Voldenatus

The blackness faded into grey, and the grey into white…

Hermione's eyes snapped open. The whiteness around her burnt into her eyes, singeing her retina. As her eyes slowly and painfully adjusted, she realised that she was in a room. A room with a high, vaulted ceiling. She recognised it, somehow, but she didn't know where from. She tried to force her mind to work, but she felt like her head was filled with molasses. She managed, with much strain, to process her first thought: "Where am I?"

She turned her head to look around the room - suddenly, as if emerging from a deep sleep, all her other senses clicked on. A pain like a knife being plunged into her skull exploded in her head. She fought back a spasmic wave of nausea at the sudden assault. She laid very still, while the searing pain subsided, to become nothing more than a sharp migraine. She then registered a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to emanate from her very bones, as if she had run for miles and then had a yoga class.

She tentatively moved her hands in a little circle. She felt cotton sheets grazing beneath her fingertips and across her knuckles. But the movement, slight as it was, caused a new rush of pain from her head - not so burning this time, but more dizzy and nauseous. So she instead strained her ears. She became aware of the breathing of another person, just beyond the curtains encircling her bed. After a few minutes, she was also aware of the soft pitter-patter of feet, bustling around somewhere to her left. Then a very faint, almost inaudible: "Good afternoon, dear, would you like some chocolate?"

Hermione suddenly realised where she was - the infirmary. For some reason, she was greatly relieved by this. She tried to think back to why she was here, what had made her ill: all she could remember was a lot of green light. All she achieved from trying to remember more was an increase in the volume of her headache.

Hermione's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a faint knock, somewhere right of her bed. The feet pattered over to the source of the knock. Hermione caught snatches of a whispered conversation.

"You have already been four times today. You have classes!" said a feminine voice. "And what do you think you are going to see? She's no different today from yesterday."

"Madam Pomfrey, please, I need to see her…"

Hermione would have recognised that voice anywhere. She sat up suddenly, as his name spilled from her lips. She realised that the pain didn't matter, because he was here. She was safe, because he was here.

A silence fell over the entire ward. Then he came bursting through her curtains, his eyes puffy, his hair ruffled, his mouth wide open. Hermione felt a grin growing on her face at the sight of him. The familiar, but now more intense feeling swelled inside her. How she loved him.

"Harry."

Harry rushed to her bedside, taking her hand. "Oh my God, Hermione, you're ok… I've been so worried… what happened?… oh my God, oh my God, I was… you just disappeared … you're ok, you're alright…"

"Harry, it's ok! Calm down!" Hermione laughed, but Harry was still muttering. She placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his head so that she could see his eyes. His eyes were so beautiful. They were amethyst-green, like deep pools of seawater. She looked into his face for a moment, and they didn't have to put their love into words to communicate it. Then Harry lunged forward and caught her mouth with his own. Hermione ignored the pain of the movement and melted into Harry's arms. For what seemed like an age, they simply loved one another, passionately, deeply.

"Excuse me."

Madam Pomfrey was standing behind them, somewhat embarrassed. Hermione and Harry disentangled themselves, turning to look up at her sheepishly.

"If, for a moment, you would separate yourselves, you might find that you have visitors." She seemed to be speaking to both Harry and Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey departed through the curtains. Hermione heard a few quiet words, then Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall entered. They greeted Hermione and Harry cordially. All Hermione could do was nod back: she had never been addressed directly by Dumbledore before, unless you counted that one time in third year, before she rescued Black on Buckbeak. Or was it after… Hermione quickly shut off that thought, reminding herself that this was not the time.

Harry stood up to leave Hermione and the professors alone, but McGonagall gestured for him to be seated. "I think you should hear this too, Mr Potter."

Dumbledore seated himself on the end of Hermione's bed. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. There was an expectant pause. Then Dumbledore spoke.

"Miss Granger. I am sorry to trouble you so soon after your waking, but this is quite an important issue, as you will appreciate. I was wondering, could you tell me what happened on the night of September the fifth? It was a Tuesday, if I remember rightly."

Hermione's stomach flipped. That was the night when she and Harry…

She shot a nervous glance at Harry. He had gone white. She new what he was thinking, because she was thinking it too. They were in so much trouble. That kind of conduct was forbidden at Hogwarts. They were going to be expelled, she just new it…

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle from Dumbledore. He was sitting on her bed, smiling as if at some private joke.

"Actually, Miss Granger, I was wondering if you could tell me what happened after you fell asleep."

Warm relief swept over Hermione. But underneath it, a red-faced shame had settled - Dumbledore knew about her activities with Harry. She wasn't sure that she was really prepared to admit that to someone as, well, old as Dumbledore.

McGonagall's voice this time interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Granger, I know this might be hard for you, but you really must try and remember." Hermione nodded.

She thought back to her night with Harry. The memories came exceptionally clearly, and with surprising ease. She could remember every moment of her 2-hour session with Harry. She could even clearly recall the dream she had afterwards - she was tied to a pole at the bottom of the lake, stark naked, and Harry was coming to rescue her. But he never rescued her, they remained having "fun" at the bottom of the lake. She made a mental note to tell Harry about the fetish she had developed during that particular Triwizard Tournament task - she had a feeling it could be much more fun in real life.

She tried to focus on the next thing that happened. But nothing would come. There was a blankness in her mind, as if there should be a memory, but there wasn't. And then a lot of green light.

"I don't remember anything, except a dream. But that's it."

Dumbledore looked at her quizzically. "Could what happened in this dream have brought about your current state?"

"No," she answered quickly. "Definitely not." But then she added, "What do you mean, my current state?"

"My dear, you have no memory of the past four weeks at all?" Dumbledore asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course I do - the regular classes, four meals a day, dormitories at night… why shouldn't I? Nothing special."

Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Granger, you went missing on the night of September fifth. You were not in your dormitory that night, explainably, nor did you come to breakfast the next morning. You didn't come to any classes. Your friends began to worry, and came to Professor McGonagall. When you were not seen the next day, we became highly concerned. Your parents were alerted of your disappearance. After four days had passed, you were found. In fact, you were found in a broom-closet that we had no knowledge of, when Mr Potter thought of using a fascinating and admirable map that he possesses. You were, for all appearances, dead. No breathing, no heartbeat, nothing.

"Do you remember anything yet?" Dumbeldore asked, looking closely at Hermione. All she could do was nod, registering dimly that it hurt her head. She was numb with shock. Dead? But Dumbledore continued, and Hermione made herself listen to his voice.

"But something quite miraculous happened. We had laid you on this bed, for friends to pay their last respects. But after three days, Madam Pomfrey noticed something quite alarming: you seemed to be showing none of the normal signs of post-death. In fact, if possible, you seemed to be getting less dead. For this reason, we left you here. Mr Potter visited you multiple times every day, as well as your friend Mr Weasley. Mr Potter here, in his constant vigilance, could hardly fail to notice when your heartbeat returned. Quite astonishing. I believe you made headlines in the Daily Prophet for over a week. I think that you then became quite famous when you began to breathe again. "The Girl who is Dying Backwards" is the phrase I believe the media used. So you can expect to be visited by many people, including reporters and fans, when the news leaks out that you have regained consciousness."

Hermione sat stunned for a moment. She looked at Harry. He was wearing an expression that said, it's true. The story seemed to ridiculous, too outrageous to be true.

"But…" Hermione forced the words out of her mouth, "but how did I die?"

Dumbledore sighed again. "We don't know. Neither of you were harmed in any way. You seemed perfectly healthy, except for the obvious fact that you were dead. We suspected Avada Kedavra, for it was the only thing that fit. Everything else was ruled out. You were tested for all deadly potions known, all hexes, all curses, everything. But now, it seems, we have to also exclude Avada Kedavra, for you recovered, which has never happened. No, not even in the case of Harry Potter, for he never actually died, as you did - seemingly. Yes, you will appreciate that this is quite a riddle we have, and we were hoping that you could help us solve it. But that, it seems, is not to be."

Hermione sensed that Dumbledore had finished his speech. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but she seemed unable to voice any of them. One rose to the top of her mind, an easy question to ask, so she spoke it.

"I… I recall that, earlier, you mentioned… you said 'neither of you were harmed'. What do you mean, 'neither'?"

Dumbledore smiled, somewhat sadly. "That matter is for Professor McGonagall to discuss with you, I'm afraid. I am in no position to answer the questions that will arise from that particular answer. I think I shall leave you now, in fact." Dumbledore stood up, stretched his back, and left.

Hermione looked up at McGonagall. "So…"

"Aah, Miss Granger." McGonagall stepped closer to Hermione's bed. "No-one except Dumbledore, myself and a few of the teaching staff know this - we had to conceal it, or else Witch Weekly would have had a field day."

Harry exchanged a quizzical glance with Hermione. Neither had any idea what was to come.

"Hermione, my dear, you are pregnant."

Pregnant? "How could I be pregnant?"

"I trust I do not have to explain the exact procedure, but I assume you would be knowledgable about it after what happened between you and Harry."

Harry was staring at McGonagall, his mouth hanging open. Hermione felt like Harry looked. How? It was impossible.

"That's impossible!" Hermione said. She realised that Harry had said exactly the same thing in unison with her.

"It seems not. Such activities as those engaged in by you two are strictly forbidden in Hogwarts, so, naturally, everyone does it. But you, Miss Granger, of all people, I would have expected to take the necessary precautions."

"But we did, Professor! And I know I did it right!" Hermione blurted.

"I trust that you believe you did. But you cannot deny that your actions did have a result, a result due in eight months!" McGonagall was going distinctly red in the face as she said this. Then she took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and smoothed back her hair.

"That is all. I do not advise that you tell anyone of this, not even your friend Weasley. I imagine the media would love it: the only two people known to inexplicably defy death are in love with each other. But this is far from a fairy tale, you two, this is a very serious issue. You must consider what you will do with the child, and what you will do with yourselves. Now, I must go. I have classes to teach, and I believe that you, Mr Potter, have a Potions lesson to go and enjoy. You will be needing more rest, Miss Granger, but expect further questioning when you have recovered. You will resume your studies when you are fully fit. Come now, Mr Potter, and goodbye Miss Granger."

Harry stood up, then bent over Hermione. He whispered a few words in her ear.

"I'll visit often. It will all be all right. I love you." He kissed her softly on the lips, then turned around and left.

Hermione watched Harry depart. As the curtains fell back together, blocking her view, she thanked Heaven that she wasn't alone, and that Harry loved her.