The Last Time

Chapter 8

Harry had been in the hospital wing for a week without a sign of waking up. Hermione and Ron went to visit him every day; every minute they were not in class or doing prefect duties, they were sitting at his bedside, telling him about everything that was happening around the school. They brought their homework with them, much to Madam Pomfrey's dismay, and talked to Harry as they worked. Lupin came to stay with him while Hermione and Ron were in class, and several of the professors dropped by as well.

Professor McGonagall's plan to keep Harry's condition a secret lasted until Tuesday. His absence from classes caused a storm of gossip to sweep the castle, and though Gryffindors were brave, they were also a talkative bunch, even in the face of a series of stern lectures and point deductions from their Head of House. By Tuesday night, the corridor outside the infirmary was flooded with students trying to get a glimpse of Harry, and Madam Pomfrey was furious. She pestered Dumbledore until he arranged for a troupe of security trolls to be posted in the corridor to ward off nosy onlookers.

Sunday afternoon was Gryffindor's first scheduled Quidditch practice. Ron didn't want to go.

"It's not right, Hermione," he said. "It's not the same without Harry! He's the team captain, for crying out loud!"

"Think about the rest of the team," said Hermione. "There are five other people on that team who need you...you know Harry will be furious with you when he wakes up and finds out you let the team slack off...Harry might be the best Seeker Gryffindor's ever had, but you're the best Keeper, and you will only stay the best if you get yourself out there and practice!"

In the end, Hermione had to enlist the help of the rest of the team to bodily drag Ron out of the hospital wing and onto the Quidditch pitch. That left her alone with Harry, which felt very strange. It had been she and Ron together this whole time; sitting at Harry's side alone was very unnerving. The silence was too much for her, and she tried to fill it with chatter about their most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"...So, then she showed us how to do front falls and roll over so we could bounce back on our feet," she jabbered. "It was awful, Harry...I was even worse at those than the others. I could tell she was getting tired of having to explain the directions over and over to me, but she didn't get mad or anything...

She looked at Harry, hoping to see something. Anything...a twitch, a blink, any sign of movement other that the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Oh, this is stupid. I'm just blabbering about nothing. I don't have anything really interesting to say. It's really hard to have a conversation with someone who doesn't talk back to you, you know? I don't even know if you can hear me. I guess if you could hear me, you'd tell me to be quiet. I wish you would tell me to be quiet. At least then you'd be talking to me..."

Hermione felt her eyes watering and blinked hard. "D'you know, I've cried more this last week than I have for the past six years? I absolutely hate to cry. I've been walking around all this week like a human water-tap...cry, cry, cry, at the drop of a hat...I see your empty spot at the table, I cry. I see Ron go off to Quidditch practice without you, I cry. I see your empty desk in Transfiguration, I cry. I see the empty place between Ron and me in the greenhouse, and I cry!"

She couldn't blink fast enough to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, and she swiped at them angrily. "See, look! Why can't you just wake up and tell us what's going on here?" She buried her head in her hands. "We miss you. Ron misses you. I miss you. Please...come back to us."

*****

"Hermione, wake up." It was Ron, still dressed in his scarlet Quidditch robes. Beside him was Professor Dumbledore, smiling as if he had just heard a very funny joke that no one else knew.

"Huh?" She'd fallen asleep...and her head was resting on Harry's chest. Good grief, this is embarrassing. She stood up, rubbing the side of her face where she'd been lying; the texture of the blanket had been pressed into her cheek. "Sorry...I guess I feel asleep."

"That's quite all right, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling over the tops of his glasses. "You and Mr. Weasley have been quite enthusiastic in looking after Harry this week, and it's taking its toll on the both of you. He is very lucky to have you for his friends."

"What's going on, sir?" Ron asked. "You said you had something important to tell us."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes, I did, didn't I? Well, you see, I believe I have found someone who will be able to help Harry."

"You have?" asked Hermione and Ron together.

"I was not certain I could find him; he is a very old friend of mine, and he...travels...shall we say, quite a bit. It was rather difficult to locate him. But find him I did, and he will be here any minute now. He's - "

He was interrupted by the sudden appearance, out of thin air, of a most peculiar looking man, dressed in rather mouldy-looking velvet robes. He was very short, barely taller than Professor Flitwick, with silvery grey hair that hung to his shoulders, an almost frog-like face, and friendly black eyes.

"But - but - how did he...did he just Apparate in here?" stammered Hermione. "But that's impossible! You can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds!"

"That's correct, Miss Granger, but Master Raymond is most unusual," explained Dumbledore. "He is capable of things that we ordinary wizards cannot even fathom." He turned to the small man. "Master Raymond, wonderful to see you again. Welcome to Hogwarts."

Raymond's face split into an enormous toothless smile, which made him look even more like a frog. "Ah, Albus, it was such a surprise to receive your message! So unexpected! But I knew you would not ask me here unless the situation was very grave." He moved towards Harry's bed. "I assume this is the young man of whom you spoke?"

"Yes, Raymond," said Dumbledore. "This is Harry. Harry Potter." He gave Raymond a significant look. "He's had quite a shock of some sort; exactly what, we are not sure. These are Harry's closest friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. They can tell you the full story of what happened."

Though Hermione was completely baffled as to who or what Master Raymond was, she trusted Dumbledore's faith in him. She began to recount once again the events of the previous Saturday evening, with Ron helping to fill in bits and pieces. Raymond listened attentively, poking and prodding Harry gently every now and then and making tut-tut and mmm-hmmm noises.

"And that's when he passed out again, and he's been like this ever since," finished Hermione.

"I see," said Raymond. "May I call you Hermione? And you, Ronald?"

They nodded.

"Very well, then. Hermione, what can you tell me about Harry's parents? About how they died?"

Hermione thought hard. Harry hadn't gone into much detail whenever he mentioned his parents' deaths, and she really didn't know what to say. From the look on Ron's face, she could tell he didn't know what to say either.

"They were murdered," said Dumbledore, taking over for Hermione and explaining the circumstances of James and Lily Potter's deaths.

"I see," said Raymond for a second time. He moved closer to the bed, and with long, splayed fingers, rested his hands on either side of Harry's face. Raymond closed his eyes, and a faint, whitish light flickered briefly at his fingertips.

"What is he doing?" whispered Ron.

"Hush!" hissed Hermione, fascinated. She didn't know what Raymond was doing, but watching him felt...peaceful...and good...and it didn't seem to be hurting Harry. "Just watch."

Raymond stepped away from Harry, and the whitish light disappeared.

"He is dying."

Hermione's knees buckled and she swayed dangerously on her feet, but Ron caught her, and she righted herself.

"What do you mean, 'he's dying'!" Ron said harshly.

"He would be dead already, had you not helped him," Raymond said flatly. "When you connected with him, he was trying to die. You prevented that from happening, but he does not wish to live. It is a struggle for him. He witnessed his mother's death, at such a tender age...he has been able to repress the vision of it, you see, all this time, though the sounds still haunted him. He was able to keep the visual memory of it locked up, because when it happened, he was just a baby. It is a terrible thing, you understand, to see a parent die in such a way."

"Why is this all coming back to him now?" Hermione asked. "Why now, instead of some other time?"

"This Voldemort is connected to him through this scar, yes?" he asked.

"Right," said Ron. He was clearly uncomfortable with Raymond's use of the name.

"Somehow, through this scar, Voldemort is using these memories to weaken Harry, to rob him of the will to live. It will make it easier for him to defeat Harry. He wants him to feel guilt, and shame, and anything that will depress him. And it is working. He feels guilty that his mother and father died for him. He feels guilty that he is the cause of the Cedric boy's death and Voldemort's resurrection. He has still not grieved for his godfather, and feels responsible for his death as well. And - "

"How did you know about Cedric and Sirius?" Hermione interrupted, suspicious. "We didn't tell you that part."

"There was no need, my dear," said Raymond kindly. He held up his hands. "I can see these things so clearly in his mind."

"Then why the hell did you make us tell you that whole story, when you could have just stuck your bloody hands on his head and figured it out for yourself!" Ron yelled. He looked at Dumbledore. "You said this Raymond person was going to help Harry! Well I don't see any helping going on! He said Harry's going to die! Did you hear him? Harry's..." Ron's voice broke, and he walked away from them, brushing Hermione off when she tried to go to him.

"Leave him be for a moment, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore softly, as the sound of Ron's muffled sobs came from the corner of the room.

"Can't you...do something?" Hermione asked after a pause.

Raymond shook his head. "No, I am sorry. I can do nothing for him." He took both her hands and held them tightly. "But you can."

"Me?" she said, startled. "I don't understand, I thought you were going to..."

"No, madonna, you will be helping your friend. I cannot help him, for reasons I cannot explain, but I can show you how to do it."

"I don't understand..."

"You have the Gift, whether you know it or not. I knew when I saw you, by your colour." He released her hands, and gestured in the air around her, as if he were outlining the shape of her body, an inch away from her skin. "Everyone has a colour, you see. Surrounding them like a cloud. Yours is blue...like my own...like someone else I once knew, a very long time ago. Though I have only known you a few minutes, I can tell you are much like her in many ways...stubborn, independent, strong...she even had hair like yours, very unruly." He laughed a little, and then continued. "But I digress. My point is, you can help your friend fight this pain that is killing him."

"Does this Gift have anything to do with what happened when...when we joined hands, and went into Harry's mind, or wherever we were?" Hermione asked.

Raymond's wide, flat forehead wrinkled in thought. "Yes and no. I know that does not help you, but I do not understand it completely. I believe that was borne out of the love the three of you have for each other; and I am certain that is what saved your friend Harry before. However, this Gift of Hermione's is something she alone has; it is not connected with you or Harry. It is very rare. I have lived a very long life, and I have only seen two others who were similarly blessed, besides myself."

"What do I do?" asked Hermione.

"Let us sit down," said Raymond, gesturing to a pair of chairs nearby. Hermione sat, and Raymond pulled his chair to face her, so that their knees almost touched. Ron, who had pulled his face into some semblance of composure, and Dumbledore stood nearby, watching intently.

"You must trust me, madonna."

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, curious.

"It is a habit...the other I spoke of, who you resemble quite strongly...it is a name I called her often. Again, I digress...let us begin."

He held up his hands, palms facing Hermione, and she instinctively pressed her palms to his. His hands were oddly cool, and rough-skinned, and she caught the scent of herbs coming from the folds of his robes; lavender, rosemary, and thyme, and others she didn't recognize.

"Close your eyes," he instructed.

"Okay...now what do I do?" she asked, feeling very incompetent.

"Just wait."

Hermione felt rather foolish, sitting knee to knee with a froggy looking little man who had Apparated a place where you weren't supposed to be able to; who shone white light from his fingertips and talked about coloured clouds around peoples' bodies; and who placed his hands on her best friend's head and pronounced him dying. But she sat, willing to feel foolish, if only it would bring Harry back.

She heard Raymond speaking to her in her head. Behind his words, she felt as though he were sending information directly to her subconscious...as though it were information too advanced for her to understand in a normal way.

Don't fight it, just listen. Do you know what you must do?

I'm not sure. I think so.

You have to look inside his soul. He will not want you to; he will push you away. He may be cruel to you. You must pay him no heed. You must pull this thing out.

What thing?

It is like a splinter in his soul...if you have a splinter, and it does not come out, it becomes putrid, and sickens the flesh around it. This is what has happened to your friend. It has festered for sixteen years, and it has sickened his soul.

I understand.

If you cannot do this, he will die. Do you understand?

Yes.

It will hurt you. It will hurt him. He may hate you later, because you have seen something so personal to him, which he wished to keep hidden.

I don't care if he hates me. As long as he's alive.

Very well.

Hermione suddenly felt very warm and light and tingly all over. A multitude of brilliant rainbow lights danced behind her eyelids like a kaleidoscope, whirling and swooping in fantastic swirls of colour.

Then it was over, and she understood. She opened her eyes to see Master Raymond smiling at her.

"I cannot stay any longer. I must return to my own time - "

"Your own time? What are you talking about? You mean you're going to leave me here to do this...whatever this is, alone?" Hermione asked, eyes wide with fright.

"Miss Granger...the less you know about Master Raymond, the better," said Dumbledore, making Hermione jump. She'd forgotten that he and Ron were still there.

"I will be on my way, now, Albus," said Raymond, rising from his seat. "I do not think I can make this journey again. Your little madonna here should be quite capable, but if you have need..."

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Raymond. You have been a great help. Take care."

With that, Raymond disappeared with a pop!

"What the hell was he?" asked Ron.

"A very old friend from a very long time ago," answered Dumbledore. "Now, Miss Granger, I believe you have something to do. I will wait in Madam Pomfrey's office, if you need me for anything."

Ron turned to her as Dumbledore left. "D'you want me to stay, or go with him...I don't want to make you nervous or anything..."

"Stay, please, just...just don't ask me any questions, or say anything, because I don't know if I'll mess it up...just be here."

"Come here." He enveloped her in a giant hug, and she rested against him, taking strength from his solidness and warmth. "I've seen some weird stuff around here, but that guy just takes the cake. I don't know what he's up to, but...whatever he told you to do, I know you can do it."

"Ron...Master Raymond said...if I can't do this...Harry will die for sure."

He planted a kiss on the top of her hair. "You can do it. You're the smartest student here, you know?"

Hermione shook her head. "He said something else too...he said Harry may hate me later, because of what I have to do. So, if he does...you stay with him. He needs you, Ron. Me, he can do without, but you..."

"Okay. Whatever you say. But when you save his life, I doubt he'll hate you. He'll be grateful," he said, as he let go of her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

*****

Author's Notes:

Master Raymond comes from the book Dragonfly in Amber, the second book in the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon; he doesn't belong to me, I'm just borrowing him for a bit. He is an enigma in that book, and the healing he taught Hermione to do is similar to what he does to Claire Fraser in DiA, but I've played with it to suit my purposes. Master Raymond may or may not be a time traveller, and we may or may not see him again in this story. And yes, he is a good guy.

When he says that Hermione reminds him of another, it's Claire Fraser he's talking about. They're both hardheaded, smart, and have bushy brown hair. J