Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: My first submission to a challenge, so I don’t even know if I have to write disclaimers, author’s notes, or things like that. I hope I’m not doing anything bad adding them, though. Just one thing, English is not my first language, so sorry if my work is poor. This is a fan-fiction for the Muggle Net Fan Fiction Challenge Winter Snows; first challenge: “Redemption”.
To
TantePotter: Thank you for your beta work. It was really helpful.
Going Insane
11:00 p.m.Hermione sighed. It was late. Too damn late. As always the night was passing too quickly. She could hear fireworks outside her window, somebody was celebrating. Everybody was celebrating. Everybody but her.
She pushed the floor with her feet and the rocking chair started to swing. Crookshanks meowed in her lap while she caressed him softly between his ears with her right hand.
She knew that she was going crazy. She knew it, and that was the most important thing. She could feel that she was going a little bit more insane every day. The first time she’d felt like that, was when she started to think that maybe it wasn’t all Voldemort’s fault. No, her current situation wasn’t at all Voldemort’s fault.
It was Ron’s.
11:13 p.m.Another firework banged outside of her window. Why did all these people have to be so happy? She couldn’t find anything to be happy about.
The first time that she started to think that it was Ron’s fault, she mentally slammed herself and started to cry. If it wasn’t for Ron she “
they “ wouldn’t be there, but who could have said that the hereafter would have been worse than what she “
they “ was passing?
She felt so weak, so tired, so helpless.
Ginny had passed by that very morning, asking her why
they didn’t pass the New Year’s Eve at the Burrow. Hermione had smiled. One of her perfect smiles, but reclined. Ginny had smiled too. She didn’t expect anything different, but her mum had insisted so much. The Burrow was so silent after the Last Battle, nobody was used to that.
“How is your mum doing?” Hermione had asked her.
“Fine. Just fine,” Ginny had answered.
That was all their conversation, every time they met. There was no need to ask how everybody else was, because there was nobody else.
11:21 p.m.Hermione glanced at the fireplace where the fire was slowly dying.
No. It wasn’t the fact that she had to take care of
him that weighted on Hermione’s shoulders. No. She would have taken care of
him for all her life if it was necessary. The real problem was how they felt inside. The fact that
he was ages away from her, that she was a foreign to
him.
11:25 p.m.After all New Year’s Eve wasn’t so bad. No. Indeed it was better than Christmas. Christmas had been hell for Hermione. The first Christmas after the Last Battle. There was still plenty of wrapped presents under the Christmas tree. Hermione couldn’t see them in the darkness of the room, but she knew perfectly well who they were for.
He had insisted so much to buy Ron a present.
He was sure that Ron would have loved to receive a new broom. Oh, yes. Ron would have loved to receive that present. He really would. But the present was still under the tree, still enfolded in a red and gold wrap. Nobody had opened it.
Hermione didn’t buy anything for Ron. She knew that it was perfectly useless. She was happy when she thought that. It meant that she wasn’t totally crazy yet. She was on the good way, though.
The other presents were all for people that could have never got them.
He bought them. It looked like
he felt better with all those presents in the living room. Hermione didn’t. The room was cheerful, indeed it was, but she wasn’t in that mood. She hadn’t been in that mood in a long time.
11:31 p.m.Crookshanks yawned in her lap. Hermione looked at him. Ron was right after all, he looked like a pig with fur.
She looked at the wall in front of her and exactly at that moment, a firework lighted up the room. Hermione saw the pictures on the wall; Lily and James Potter dancing in the snow, The Weasley family, she and Ron in front of Hogwarts. All the other pictures were upstairs. In
his room.
Another firework banged outside the house. What was wrong with the world? Couldn’t they wait till midnight?
All that noise would have woken
him up, and she didn’t want that. Not at all. That meant that the peace would have been over. She bit her lips while she thought of all these things.
“Ron, what have you done?” she whispered to herself, “You saved our lives, but at what price?”
11:37 p.m.Two days ago a journalist, a young lady worth Rita Skeeter, came to interview them. Hermione didn’t even let her in. She knew what she wanted. Just another interview with the ones that saved the world. Hermione was sick and tired of all the people that asked her questions. She really was.
The next day, on the
Daily Prophet, there was a long article on them, full of particulars and details about a conversation that never happened.
11:41 p.m.A rebel curl tickled her left cheek, she moved it away with a lazy movement of her hand. She was tired. She couldn’t sleep during the day; she had to take care of >i>him. But she didn’t want to sleep during the night as either, it was the only moment of the day that she could use for thinking.
11:43 p.m.Why did the time have to run away so quickly? She didn’t have time. It was scary. She couldn’t find the time for doing anything. Why? Maybe it was because she had to work for two. That was her problem.
He never did anything,
he couldn’t do anything. If someone, years ago, would have told her that this was her future, she would have never believed him.
11:48 p.m.Silence. That was all she needed. Silence.
11:55 p.m.The scream that came from upstairs, made Crookshanks jump down from Hermione’s lap to the soft carpet. Hermione closed her eyes and for a moment she prayed that she had just imagined it.
Then she heard someone crying.
He was crying.
She listened for a while, hoping that
he would stop sooner or later. But
he didn’t. She placed her bare feet on the carpet and stood up. She took a step towards the stairs and stopped for listening.
He was calling her name, only a whisper, but
he was calling her.
She placed a hand on the handrail and started to climb the stairs. Her footsteps were barely heard in the empty cottage of Godric’s Hollow. Every stair she did she stopped and listened, but the sobs never faded away.
She reached the second floor and stayed still. It was a heartbreaking cry, and the fact that it came from an adult man, didn’t help.
Hermione moved towards the first door on the left and pushed open the door. The four poster bed was empty, and so was the armchair. She glanced all over the room and spotted the pictures and the articles from the Daily Prophet hanged up on the walls. The worst thing was that
he was living in the past, not even aware of what had happened after the Last Battle.
She turned her face away and saw a light coming from under the bathroom’s door. She moved slowly towards it. She brought the fist close to the door, but didn’t knock. Would
he have answered? She brought it down, and touched the cold metallic handle. She pressed on it down and pushed the door open.
He was sitting on the floor. His back on the wall, his head between his hands. Sobbing softly. His round glasses lied broken on the floor. Hermione could see blood coming down his hands.
She moved towards him slowly and stretched a hand on his head. When she touched his hair, his sobbing stopped.
“Harry,” she whispered kneeling down in front of him.
Harry looked at Hermione without really seeing her. She spotted his wrists covered with blood.
“Harry,” she whispered again, “What have you done?” There wasn’t fear in her voice. It was like she was talking to a child that didn’t behave properly.
Harry didn’t even answer, he stretched his arms and embraced Hermione. She felt her nightdress soaking with the warm, sticky blood that ran down her back. Harry hid his face between her bushy hair. She felt his tears running down her neck.
She wanted to hug him back. She really wanted, but there was something holding her back.
“Harry,” she whispered for the third time.
Midnight.Harry hugged her tighter when he heard the bangs of the fireworks outside in the streets. Hermione could tell that he was afraid, but she was sure that it wasn’t because of the noise that came from the streets.
Hermione felt the pressure of his arms around her body decreasing slowly. He was letting her go.
She looked right into his green eyes. He tried to avoid her gaze. “Come on, Harry,” she said taking his hands, “Get up.” She helped him getting on his feet. He slid in his own blood a couple of times before standing. Hermione picked up his glasses from the floor and guided him to his bedroom. Little spots of blood left behind them. She made him sit on his bed and smiled.
“Wait a minute,” she said disappearing outside the door. She came back with her wand in her hand. “Reparo.” She handed Harry’s glasses back to him and he wore them.
“Let me see your wrists,” she said kneeling in front of him and taking his hands. Harry moaned when she turned them upside down. “They are really deep, Harry. You did them with your glasses’ pieces?” she asked him in a stern tone of voice.
Harry didn’t answer but seemed suddenly interested in the wall behind Hermione.
“I think that I should take you to St. Mungo,” she said getting up.
“This means that I have to get out?” his voice was a bare whisper, if Hermione hadn’t seen his lips moving she wouldn’t have understood what he was saying.
She nodded. Harry closed his eyes and a tear ran down his cheek. Why everything had to be so difficult? Why? Why? Why?
“Harry-”
“Hermione, I can’t go out.”
“Harry, you can. You just have to want it.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“Harry, please,” she begged him.
“You know what Ron told me?”
Hermione knew perfectly well what Ron had told him, she was there when that happened. She didn’t answer.
“He told me that it was me who had to kill Voldemort.”
“You did kill Voldemort, Harry.”
“Oh, yes, I did,” said Harry slowly. Then he looked to Hermione, “Did Ron come to get his present?”
Hermione looked back at him, “Harry, Ron’s dead.”
Harry looked at her for a moment without understanding, and then he nodded seriously, “I see. And didn’t he send an owl for letting you know when he could have passed?”
Hermione’s eyes filled with shiny tears, she opened her mouth for answering, but couldn’t find any words.
“Didn’t he send anything?” asked Harry sighing.
Hermione gulped, swallowing her tears, “No,” she whispered in a breaking voice.
“I knew that, I’m sure that he wants to make us a surprise,” he said smiling.
Hermione smiled back a miserable smile. “Harry, let me take you to St. Mungo,” she said sweetly.
Harry sighed and shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to get out of here.”
“Harry,” she said imploringly, “Please, let’s go.”
“Can’t you fix them in the Muggle way?”
Hermione closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, “I’ll try,” she whispered. She used the Summoning Charm for collecting all the necessary from the fitted cupboard in the bathroom. She sat down next to him on the bed, disinfected his cuts and put two sticking plasters on them. “It will take you longer to recover, but it’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you,” he said looking at his wrists.
She got up and kissed him on his forehead. “Good night, Harry,” she said. Harry didn’t answer, he took her arm and closed his eyes, “If I ask you to stay here with me for tonight, do you think that Ron will get too jealous?”
Why did he have to torture her so badly? Why couldn’t he sleep? Why couldn’t he keep quiet?
“No.”
Harry smiled, “You know I wouldn’t be so sure. I think that I know him better than you do, and you claim to be his girlfriend.”
Hermione felt the urge to cry. Harry please stop talking.
“No,” she answered with her voice broken, “No, he will be ok.”
“If you say so,” he said still smiling.
She lied on the bed next to him, giving Harry her back. She felt Harry’s arm passing around her waist and hugging her. He attracted her to him, her back on his stomach. She could feel his breath on her neck.
She looked at the titles of the articles hanged up at the walls.
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger own their lives to the sacrifice of Ronald Weasley.
The Chosen-One has gone insane.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, tries to kill himself.
Hermione Granger, why is she hiding the Boy-Who-Lived?
“Hermione,” said Harry in a sleepy voice. Hermione turned her head towards him. “Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t, Harry. I won’t,” she said placing her hand on his, on her stomach.
“Hermione.”
“What, Harry?” she whispered.
“Happy New Year,” he said before falling asleep.
“Happy New Year to you too,” she said smiling and crying at the same time.
- The End -