Author’s Note: Thanks to all who have been asking “where’s Ginny?” in your reviews. I can now tell you that Ginny is now in the limelight. Because I’m trying to tell both sides of the same story, I’ve had to jump back in time a little so that you know how she fared right after leaving Harry’s house in January. I must confess that I put a lot of myself into Ginny’s emotions because I think that she would have reacted to her breakup in much the same way I coped with my husband’s cancer. She’s strong, but she still needs the support of her family.
Thank you to Melindaleo, Mutt n Feathers, Cackling Stump and Brennus for your support with this chapter. They asked questions, reminded me that Ginny isn’t a crier, and then agreed with me that at certain times in life, one just has to be a human hosepipe.
I look forward to hearing from you in the reviews.
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A Time for Healing | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:None Genres: Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 211 Summary: In the early summer of 2005 Ginny Weasley watches a lone figure walk past her window. She sets a bouquet of flowers on her window sill. Will the young man she’s set them out for understand what she’s saying with flowers? Hitcount: Story Total: 30533; Chapter Total: 1475 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Chapter 13 After her mother left, Ginny crawled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamt of many things, but mostly her mind chose to replay favourite scenes with Harry from the last six months. She had loved teaching him how to ride a bicycle, cooking with him in her tiny kitchen, and taking him to see his first film at the cinema, Cinderella Man. He’d liked the film, he said, because it had shown him what Dudley had done in the ring at Smeltings. Normally, dreams like these pleasant memories would make her wake up refreshed and ready for the day, but now they only brought her grief and she awoke several hours later tired and out of sorts. She felt that way for the next few weeks. Normally not a crier – growing up with six older brothers quickly taught her that tears only brought more grief – Ginny found her emotions were entirely too close to the surface these days, which meant that the littlest thing could send her into a bout of tears. If she passed a florist’s window, the sight of the beautiful flowers reminded her of the first bouquet that had started their relationship and she’d begin to weep. A trip to a museum on a Saturday brought such a flurry of tears that she had to hide in the loo until it was safe to go back to the exhibit she’d been looking at, while avoiding the artefact that had triggered her tears. Even something as simple as choosing a card to send to a friend made her throat close up and her eyes sting, and she had to put away her knitting because it reminded her of the time she had spent making Harry’s jumper before Christmas. Eventually, she began to feel more like herself again, but there always seemed to be something missing and it wasn’t until she voiced this thought to a friend at work that it made sense. “Ginny, I think you’re still in love with the bugger,” Sally said as they ate lunch together in the hospital cafeteria. “You need to let him go.” “I can’t, Sally. Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Ginny asked miserably. “I fell deeply in love with the wanker and now he’s refusing to leave my heart.” “I know you did, but if he doesn’t want children, you need to find a man who does and get on with your life,” Sally said pragmatically. “You can’t keep torturing yourself over the ghost of a bloke who doesn’t know what he’s giving up.” Ginny agreed with her. However, deep inside, Ginny wondered if Harry really didn’t want children. She remembered him telling her how he’d watched the other kids with their siblings when he was little and wondered what it was like to have a “real” family, rather than the one in which he’d grown up. There was also the fact that nearly four weeks after their breakup, Ginny had begun having weird dreams. Last night, she had dreamt about a house where the portraits talked and moved. They had seemed excited about talking with her because she was important to the owner of the house. In the dream she had asked who owned the house, but the portraits wouldn’t tell her, so she left. As she was going out the door, she turned back and promised the portraits she would come back. The dream had faded into something else that Ginny didn’t remember, but the dream about the house remained vivid. * Ginny’s co-workers had been rather giddy the last few days and it wasn’t until she really looked at the break room calendar, upon which someone had stuck a red heart on the block for Tuesday, the fourteenth, that she realized that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. The whispers the other nurses and even some of the patients engaged in now made sense; everyone but Ginny was making plans for romantic evenings. Ginny sighed and signed her name to the list for bringing sweets; she’d spend this evening making heart-shaped brownies instead of finalizing her plans for a special evening with her fianc. A lone tear tracing its way down her cheek was the only evidence that the idea of a solitary Valentine’s Day made her sad. She dashed it away and put a smile on her face as she went back to her patients. The next morning, Ginny stood before her bureau sifting through her jewellery box for the perfect earrings to wear for the day. Traditionally, she wore a pair of dangly, plastic heart earrings with “Be mine” painted on them, but today, they just looked ridiculous to her. Then, she spied the earrings Harry had given her for Christmas. They were still her favourite and she’d worn them often in the last few weeks, much to the consternation of her fellow nurses who thought her attachment to them was a bit unnatural, seeing that her ex had given them to her. She put them on and magically felt better about getting through a day meant for lovers. “I still love him,” she admitted to herself as she put on her coat. “I probably always will.” And much to her surprise, she didn’t burst out weeping. Was she finally starting to get over Harry? Shaking her head, she picked up the box of brownies as she exited her flat and glanced up the street, looking for Harry. Habits were hard to break. * At noon, during the ward Valentine’s celebration, Ginny’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Stepping out into the corridor and then into the women’s loo, she answered the call. “Ginny, it’s Mum,” her mother’s crisp voice said in her ear. “I was calling to see how you were doing. I know Valentine’s Day can be a bit emotional when you can’t spend it with someone special.” Ginny sighed. “I’m doing fine, Mum. I made your brownie recipe and used a cutter to make Valentines. They were a hit with morning coffee,” she said. “The scraps will make a yummy ice cream topping tonight while I watch a video.” “What are you going to see?” her mum inquired. “Pride and Prejudice,” Ginny answered. “Harry and I saw it at the cinema and it just came out on video, so I rented a copy.” “Are you sure watching something you saw with Harry is a good idea?” her mother asked. “It’s a good idea because it has a happy ending and I need a happy ending tonight,” Ginny said. “I’m looking forward to getting lost in it.” “You do that, sweetheart. Call if you need to,” her mum said. Then, she changed the subject. “Is there any possibility you could come down for the weekend? We haven’t seen each other in a while and it would be nice if you could come.” Ginny looked up her work schedule on her calendar and smiled when she realized she wasn’t scheduled for Saturday or Sunday. “Could someone meet me at the train on Friday night? I get off at four that afternoon.” Her mother’s voice sounded quite pleased as she said, “Of course, dear. I’ll send Ron down to get you.” Horrified, Ginny exclaimed, “You wouldn’t dare!” Her mother snorted into her end of the connection. “Got you! I’ll come for you myself. Let me know when your train gets in. We have a lot to talk about.” “I look forward to it. See you Friday,” Ginny said as she rang off. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for her mum’s teasing. * The Weasley Family ate a late supper on Friday evening so that Ginny could be there. There was a large crowd around the table, almost as large as for a Sunday dinner: all of Ginny’s brothers were present, but Jeannine and Charlotte and their children were missing due to an outbreak of flu in both households. Patti and Ron arrived just in time for the meal and Patti insisted on sitting next to Ginny. She didn’t object. After the debacle at Christmas, Ron had been much less belligerent around Ginny when they were both at the farm. He’d begun bringing Patti with him to Sunday dinners and it seemed the whole family was becoming used to the girl’s inappropriate (for a farm) shoes and some of the airy-fairy things she said sometimes. What had surprised Ginny was the comfort Patti had given her right after Ginny’s breakup. The two had commiserated on several occasions and each time, Ginny had seen there was more to the blond than she’d first thought. She still didn’t like Patti all that much, but at least now she could tolerate sitting next to her and even hold a decent conversation with her. She wondered if some of her dislike was really jealousy due to the fact that Ron was happily in lust and Ginny herself was still grieving her lost relationship with Harry. At the other end of the table, Ginny heard Bill asking Ron about something he’d heard on the wireless. “I hear that Creative Constructions and Virtuoso Coders have started a bidding war for your company,” he said. “What’s going on?” Ron shrugged. “Nothing, so far. At least I haven’t heard anything,” he said between mouthfuls of chicken. “If someone decided to go after the company I work for, I’d want to know all I could,” Bill said as Charlie and George nodded in agreement. “That’s just it; they’re rumours,” Ron insisted. “I heard Video Visions has been having trouble moving its products the last few months,” Percy chimed in. “The public doesn’t seem interested in the games your company is producing.” “They would if the bigger companies weren’t copycatting our game designs,” Ron said, sounding resentful. Patti leaned over and whispered to Ginny, “It’s worse than he lets on,” she said in a confidential tone. “Don’t tell Molly or Arthur, but last week my supervisor asked those who don’t use direct deposit to wait a few days to cash our payroll checks.” “It’s that serious?” Ginny asked in alarm. “How long has this been going on?” “Since the end of January,” Patti replied. “It seems the company is spending a lot of resources trying to stay solvent, but the executives haven’t a clue how to rebound from their financial crisis.” Ginny frowned. “One would think that if other companies were copying the game designs, Video Visions would start advertising their products on the telly even more than have done, but I’ve not seen any more adverts than there have been in the past.” “That’s because all the extra cash is going into development rather than advertising. Ron’s been working on the code for a new game the company has created, one they’re hoping will be more popular with the public and bring in more revenue,” Patti told her. “I’ve hardly seen him this week because his boss is making everyone give free overtime hours to get the game coded before the deadline.” “That doesn’t seem fair,” Ginny said. “It’s not, but if the new game is going to be played on Nintendo’s newest console, the Wii, come November, the coders need to be finished with their part long before that to give the other departments something to work with,” Patti explained, impressing Ginny more than she wanted to admit. “That makes sense,” Ginny said. “What I don’t understand is why Ron is so nonchalant about what’s happening.” Patti raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “He isn’t nonchalant, Ginny. In fact, he’s far from it. He’s desperately worried that if the company has to start sacking people because of lack of funds, he’ll be one of the first to go because he was one of the last to be hired,” she explained. “Surely, you know that.” It was Ginny’s turn to look sceptical. “That makes sense, but Ron and I haven’t had a decent conversation since Fred died,” she said, letting her resentment show, “and until certain things happen, I doubt very much we will ever have a civil conversation. And that would include the stability of his job.” Patti’s face lost its colour, but there was a steely glint in her eye. “I realize his words hurt you, Ginny, but in his mind, he’s only defending a brother who can no longer defend himself,” she said in a clipped tone before turning to Percy who was sitting on her other side. * Molly Weasley sat at the foot of the long table and surveyed the people gathered around it. She was proud of her family and considered herself very lucky compared with some of the women she knew from the village. All of her children had gone to university and she was proud of the fact that she and Arthur had managed to finance their tuitions without mortgaging the farm like so many of their friends had. True, they had to take out a few loans, but they were slowly paying them off and with the additional revenue from her alpaca business, Molly knew it was only a matter of time before the last payments were made. It had helped, too, that her children had won scholarships for part or all of their tuition. Only Ron had student loans to worry about, but if he continued to work for a reputable company, he would have those paid back on time. Over the years, Molly’s family had blossomed as her sons chose their life partners. She loved the women who had joined the family and given her and Arthur so many beautiful grandchildren. When Ginny had brought Harry home, Molly had taken instantly to him. She sensed a quiet desperation for love in Harry that she had seen only a few times and she knew he was deeply in love with her daughter. When they had broken up over the subject of children, it saddened her that Harry couldn’t trust himself to be the kind of father she knew he could become, one Ginny obviously saw in him, too. Molly still wondered about this: it didn’t make sense to her that Harry could be so wonderful with her grandchildren and yet not want children of his own. She was also worried about Ginny. Her daughter put on a brave face, had cried only a little and then gone on with her life. However, as Ron’s girlfriend became a fixture at the dinner table, Molly heard her daughter make remarks to Patti that made her wonder if Ginny was jealous of Patti and Ron’s relationship. There wasn’t one specific thing, but there was something in how Ginny pitched her voice that made her wonder. Her other concern was Ron, not because he seemed to be happily in a relationship, but because the woman he was going out with also worked at his company and that company seemed to be having difficulties staying afloat. Arthur had mentioned the other day that he’d read an article about possible lay-offs in the video game industry. She hoped such dire predictions wouldn’t come true, but if they did, Molly knew her family would rally around Ron until he was back on his feet and back to earning a good living. She fervently hoped that, despite their differences, Ginny would be with the rest of her brothers in supporting Ron. * While the family ate, a young wizard lying in a hospital in London began to dream… Several weeks before Christmas, and six months before his final confrontation with Voldemort, Harry met with a wizard who had known his parents. Peter Pettigrew, recently released from Azkaban, was in his early forties, but he looked seventy: his hair was grey, his rat-like face was horribly pale and he was constantly fidgety as he sat across from Harry at a Muggle pub in Manchester. “Why meet here?” Pettigrew demanded, his eyes moving constantly. “Lots of reasons,” Harry replied, eying the wizard with distrust. “For one thing, you can’t transform here without raising quite a few eyebrows. For another, it’s busy. We can talk freely without worry of being overheard. Both are important to me, especially since I know you’re prone to scurrying away when the pressure’s on.” Pettigrew scowled and began wolfing down the fish and chips Harry had purchased for him. “You said in your note you wanted information,” he mumbled around a mouthful of chips. Harry nodded, then took a swig of his lemonade. “How well did you know my parents?” “Well enough,” Pettigrew said, taking a large gulp of his whisky. “I was in the same year as them and shared a dormitory with your father. He and his other friends sometimes asked me to join in their adventures. I had an ability they sometimes required.” “Ah, yes, your Animagus form,” Harry agreed. “That would be handy. I imaging that’s why the Death Eaters wanted you around, too. Do they know you’re free?” Pettigrew shuddered. “No, I keep myself to myself. The Dark Lord wants me back.” “Of course, he does,” Harry agreed. “You’re useful to him.” Pettigrew leered at Harry over the rim of his glass. “I kept his stuff safe.” “What stuff?” Harry demanded softly. “You know what I’m talking about,” Pettigrew sneered. “The stuff he entrusted to his most dedicated followers.” Harry knew Pettigrew hadn’t been one of his most dedicated followers but decided not to let on that he knew. “His personal effects? His wand?” he asked. “You could say that,” Pettigrew hedged. “And you’ve kept what he gave you safe all these years?” At this, Pettigrew actually flinched. “He didn’t give me nuthin’,” he finally said. Harry frowned. “You just said…” he trailed off as Pettigrew interrupted him. “I took it.” “You stole something from Voldemort?” Pettigrew flinched. “Don’t say the name! I admit, I took a crown the Dark Lord had in his pocket that night in Godric’s Hollow. He used it in a ritual after he killed your dad, so I knew it was valuable,” Pettigrew crowed. Harry shuddered, now knowing the diadem Horcrux had been made with his father’s murder. He focused his attention back on Pettigrew when the other wizard continued, “I found it when I went to retrieve his wand. I knew he’d want it if he ever got his body back.” A chill went through Harry. “You admit to being in my bedroom, watching him kill my mum and you did nothing?” he demanded instead, his voice rising with each word. “Yes. No. The Dark Lord wanted me with him, so I transformed and he put me in his pocket when he went into the cottage,” Pettigrew said with a faraway look in his eyes. “It was the closest I’d ever been to my master and it was wonderful! He put me on the floor next to James’ body and ordered me to stay downstairs until he was done with you,” he squeaked, sounding just like the rat he was. He rubbed his left forearm, a manic gleam in his eyes. “I heard your mum scream. It was music to my ears. I changed back and crept up the stairs to watch him kill you. But he had miscalculated your mum’s magic. The spell had backfired and hit him instead. I watched as a wispy gas travelled from the heap of robes to your forehead and settled in your scar. You began to cry, so I grabbed the Dark Lord’s wand and the crown and Disapparated. You know the rest of the story, well, most of it. I kept the crown safe for a long time, then disposed of it when it looked like my master was gone for good.” Harry was silent after Pettigrew finished his story, his mind whirling. Was what Pettigrew said true? Could he be a Horcrux because Voldemort had accidentally made him one? If he was a Horcrux, that would explain a lot of things, mainly his connection to Voldemort and how the other Horcruxes acted around him. The thought was too terrible not to be true. He stood up and dropped several Muggle notes on the table and walked out of the pub without saying another word to Pettigrew. He made his way to an empty alley and Disapparated. There was much to talk about with Hermione. * Neville held Hermione’s hand as they walked up the path to the door of her house. It was rather late because the two of them had been with Harry most of the day and then grabbed a bite to eat at a small caf close to the hospital. “Would you like to come in for a bit?” Hermione asked as she tapped the door with her wand. “I make a mean cup of hot chocolate.” “With a splash of whisky in it?” Neville hedged. Hermione laughed. “Of course. Come through to the kitchen while I get the drinks ready,” she said as she peeled off her coat and hung it in the cupboard under the stairs. She hung up Neville’s cape and he followed her into the kitchen. “How close to the end do you think Harry’s dreaming?” he asked, once they were settled at the kitchen table with a plate of chocolate biscuits between them. “The Healers seem to be getting restless.” “It’s hard to tell,” Hemione sighed. She sipped her chocolate, then continued, “There was so much going on the last six months that Harry could be reliving any number of awful events that led up to the last battle. He was in the thick of things beginning in December with the discovery that he was an accidental Horcrux. He became so reckless!” She put her mug down, remembering those chaotic times. “Did I tell you that he actually snuck into Hogwarts to get Basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets?” “Why would he do such a thing?” Neville asked. “That’s suicidal!” “Neville, from the time Pettigrew told him he was a Horcrux, Harry was suicidal! We had talked at one point, when we didn’t have any of the Basilisk venom we needed, about breaking into Hogwarts in order to try to recover some of the fangs and had dismissed the idea as ridiculous because of the danger. Then, that January, I awoke one morning to Harry sneaking back into the tent, covered in slime and grinning like a loon. “He crowed about his accomplishment, holding out one of the fangs for me to see.” She fiddled with her serviette. “He was terribly pleased with himself for dodging nearly a dozen Death Eaters.” “How did he know about the Basilisk?” Neville asked, thoroughly confused. “Remember the wild rumours that flew through Hogwarts during the winter term of our third year?” Hermione asked. When he nodded, she said, “They were all true. Lucius Malfoy had slipped me a diary that belonged to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle – soon to be Lord Voldemort – when I went to get my books before school started. Lonely little me wrote in that diary and eventually he possessed me. Harry’s the one who figured it all out and followed the snake down into the Chamber and rescued me by killing it and the diary.” Neville stared at her for a long time while trying to wrap his mind around the truth of her story. Finally, he speculated incredulously, “So Harry braved a school full of Death Eaters to get half a dozen snake teeth?” “Yes! I had never been so furious with Harry as I was at that point, not even when we were rowing about me rebuilding my parents’ house. Neville, he could have been captured trying to get those fangs,” she said, shaking her head. “What hurt the most was that he’d not included me in his mission. He told me afterwards that someone had to be around to know that Nagini had to be killed before anyone could even dream of offing Voldemort. He also hadn’t wanted me to relive my experience in the Chamber, so he went to collect the teeth alone.” “That sounds very much like the Harry we all knew at school,” Neville said, nodding. “He always put others before himself, no matter how dangerous something was.” He paused, then asked, “So what did you use the fangs for?” “One of them I ground up to use in potions,” Hermione answered. “I still have the powder because I’ve never needed it. We used one to eliminate the Horcrux in Ravenclaw’s diadem after we found it in that pawnshop in Abergavenny. The rest are stored in Harry’s vault at Gringotts.” “That’s as good a place as any,” Neville commented. “So, his adventure in the Chamber could be what he was dreaming of tonight?” Hermione stirred the dregs of her chocolate. “Maybe? Who knows? I can only guess,” she said, sounding helpless. Neville left his chair and knelt beside Hermione. Taking her hand, he said, “Then you don’t have to guess alone. I’ll be with you as often as the headmaster lets me.” Hermione turned in her chair and hugged him. “Oh, Neville, thank you!” And to his surprise, she kissed his cheek. * Harry stepped into the tent to find Hermione hovering over the tiny kitchen workspace, with a Bubble-Head Charm over her head and wearing her dragon hide gloves and a protective apron. The workspace was covered in glass dishes with the remains of the shredded plant parts she had been adding to her tiny cauldron. “Hey, Hermione,” he began. “Bubble-Head Charm, now, Harry! Protect yourself from the fumes!” she ordered. Harry tapped his head with his wand before coming closer, the glass fishbowl supplying the fresh air he hadn’t thought he needed since he had stopped just inside the tent flap. Surprisingly, he felt better, the faint feeling of nausea leaving him. Hermione had told him that one of the symptoms of foxglove poisoning was nausea and he now understood how powerful the potion in Hermione’s cauldron was. “Is that it?” Harry asked as he sidled up to her as she gave the mixture in her cauldron one last stir. “Yes. It’s quite potent. I can tell from how the steam makes me nauseous. I’ll need to exchange the air in here after it’s done. I don’t want to poison myself by breathing the fumes. Anyway,” Hermione looked up at Harry with a nervous smile, “it needs to simmer, untouched, for forty-five minutes and then cool enough for you to drink it in one go,” she added. “Did you get the bezoar?” “I did,” Harry said as he pulled a small box from his old school bag and put it on the work bench. Hermione sighed, looking relieved, as he added, “And the potion will work because…” “It will work because the foxglove will slow your heartrate so much that your brain is starved for oxygen, resulting in the heart beating so fast that it triggers a heart attack,” she explained. “Hopefully, before this happens, the Horcrux will think its host is dead and will escape, seeking another host and die when there isn’t a prepared vessel for it.” She stopped talking and looked Harry in the eye. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” He nodded grimly. “I’m the last Horcrux before Nagini. The only way to get rid of Riddle is to kill me and the snake. We can’t kill the snake until we’re close to Riddle, so it will have to wait. I trust you, Hermione. I know you’ll keep me from joining my parents prematurely.” An hour later, Harry lay back against the pillows in his bunk and took the smoking goblet from Hermione. “See you on the other side,” he quipped nervously before chugging the potion and making a face at the bitter taste as he handed back the goblet. Almost immediately, the potion began to work and he blacked out from the horrendous pain. * At St. Mungo’s hospital, Hermione and Neville watched Harry intently as he writhed through yet another dream. “Where in the final sequence do you think he is?” Neville asked. Hermione responded, thinking out loud, “It’s not the final battle, but we’re close. I can sort of tell what he’s dreaming about because of the types of spells he’s attempting to use. But this one… I’m not so sure. He isn’t casting spells, just moving restlessly like he did when he took the potion to rid himself of the accidental Horcrux. Oh! Maybe that’s what he’s dreaming of!” She paused and considered her evidence. “I also feel more and more magical tension building in him with each dream like it did on the hunt and this one is the worst yet.” “I feel it, too. Are you afraid of what will happen when he dreams of the final battle?” “A little, but only time will tell.” Neville put his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled into his embrace, taking comfort in his presence. * Harry’s eyes fluttered open to see Hermione dozing in an armchair between the bunk beds in the semi-darkness of the tent. He kept quiet, trying to assess the condition of his body and mind; his chest ached, as did his head, but he didn’t feel any of the prickling or tingling in his scar that he had become so used to since his fifth year. He reached up and touched his scar, finding it sticky; when he pulled his hand back, his fingers were covered in dark smudges and the scar stung like an ordinary cut that had accidentally been reopened. Had the potion worked? Was he Voldemort-free at last? A hand gently caught his wrist, easing his arm over the side of the bunk and he felt the whisper of a cleansing charm on his hand. A moment later, he felt the same spell brush his forehead. “Welcome back, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “How are you feeling?” “Did the potion work?” Harry asked, ignoring her query. She smiled. “It did,” she told him with a shudder. “The Horcrux is gone, but at what cost, I don’t know.” “Hermione, I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to make the potion for me and then swallowed it. It was the only way to get rid of the piece of Riddle in my head. If I have heart problems for the rest of my life, it will just be another consequence of being the only one who can take him down. Are you all right?” Harry asked, genuinely concerned for his friend. “It was scary to watch you go into cardiac arrest and not know how long it would take the Horcrux to realize you were essentially dead,” Hermione told him. “I had to wait until I heard the scream we heard when you destroyed the diadem and the other Horcruxes, which took several minutes. I had the bezoar ready in my lap and when I finally decided to give it to you your scar was bleeding and your lips were blue. I don’t think I breathed until you gasped for breath and I felt your pulse return. You’ve been sleeping for nearly three days. Tell me truthfully, how do you feel?” Harry closed his eyes and did another assessment. “Truthfully, not good,” he sighed. “I ache all over, my scar stings and I have a whopping great headache. Basically, I feel like I stepped in front of the Hogwarts Express and let it hit me. Did I have a seizure like you feared I would?” “You did. That’s the other thing that scared me because it happened right after the bezoar brought you back.” “What happened?” Hermione bit her lip before saying, “You stiffened suddenly and began shaking uncontrollably. It lasted for almost a minute and I just had to sit here and watch after I forced your jaw open with that spell we found.” “I’m sorry I scared you.” “It’s all right, Harry. I’m glad you made it back to me without any complications. Now we need you to get well so we can finish this once and for all.” Harry closed his eyes. “You’ll sleep in your bed and not in the chair, right, Hermione?” He heard her sigh before she said, “I’ll stay here for now, but I promise I’ll sleep in my bed when I’m sure you’re asleep.” Harry turned on his side, trying to ease the dull ache that suffused his body. “’Night, Hermione.” |
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