matter how sorry he felt for the kid.
"Harry, look! There are presents for you too! Come here, quick!"
His daughter's loud, joyful exclamation – carrying that familiar commanding tone – snapped David out of his thoughts before they could turn dark again.
Still glancing hesitantly and anxiously at the adults, the boy finally obeyed when Hermione called him again, this time more insistently. Closing the remaining distance to the Christmas tree, he lowered himself onto the floor beside his impatient friend.
"There are so many this year…" he murmured, gazing at the parcels before him with a sense of wonder.
"This one's from me!" Hermione all but shoved her present into his hands. "Go on, open it!"
Too preoccupied with watching Harry's first reaction, she momentarily forgot all about her own gifts.
Handling it with such care that it looked almost unnatural, the boy carefully tore open one end of the wrapping and pulled out a knitted woollen scarf in deep green with long tassels, along with a matching bobble hat and mittens.
"This is… oh…" He hesitated and swallowed, as if his throat had suddenly gone dry. "Did you… did you make this yourself?"
"Yes! What do you think? Do you like it? It's not too… gloomy, is it? I mean, I originally thought of knitting it in Gryffindor colours, but then it would have looked too much like our school uniform, and I just wanted it to be different, so…"
"Hermione, it's perfect. Truly! Thank you so much!"
Harry beamed at her, his smile wide and sincere, and Hermione instantly flushed bright red before breaking into a delighted smile of her own.
"Really? So, you like it?"
"Of course! I'll definitely wear it!" To prove his words, he pulled the hat on right then and there and wrapped the scarf snugly around his neck. Then, with a cheeky grin, he asked, "Well? How do I look?"
"It really suits you."
"Awesome! I didn't even know you could knit. That's amazing, Hermione!"
"Thanks. I just decided to learn recently…"
Exchanging smiles and chatting away happily, they seemed to have completely forgotten about the presence of anyone else in the room, too absorbed in each other and the excitement of unwrapping gifts.
"He seems like a very sweet boy," came Emma's quiet whisper in David's ear, pulling him out of the daze in which he'd been staring at the scene unfolding before him for the past five minutes, feelings decidedly mixed.
"Hm…"
"And Hermione clearly likes him. I've never seen her like this before…"
"Hm-ghm…"
David himself had never seen his daughter like this either – beaming, blushing and giggling, practically fluttering around some boy with shy little gasps and such obvious affection that even he, a grown man, felt a bit awkward watching it… as if he were intruding on something private and not meant for his eyes.
But this was his own daughter! His little girl, whom he had just recently rocked in his arms and read bedtime stories to!
When had she managed to grow so much? And where the hell had he been all this time that he had managed to completely miss the moment when this happened?!
* * *
Torn between sadness, confusion, and regret, David listlessly watched as everyone else happily tore through the wrapping and showed off the contents of their gifts, while he barely participated, viewing his own presents with little enthusiasm: his favourite dark chocolate from Hermione, a new work notebook from Emma, and a fountain pen with an ink pot from Potter.
His wife received platinum earrings from him and a beautiful tea tin from Hermione, as well as an antique-looking music box from the boy. As for Harry, Emma and David had jointly decided to give him books (chosen by Emma).
However, this year, Hermione was the one who had received the most presents. From the traditional clothing items sent by grandparents to a pile of books, cards, and envelopes with pocket money from other relatives – there were truly a lot of wonderful things.
The morning post owls had also delivered a heap of packages for everyone: sweaters for Hermione and Harry from Molly Weasley, along with assortments of sweets from their friend Ron; several very old and serious-looking books from Headmaster Dumbledore for both of them, plus an enchanted tea set for the elder Grangers; and finally, there was an entire box filled with liquids of all colors and unknown purpose, which Hermione immediately took up to her room.
From her parents, she received a rather trendy CD player by modern youth standards, a set of music discs, a beautiful planner, a few videotapes, and a book on personal development and self-discovery for teenagers.
"Thank you, Mum! Thank you, Daddy!"
As Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around them one by one, David pulled her into a bear hug and held on until she awkwardly coughed and wriggled away, dramatically grumbling that he was going to suffocate her. He had to blink several times to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione!" Harry said, holding out his own present with clear nervousness, judging by the way he bit his lip and the bright gleam in his eyes that he couldn't quite hide.
Judging by the flat, rectangular shape of the package, it was also some kind of book.
"Oh, Harry! This… this is incredible!"
As it turned out, beneath the garish red-and-green Christmas wrapping was Heisenberg's "Zur Quantentheorie", a 1925 original edition – an extremely rare find that must have cost a small fortune.
"Where did you even find this?!"
"Indeed. And how did he manage to afford such an expensive gift?" David thought with a quiet chuckle, trying to estimate the cost in his mind. "This strange kid is full of surprises…"
"I had some help," Harry replied modestly (and vaguely), before bravely enduring the flood of gratitude from Hermione, who immediately flung her arms around his neck and planted a firm kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you!"
"It's nothing, really… I'm just glad you like it," Harry stammered, as red as a beetroot but clearly pleased that he'd made her happy. "And… um… there's one more thing." With that, he pulled a small box from the pocket of his pajama trousers – no larger than those usually meant for jewelry.
Emma gasped and grabbed her husband's arm tightly, her eyes widening in shock, just as his did.
"Wait a minute… What's he doing?!" The man stared in disbelief, convinced he was about to witness a marriage proposal from a twelve-year-old runt.
Judging by the crimson cheeks and the awkward, panicked glance Hermione shot at her parents, she came to a similar conclusion.
"You're going to open it?" Potter urged her, making David instantly want to grab him by the scruff of his neck and toss him out the door. Whatever budding sympathy he had started to feel for the boy vanished in an instant.
"That cheeky little brat! I'll…! "
"I… oh… Yes, of course."
Hermione, clumsy because of embarrassment, unwrapped what indeed turned out to be a black velvet jewellery box, then lifted the lid to reveal…
* * *
"Not a ring!!"
David sharply sucked in a breath through his teeth, while Emma, on the contrary, let out an equally loud exhale, and both of them sagged at once as the tension suddenly drained from their bodies.
The kids, caught up in their own little drama, hardly noticed the extra layer of tension hanging in the air from the adults.
"It can show the phases of the moon, and the movement of other celestial bodies, and… um… all sorts of things," Harry explained haltingly, pointing at the beautiful silver pendant in Hermione's hands, crafted in the shape of a moving astrolabe.
"That bloody…!"
David's heart was still pounding in his throat as he slowly regained composure, trying not to strangle the boy for nearly giving him a heart attack with that stupid circus act of his. The little bugger probably hadn't done it on purpose, but the effect was still spot on.
Hermione, in the meantime, had already tried on her new accessory and was now twirling in front of the mirror.
"This is so beautiful! But you really shouldn't have…"
"They told me it's enchanted against the evil eye," Harry cut in, "and that it can warn its owner of danger. Apparently, it heats up or something like that…"
"Oh, really? That's…" She never finished the sentence, turning deathly pale as she clutched at the pendant.
"Hermione?!" Potter cried out in panic, jumping towards her and grabbing her by the shoulders as she suddenly started collapsing for no apparent reason. "Hermione!"
"Hermione, love!"
"Hermione!"
David and Emma rushed forward barely a second later to help lower Hermione to the floor. Everything blurred into chaos as she let out a strangled gasp and arched violently in their arms, her eyes rolling back.
"Emma, call an ambulance!" David barked at his wife, at the same time attempting to lift his daughter. But Potter clung onto her like a limpet.
"Hermione, no, no, no… Please, no! Not again!.." The boy sobbed loudly, tears streaming down his face, still refusing to let go of Hermione, who was now convulsing and arching as if in a full-blown seizure. A harsh, ragged sound tore from her throat, like that of a dying animal.
"Oh my God, Hermione…!"
"Emma, call an ambulance! Now!"
"Please, Hermione… Please…!"
David had no idea how long they had to wait for the paramedics and was barely aware of what he was doing. His vision blurred at the edges, and all his attention was locked onto his daughter's waxen face, now barely moving.
He didn't even think to check her vitals – something he should have done immediately as a doctor. Fear had completely paralysed his ability to think and act.
"Paramedics here! Where's the patient?"
"Ma'am, please make some space!"
"Sir, can you tell us what happened? Sir?"
He thought he said something, but the words sounded muffled and distant, as if spoken by someone else. Paramedics checked Hermione quickly, then loaded her onto the stretcher and rushed her away, leaving him with only one option – to run after them.
"Hermione… Oh, God… Hermione… "
Emma's tear-streaked face twisted in anguish, Potter's face red from crying, Hermione's deathly pale expression – everything spun before David's eyes like a nightmare roulette wheel as he sped down the motorway behind the blaring ambulance.
"God, please… Hermione… "
Never in his life had he been so terrified and so helpless.
Chapter 41
Notes:
Hey, I'm back! Thanks everyone for the long wait. Enjoy reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The wail of the siren hummed dully in Harry's ears, barely breaking through his eardrums as though they were stuffed with cotton, while he sat silent and terrified in the back seat of the car now speeding down the road at a breakneck pace.
Mr Granger drove in the same grim silence, his face like stone, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, his foot mercilessly pressing the accelerator to the floor. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes never left the ambulance ahead – the one carrying the unconscious Hermione. Mrs Granger had been the only one allowed to ride with her daughter, so she alone knew her condition at that moment.
Harry's heart pounded painfully and far too fast against his ribs, though he barely noticed it. His vision had blurred at the edges and narrowed to a single point — the bright red stripe painted across the white bodywork, weaving through the streets ahead.
"Hermione… No… No… God, please! Not again! Hermione…" the same thought spun round and round in his mind like a broken record, and apart from that, there was nothing. Just a complete void.
It all felt like a relapse into some nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
Barely half an hour ago, he, Hermione, and her parents had been sitting together under the Christmas tree, unwrapping presents in bright, crinkling paper, exchanging warm smiles and cheerful wishes.
Only moments before, Harry's biggest concern in the whole world had been the contents of the many parcels he'd received this year from his friends, teachers, and even from Hermione's parents, which had taken him completely by surprise. That last fact had left him so startled and moved, he couldn't stop double-checking the tag on the box in disbelief…
They turned out to be books, of course. A few thick volumes in glossy, colourful covers – some sort of teen science fiction, judging by the spaceships and stars on the front…
Though honestly, he wouldn't have been too bothered even if it had been a gardening guide or a vacuum cleaner manual. It was Mr and Mrs Granger, after all – people who owed him absolutely nothing! And yet they'd still taken the time to choose something thoughtful for him, rather than just shoving any old rubbish at him to tick a box.
The very fact that they'd even thought of him at all, and then gone to the trouble of picking out that gift… Bloody hell, his own aunt – the woman who'd raised him from infancy, the only living link he had left to his mother – hadn't made even a fraction of that kind of effort over all these years!
And although the sly, pessimistic part of his mind immediately reminded him that this was probably nothing more than a gesture of politeness and said more about the Grangers' character than their feelings towards Harry, he couldn't help the uncontrollable wave of gratitude he felt for this unfamiliar sign of attention.
He barely found the courage to force out a timid "Thank you." He hoped that the presents he had chosen, relying on Dobby's advice, had also pleased the Grangers…
At the very least, Mrs Granger had examined the enchanted music box he had given her with curiosity and had warmly thanked him, so at least with that gift, Harry had guessed right.
As for Mr Granger, his expression hadn't changed a bit while he unwrapped his new fountain pen – just the same impassive, distant look as he muttered, "It's quite nice. Thank you, Harry." Not that Harry had expected any loud praise or flowery gratitude. It was enough that Hermione's dad was willing to tolerate him under his roof and still hadn't raised his voice once, even though he clearly felt uncomfortable having Harry around.
Despite his jittery nerves, Harry couldn't stop grinning foolishly that morning as he sat on the floor in his brand-new warm pyjamas, bought just the day before, surrounded by torn colourful wrapping paper and generous presents, the most precious of which, to him, were the hat, mittens, and scarf from Hermione, which she had knitted herself just for him. When had she even found the time?
Speaking of knitted things… Mrs Weasley had sent him another jumper this year, just like she had the year before, and Harry was deeply grateful for it, but… compared to Hermione's gift, it felt… different somehow? Not worse, of course not! He would never for a second dismiss a present from Ron's mum. That woman had a big enough heart to think of her youngest son's friend too, even though she probably had more than enough on her plate, especially during the holidays.
Mrs Weasley was the closest thing Harry had ever known to a mother, and he clung to that illusion with quiet desperation. And yet, if he were forced to choose between a Weasley jumper and Hermione's handmade gift, he wouldn't even hesitate – he'd choose hers.
The watercolour painting she'd given him on their first day here was now safely tucked away in his rucksack, waiting for its moment. If he ever had a home of his own and a room to decorate, it would hang on the wall, no question. For now, he planned to frame it and keep it on his bedside table, right next to the photos of Lily and James Potter, and he didn't care if Ron or anyone else thought it was silly. By now, Harry wasn't afraid to admit (at least to himself) that he was completely in love with Hermione, and with everything, in one way or another, connected to her.
To be honest, loving Hermione had turned out to be the easiest "decision" of his life. She gave him so much in return! Her friendship, her trust, affection, comfort, genuine care and warmth…
From the very moment she had openly taken his and Ron's side after the troll incident last year, Harry had always known he could rely on her. Hermione and Ron were the only people in the entire world he could truly trust. Out of all his former and current classmates, teachers, and acquaintances, they were the only ones who knew the real him, not just the Boy Who Lived or "that strange, crazy nephew of the Dursleys everyone should avoid."
After all they had been through together last year, Harry knew he could count on Hermione – even more than he could count on himself in some ways, because she was so responsible. He knew that whatever odd thing he might do, Hermione would at the very least try to understand him. And even if the whole world turned its back on him, his best friend would still fiercely defend him, just as he would stand by her in anything she set her mind to.
Only the deeply ingrained fear, planted in him by years of negative reinforcement, still made Harry tread carefully. But the longer he was under the hot rays of the bright sun named "Hermione", the thinner the icy shell around his emotions became.
The invitation to this house, despite all the conflicting circumstances and emotions tied to it, had chipped away a few more bricks in his walls, whether he liked it or not.
It happened, surprisingly easily – most likely because all three Grangers seemed to have made it their mission to make up, all at once, for Harry's nine miserable Christmases with the Dursleys. Even at Hogwarts, with all its magic and festive grandeur, he had never felt the same warmth as he did in this small Muggle living room, surrounded by people who, although two of them were still practically strangers, already felt familiar through Hermione.
Overwhelmed by the complexity of the situation and the unfamiliar feelings wrapping around him like a soft but far too thick blanket, Harry completely let his guard down. For a few brief moments, he even forgot why he was here in the first place…
He watched with quiet delight as Hermione admired the pendant he'd given her, pressing the right spots to make the delicate piece spin and shimmer in the pale light of Christmas morning.
The day before, Harry had spent quite a bit of time puzzling over what to get, before finally sending Dobby off to Diagon Alley. Knowing his friend's practical nature, he had tried to pick something suitable – something beautiful and thoughtful, yet not overly girly, since Hermione likely wouldn't have appreciated anything too frivolous. At the same time, it couldn't be something purely functional and soulless either…
Judging by how happy and excited Hermione looked, and how tightly she hugged Harry in a rush of gratitude, it was clear that the tiny enchanted astrolabe had truly delighted her. This seemingly charming trinket even almost made her forget about the book – the second, "spare" gift Harry had bought just in case...
It had all felt so peaceful in that moment… so much like the kind of true family happiness Harry had always imagined for himself… And then it all shattered.
Just like everything else in his stupid life.
Because, of course, the universe couldn't let him enjoy even the tiniest scrap of happiness, not even for a brief second. As if he'd been cursed from the very moment he was born!
And the worst part was, this time it wasn't even him who got hurt. No, it had to be someone he cared about! Just like his parents, who died trying to protect him… As if he somehow brought misfortune to those around him simply by letting them get too close.
"Please, Hermione, hold on! Don't give up! Please… please…"
He didn't even know who he was really begging anymore. He just desperately wanted Hermione to be all right. He wished there were some way to turn back time and make everything right again.
If only he could! If only he'd known how it would all turn out… They would have found another way, something safer, to get rid of the Heir's threat.
And anyway, who said they'd even succeeded? They still didn't truly know if it had worked at all! If any of it had made the slightest bloody difference! What if everything they'd done had been for nothing?!
* * *
"Please, Hermione, just hold on a bit longer! God… Why is this bloody road so long?! When are we going to get there?!"
Harry didn't dare say any of it out loud, afraid to disturb Mr Granger. The man seemed to be in some sort of trance ever since Hermione had suddenly started gasping and collapsed right there in the middle of the living room. He hadn't even reacted when Harry climbed into the car uninvited to go with them to the hospital.
It had probably been about ten minutes now, judging by how far they'd driven, though for Harry, time had warped – he felt as if they'd been on the road far longer, like an eternity.
He had no idea why they weren't just taking Hermione to the nearest hospital instead of heading for some big medical centre. Surely there had to be at least a tiny clinic in this Hambelford or whatever it was called?!
At last, they made it onto the motorway – almost completely empty at this hour – and the car surged forward even faster. Fortunately, despite the deep snowdrifts covering the hills, the road itself had been well cleared, and it wasn't long before they reached the outskirts of Chichester and pulled up to the entrance of St Richard's Hospital.
Medical staff were already rushing out to meet them. Mr Granger hadn't even had time to park properly and switch off the engine before the stretcher with Hermione was wheeled out of the ambulance and whisked inside just as swiftly.
"Twelve-year-old female, sudden collapse, struggling to breathe. Vitals unstable."
"Any known allergies or pre-existing conditions?"
"None reported. Collapsed at home. No prior symptoms, according to the family."
"Right. Let's get her to Resus, now!"
"Oxygen's on. Heart rate's irregular. BP dropping…"
"Page paediatrics and get a crash trolley ready! We're not taking any chances…"
Shouting hurried, unintelligible phrases to one another, the doctors swiftly wheeled Hermione through the winding corridors of the hospital. Her parents and Harry tried to keep up, running after the stretcher as best they could, until, at one point, a nurse stepped in and blocked their way.
"I'm sorry, but you can't go any further. Please wait here."
"But that's our daughter! We have a right to be with her!"
"I understand, sir, but we need to work. She's in good hands, I promise."
"We just want to know what's going on!"
"Sir, as soon as we stabilise her, the doctor will come and speak to you. Please try to stay calm..."
Briskly pushing them away from the doors leading to the intensive care unit, she then returned to her station and then immediately buried herself in some paperwork.
Mr Granger paced the corridor nervously for a while longer before finally collapsing, defeated, onto a plastic chair by the wall. His wife, silent and pale, her eyes red from crying, was already seated on another chair, staring unblinkingly at the doors through which the stretcher carrying their daughter had disappeared.
On legs stiff with fear, Harry somehow made his way to the last empty seat and sank into it, huddling up as a wave of helplessness washed over him. He was shaking violently, trying to suppress the tremors by hugging himself tightly.
The doctors here thought Hermione's symptoms had come "out of nowhere", because that's what her parents had told them… Because those Muggles didn't know a thing! But Harry knew! He knew exactly what had happened to Hermione, and he hadn't told anyone, because… what difference would it have made? How could he possibly have explained it all to them?! And even if he had tried, would they have believed him, anyway?
"Excuse me, sir, ma'am… You see, my friend and I performed an ancient magic blood ritual that bound us in marriage and can't be undone. And now she's dying because I still haven't been able to impregnate her. "
It sounded crazy and disgusting, even in his own head. But maybe he should have said something anyway? Hermione could actually die at any moment! He had to tell someone!..
"Sorry, Mrs Granger? I… um… I need to tell you something. You see…"
"Harry, my boy!"
"Professor Dumbledore?" he blinked in confusion, trying to understand how the Headmaster of Hogwarts had suddenly appeared in the corridor of a Muggle hospital.
"How did he know? I didn't send him an owl… oh, damn! I forgot to send him an owl! But... he's still here?"
"Sir, how did you…?"
"Where is Miss Granger?" Dumbledore interrupted him.
"She… the doctors took her to intensive care, sir. Can you help her?! Please, help her! She's very ill, and I don't know…!"
"How bad is it?" he was interrupted again, though this time it was Snape, whom Harry, in his panicked state, only just noticed. "Was she conscious when they brought her in?"
"I don't know…"
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but who exactly are you…?"
"Confundus!"
The nurse's question, understandably startled by the sudden appearance of two cloaked strangers in her hospital, was cut off mid-sentence as Snape cast the Confundus Charm on her. Her eyes lost focus slightly, and her face took on a drowsy, indifferent expression.
"Do you know the current location of a patient named Hermione Granger?"
Obeying the command without hesitation, the woman calmly told Snape where Hermione had been taken. She then returned to her duties as if nothing had happened, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the corridor.
"Well, let's not waste any time. Come on, Harry!" Dumbledore urged, striding first toward the intensive care doors.
"Wait! What's going on here?! Do you know what's happening to our daughter?!" Mr and Mrs Granger rushed to block their way, rightly demanding answers, but the old man shook his head.
"I'm afraid I'll have to answer all your questions later. Harry!"
"What? Why is he…?"
* * *
Under the cover of the professors, Harry slipped inside in a rush. He still hadn't been told why he alone had been allowed in, but he was determined to find Hermione no matter what it took.
Doctors they passed tried several more times to stop them, clearly irritated by the presence of outsiders in a ward requiring strict sanitary conditions, but each time, their protests were quickly silenced by spells. Any other day, Harry would've found that interesting, but right now, all his focus was on reaching Hermione and learning what had happened to her.
He spotted her on one of the beds. Dumbledore immediately drew a curtain around her and cast a charm that made doctors and other patients simply overlook the scene entirely.
"Oh…" Harry stared in quiet shock at the mess of wires and tubes tangled around her like some grotesque acromantula web. He had expected something pretty scary and serious, of course, but seeing her like this, still and silent, almost mummified... It was even worse than last time, when she had also been barely conscious, but at least she hadn't been lying there pierced with needles and with a plastic tube in her mouth.
Each wire trailing from her body was connected to some blinking, beeping machine, that clearly designed to monitor her vital signs and keep her stable. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought one of them was even helping her breathe. That alone made things feel far worse than he'd imagined.
"Hermione… hey…" he whispered, stepping closer. After a moment of hesitation, he gently took her hand – her skin was dreadfully cold. Combined with her utter stillness and lack of any response, it almost felt as though she'd stopped breathing, though the soft hum of the machines suggested otherwise.
"Harry, my boy…" Dumbledore said quietly, drawing his attention. "I'm afraid this time we truly have no options left here."
"Sir? What do you mean?"
Locking eyes with the Headmaster, Harry, to his horror, saw a sense of hopelessness in them that he hadn't noticed before.
For a moment, an awkward silence fell over the ward, during which the beeping of the medical machines and Snape's indistinct muttering as he worked magic over the still-unconscious Hermione could be heard especially clearly. Methodically, he was "evaporating" the wires and drips around her, replacing them with supporting spells and a whole array of potions, which he was fishing out of his pocket one after another.
At last, Dumbledore looked at Harry again with that apologetic, sorrowful gaze that sent a chill crawling down the boy's neck.
"I'm so sorry, Harry. This is all my fault… I tried to buy you and Miss Granger a bit more time – ideally, until the end of the school – but unfortunately, it's had the opposite effect.
"I still don't understand…"
"I thought we might outwit the curse if you and Miss Granger didn't know anything…"
"Wait a minute… Is Dumbledore muttering? Dumbledore?!"
"Not know about what?" Harry interrupted, not particularly politely – he was too on edge to be courteous. Yet the old wizard didn't scold him. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice.
"The thing is, the potion Hermione had been taking all last month was contraceptive."
"Er… What?"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, boy!" Snape finally snapped, unable to contain his frustration at Harry's ignorance. "It means Miss Granger would not have been able to get pregnant no matter how many attempts," at this word, he curled his lip as if he might be sick, "you made."
"But… I mean… So you're saying that, when Hermione and I…" Harry stared at the adults, trying to process what he'd just heard.
So that day in the hospital wing, when he… when they… It had all been for nothing? He'd been so terrified and anxious that day, he thought he might faint at any moment! And Hermione! What he'd done to her… what they'd both had to go through… So now it turned out it was all pointless?!
He'd been seriously wracked with guilt, regretting it and hating himself for nearly a whole month – and now they were telling him that none of it would've worked anyway?!
"Harry, please listen to me…" Dumbledore reached out to him, clearly sensing the storm of emotions raging inside the boy. But Harry recoiled from the outstretched hand as if it were a venomous snake.
"Why?! Why did you do it?!" he shouted, fists clenched, instinctively backing away from the Headmaster as far as the narrow space behind the curtain would allow.
A sharp sense of betrayal stabbed beneath Harry's ribs, filling him with a searing mix of fury and the urge to cry. It was a feeling he hadn't known in years – not since he'd realised, as a small boy, that Aunt Petunia would never truly love him, no matter how hard he tried to be good for her.
"My boy, I'm so very sorry…"
"Why did you hide it from us?! You could've at least told us! You should have told us!"
"The whole point was not to tell you, Potter," Snape cut in, looking at him with his usual sneer of disdain, the same one he wore in class whenever Harry failed to grasp some so-called "basic concept."
"But…"
A soft sigh from the bed cut his latest angry tirade off mid-sentence.
"Hermione! You're awake!"
Forgetting everything else, Harry rushed to the hospital bed, instinctively grabbing Hermione's hand as if to reassure himself that she was really there.
"How are you? Are you feeling better? Are you in much pain? Do you want anything? Some water?" He couldn't stop himself from bombarding her with a thousand pointless questions a minute, while she still blinked uncertainly, looking around as though she hadn't quite woken up yet.
"Ha… Harry? Where…?"
Her voice was very weak and hoarse after the removal of the tube.
"You're in a Muggle hospital, Miss Granger, don't worry,"
Dumbledore was already there too, conjuring a chair for both himself and Harry.
Sitting down on the other side of the bed, he once again wore the mask of a kindly grandpa, as if he had not, only minutes before, admitted that he was partly to blame for Hermione's current dreadful condition.
"My mum…?"
"Your parents are nearby. Would you like me to fetch them?"
"I… no. Not right now. Are they…?"
"They don't know anything yet."
Hearing this, Hermione let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing. After that, she closed her eyes again and seemed to drift back into a light sleep for a few minutes.
Meanwhile, Harry couldn't stop fidgeting on his chair, unsure what to do.
What could he even do in a situation like this? How was he supposed to help Hermione? He no longer understood anything at all!
First, Dumbledore had floored him with the "wonderful" news that he was obliged to impregnate Hermione immediately if they didn't both want to turn into Squibs and die, and now it turned out that Hermione had apparently been drinking a potion to prevent pregnancy for the past month, without even knowing it herself!
"Where is there any bloody sense in all this?!"
"H-Harry…"
"I'm here!"
He sat up sharply, leaning closer to Hermione. He desperately wanted her to give him some sort of command, some hint as to what he was supposed to do next.
Of course, his super well-read, brilliant friend would surely know what to do! She always managed to find a way out, even when everyone else, including the adults, were at a complete loss. She would come up with something! At least, Harry very much hoped so…
"Harry, I… I need… I…"
"Anything you want, Hermione! I'm right here!"
He tried to put on his most reassuring smile, even though every fibre of his being was shaking with fear and adrenaline.
"Please, just tell me what you need. I'll do it!"
"Harry, you… I need you."
"I… oh…"
"She means…?" Harry swallowed hard as the realisation of exactly what she was asking sank in.
He glanced uncertainly at Snape and Dumbledore, who were still in the room but were making a pointed effort not to look at him and Hermione, though it was clear they hadn't missed the meaning behind the teenagers' exchange.
Harry's cheeks turned scarlet almost instantly.
"But… can we really do it here? With all those people outside?"
"Harry… Harry, please… Please…" her tongue could barely move as she forced the words out, already teetering once again on the brink of unconsciousness.
"Oh, bloody hell…"
"Professor Dumbledore, I think... er..." he simply couldn't bring himself to say this out loud, but fortunately, he wasn't required to.
Nodding in understanding, the Headmaster got to his feet and quietly left, giving Harry one last apologetic, irritating look on his way out — a look that twisted the boy's insides with another spasm of anger.
"Drink this, Potter," Snape said, handing Harry a vial filled with some unknown bluish-white liquid, which Harry eyed with suspicion.
"What is it?"
"Not poison, much to my deepest regret," Snape muttered with a dry chuckle.
"Up yours!"
"It's a Strengthening Solution, Potter. It will help you hold on a little longer," he spat out venomously, slamming the vial down onto the bedside table before spinning sharply on his heel and sweeping away behind the curtain, finally leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
Chapter 42
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Git…" Harry muttered under his breath as soon as the Potions Master was out of earshot.
He picked up the vial the man had left behind and stared at it, hesitating to drink. What if it really was poison? Snape was a devious bastard, after all… Besides, Harry had already had a rather unfortunate experience with potions recently – twice, in fact.
How could Dumbledore do that? How could he lie to him and Hermione for weeks, dosing her with some liquid that had only made things worse in the end?!
Of course, he hadn't done it out of malice, but with the best of intentions, but still… Harry was still seething inside and wasn't ready to forgive the old man so easily for a "mistake" that had nearly cost Hermione her life. Even if Dumbledore had meant well, Harry just knew it wasn't right. That was all there was to it.
And he simply hated being lied to. Why did people always do that to him? Why the hell did they keep hiding important things from him instead of just telling him the bloody truth?!
"Harry…"
"Sorry, I… got a bit distracted. Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better… for now. But I'm not sure how long it'll last, and…"
"I get it. Sorry, I'll be right back…"
Creeping over to the gap between the curtains, Harry checked them – just to make sure they really were properly closed. No one on the other side seemed to be paying them any attention. Snape and Dumbledore were nowhere in sight either, which was a relief.
Although Harry was fairly certain the Silencing Charm the Headmaster had cast was solid enough, he still much preferred it if those two weren't standing a few feet away while he and Hermione were… well… occupied.
"Dammit… How am I even supposed to do this here?!"
Sure, he'd dreamed about sex with Hermione – pretty much every minute of the day, including in his sleep. Especially in his sleep. In fact, at this point, that particular thought made up about 95% of his motivation, often pushing aside even the need for food or rest… But he had never wanted it to happen like this – in a hospital stinking of medicine, behind a thin curtain, and literally just a step away from a bunch of other people! Even if he couldn't hear a single one of them thanks to the charm, he knew they were there, and that alone was enough to kill the mood completely.
And besides, he really didn't want to be doing this with Hermione while she was feeling so unwell… It just didn't feel right. It felt like… like he was about to do something truly wrong to her.
He could remind himself all he liked that he was doing this for Hermione, because he wanted to save her (and himself) from the curse, but some deep part of him was still resisting with everything it had against letting it happen like this.
Probably all he really wanted was to see genuine happiness and pleasure on her face when they finally did it…
But all he could see now was exhaustion. Hermione, looking up at him from the scratchy, overwashed hospital sheets, seemed sad, sick, and worn out – not in the mood for passionate kisses or fumbling touches, let alone anything that might come after.
"But she said she needed me… And Dumbledore said we had to hurry."
Even though his trust in the Headmaster was no longer as absolute as it had been just an hour ago, in one thing the old man was right – their time was running out fast. Judging by Hermione's condition, barely able to keep her eyes open even with all the potions and IVs, Harry needed to act – and quickly.
Realising that, he took a deep breath, made his final decision, and silently reached for his collar.
When the accident with Hermione happened, the Grangers and he had all rushed out of the house together just as they were, only managing to throw on coats and boots over their home clothes, so now the process of undressing didn't take Harry much time now.
Shedding his coat, pyjama top and bottoms, he paused for a moment to check on Hermione. Once she gave him a nod, he quickly got rid of his socks and pants as well. Now all that was left was to crawl under the covers…
"May I…?"
Even though he already knew what the answer would be, Harry needed to be sure, that he was doing the right thing, and that Hermione agreed with everything that was happening.
No matter how ill or weak she was, she still had the right to choose, just like he did. If she told him to stop right now… well, he would. Even if just the thought of losing her cut into him like a knife. Even if…
"Yes."
…But, thankfully, she didn't ask him to stop.
It all reminded him a lot of their very first time: the cold hospital setting, the anxiety, the fear of death looming nearby… But still, there was one thing that was different. Because since then, Hermione had become his girlfriend – someone he was in love with, not just a friend he'd been forced to sleep with because of some curse.
"I love you, Hermione," he said quietly but clearly, looking straight into her eyes to make sure she truly understood him.
He needed her to know that he meant every single word, not just saying it out of duty or fear.
"I love you too, Harry," she replied, just as softly, her voice trembling slightly.
And even if it wasn't entirely true, even if right now she didn't love Harry quite as much as he loved her, he was okay with that. At the very least, he knew for sure that she didn't find him repulsive, despite his skinny, bony body that he was horribly self-conscious about, and his stupid, childish face. She didn't even care that he wore those hideous, constantly broken glasses and walked around in second-hand clothes… well, used to walk – past tense. Thanks to Hermione, he now had a wardrobe that would probably make Malfoy choke with envy…
"God damn. Why the hell am I thinking about sodding Malfoy now?!"
Taking another deep breath to calm himself down and shake the stray, completely inappropriate thoughts from his head, Harry tried to refocus on what was happening – namely, the beautiful girl lying next to him in bed, waiting for him to finally stop acting like a clueless idiot and get on with it.
Right now, his completely naked body was pressed tightly against Hermione's body – still dressed in the hospital gown she had been changed into upon arrival. Lying on his side, Harry could feel Hermione's thigh, separated from him by a thin cotton fabric. Her warm flesh was pressed tightly against his crotch and still flaccid member, in which, however, a familiar tingling was already beginning to be felt.
Despite the circumstances and the colossal external pressure, Harry was still a teenager, so his body could not help but react accordingly to the presence of the object of his affections in such close proximity.
Unable to contain himself any longer, he closed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips to Hermione's soft cheek.
"Mm…" a quiet squeak of pleasure escaped his throat at the first touch.
Oh, god… He had been waiting for this for so long… These few nightmarish days without her might as well have been bloody years…
Even the pungent smell of medicine and pain that hung in the air couldn't drown out the floral notes of Hermione's shampoo and the delicate scent of her skin, which had been at the top of "Harry Potter's personal list of favorite scents" for some time now.
Still tentatively, trying to be gentle despite the rapidly growing heat inside him, he trailed a series of short kisses down Hermione's cheek to her jaw until he finally pressed them to her neck, causing the girl to shudder at the tickling sensation.
"Sweet…" he mumbled indistinctly, before greedily pressing his mouth to the pulsing vein beneath Hermione's skin, causing her to visibly shudder.
"Harry…" his name, slipping from her lips with a faint moan – whether of desire or despair, it was hard to tell, but Harry's cock still twitched in response to this, rising.
"So sweet…"
Her arms tensed and rose, sliding over his shoulders and falling back onto the mattress, as if she wanted to hug Harry but was too weak even for that.
"Harry, I…"
"Shh… I get it… It's okay, Hermione… It's going to be okay…"
Without ceasing to whisper words of reassurance to her and shower her skin with tiny kisses, he fumbled rather awkwardly over Hermione's body with his hands, trying through his actions to convey the whirlwind of emotions she stirred within him.
He had missed her so much… Only now, finally given the chance to touch Hermione the way he had longed to, did Harry truly realise just how deeply he had ached for this feeling – to have her near, to run his fingers over her delicate, rose-hued skin, to bury his face in her soft curls, to kiss her, to breathe her in…
"Hermione… oh… f-fuck…"
Suddenly, he realised that he was already painfully hard and ready – too ready, for this to continue.
With a low groan, he had to force himself to stop before things went too far. He pulled away from Hermione hastily, desperate to regain some composure to stop himself from coming right then and there, before he'd even been inside her.
"Shit… Sorry, I… ugh…"
Every bone, muscle and nerve in his body thrummed with a surge of energy and desire, and it was agonisingly difficult not to give in – to throw himself at Hermione right here, taking advantage of her passivity and vulnerability. Yet even in the madness that had overtaken his hormone-fuelled, oath-bound mind, Harry still remembered exactly where he was and, more importantly, with whom.
"Hospital. We're still in the bloody hospital. And we're here to help Hermione recover – not because I need to shove my fucking cock into someone!"
Clenching his teeth, Harry silently counted to ten and back again, over and over, until the fever pitch of his arousal had ebbed just enough to return him to a state of semi-rational thought, one where he could function like a human being rather than some mating animal.
As soon as the veil of lust began to fall before his eyes, he carefully looked at the girl next to him again and, fortunately, did not find any signs of disgust or fear on her face. On the contrary, Hermione was looking at him… approvingly, perhaps? He wasn't entirely sure, because her brown eyes, ringed with dark circles, still looked terribly tired and cloudy, and blinked frequently, as if they might close at any moment.
"Are you alright? Do you want us to… um… take a break for a bit?"
"No, it's fine… Please, continue. We need to… we need to do this now."
"Yeah… Right. Well, then I'll…"
He turned back to Hermione, trying to figure out how to continue in a way that felt natural… However, now that the previous wave of mindless arousal had passed, Harry found that the whole thing had suddenly become an even more difficult task than he had thought.
Hermione's critical condition, his fear for her, the fear of messing it all up, and the strange, thoroughly unrelaxing atmosphere surrounding them – each of these things weighed heavily on his mind, making it hard for Harry to focus on the main task.
"Just do it! You've got to do it, Potter! Come on!" he urged himself.
"Harry, I'll understand if you… don't want to. You don't have to…" Hermione's hoarse voice came at his ear, weary and resigned, yet it was the very thing that snapped Harry out of his stupor.
"No, I'm alright. And I want it, really! Just… just give me a minute, okay?"
"Oh, come on, for fuck's sake… "
Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned in again, kissing Hermione's face.
"This is for Hermione… We're doing this for her… I have to…"
But the more he repeated it in his head, the stranger everything began to feel. The silence, held in place by the charm, was deafening, and what they were doing here – it felt unnatural.
"I love Hermione… I want Hermione… She's my best friend… I mean, my girlfriend… er… my wife…"
At that moment, Hermione waited in silence, patiently, for him to "warm up" and finally get on with it. She deliberately said nothing and didn't rush him, clearly trying not to scare off his fragile resolve… And though Harry would have been grateful for that in many other situations, right now, unfortunately, it was having precisely the opposite effect.
"Oh, crap…"
How the hell was he supposed to do all this on his own?! The first time, it had been Hermione who guided him, telling him when to move or not to move, where he should or shouldn't put parts of his body, and so on and so forth. But now she was so motionless and detached, she resembled a wind-up doll with a broken mechanism: completely empty, indifferent to what they were doing, and to him.
It was… it felt almost like some kind of perversion on his part! No – it was a perversion! And he wanted no part of it. Not here! Not like this!..
"Fuck…"
He couldn't remember ever having this problem before. Definitely not. Usually, it was the complete opposite…
His penis, which had just been so tense, suddenly… dropped? What?!
"Hermione… uh… Hermione, I… I'm sorry, I think I…"
Struggling with his growing embarrassment, he tried to pull away from Hermione, to roll over to the other side, but the damn hospital bed was far too narrow for that.
Harry had no idea what to do with himself from the sheer awkwardness, so he simply froze where he was: half hanging off the mattress, muscles tense, nerves stretched taut like wires, bracing himself for some upset or disappointed comment…
"Harry…"
"I'm so, so sorry, Hermione! I'm sorry! I just… I don't know why it… why I… This has never…"
He abruptly cut himself off, taking a deep breath in a desperate attempt to regain his lost composure. His ears, cheeks, and neck were on fire, and yet it felt like there was a block of ice wedged in his throat, making it hard to breathe.
"Harry…"
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, which he'd squeezed shut in a surge of acute embarrassment, and looked at the girl once more.
And bless her, she was still looking at him with that kind, supportive gaze that made something warm stir in his chest… but in a way, it only made things worse. Because he was supposed to be the one comforting her right now – not the other way around.
Why was it always like this? Why was he such a god damn coward? Couldn't he just, for once, be strong, like he was meant to be? Hermione needed him – really needed him – so why couldn't he be the rock she deserved, right now, when it mattered most?
Some boyfriend he is. Some bloody husband.
"Hermione…"
"I understand," she interrupted gently, then admitted, "I don't want this either. I mean… not here. But…"
"But we have to," he finished grimly.
"Yes. We have to. But, Harry…"
"Yeah?"
There was something in her tone or maybe in the way her gaze wandered across his face, occasionally lingering, however briefly, on his lips…
Harry met her look with one of his own, clinging to her expression with quiet desperation, searching for any sign, any hint, any thread of reassurance that this utterly crappy situation they'd found themselves in was, to her, even slightly less terrifying or disturbing than it seemed.
"I…" she faltered, swallowing. "Harry, I really do want you too. Very much. Even now, here…"
"Oh… well, I mean… that makes sense. You know, because it's the ritual and all, not really… you."
"Yes… and no."
"Er… no?" Harry blinked, confused, unsure if he'd heard her right. Surely she couldn't mean that she liked this, or wanted it in any real way… could she?
His heart, nevertheless, began to beat even faster.
"No," Hermione repeated, and this time her voice was firm. "I want you, but not just because of the ritual. What I said earlier… I really meant it. I want you because of you."
"Oh… So she…?"
"Because I love you, Harry. I only realised it recently, but it's true. I love you very much."