The Last Time

Chapter 24

Rules and Things Number 16

If A Grown-Up Ever Starts a Sentence by Saying

"Haven't You Heard," Get Ready, 'Cause

What's About to Come Out of Their Mouth Is Gonna

Drop You Headfirst into a Boiling Tragedy.

- from Bud, Not Buddy - Christopher Paul Curtis

*****

After almost seven years at Hogwarts, there were certain things that Hermione had come to accept as law.

The showers in the Gryffindor Tower bathrooms, while magically charmed to produce hot water, would still behave like their Muggle counterparts when a nearby toilet was flushed.

Halloween would always be celebrated with an extravagant feast.

The Fat Lady and her friend Violet would likely get drunk on eggnog and chocolate liqueurs every Christmas.

Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers should not be expected to last for more than a year, and are usually not who or what they claim to be (Tenby, so far, seemed to be an exception).

Any strange animals or insects roaming about school grounds should be assumed to be unregistered Animagi until proven otherwise.

Perhaps most important of all, when a professor walks up to you on the Quidditch pitch or at mealtime, addresses you by your first name, and says, "You'd better come with me," without telling you why, you'd better be prepared for bad news.

Monday morning was the first day of the Easter holidays. Most of the Gryffindors who had stayed at school were relishing the fact that they didn't have to get up and go to class, but Hermione and Harry got up at their usual time, intending to Portkey to St. Mungo's after breakfast. Ginny had left school at the end of classes on Friday to spend the holiday with her family, so it was just the two of them at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

They had barely sat down when Professor McGonagall appeared at the table, wringing her hands.

"Harry...Hermione...come with me please, straight away." She didn't wait for them to get up from the table, but turned on her heel and headed for the door with a swish of green robes.

With a sinking feeling in her heart, Hermione got up from the table, and she and Harry followed McGonagall to her office.

Arthur Weasley's face hovered in the dancing green flames of Professor McGonagall's fireplace.

He was crying. Just barely - but crying nonetheless.

He tried to put his face back in order when he realized they were there, but it was too late - they'd seen him anyway.

*****

Hermione sat in the common room, making up colour-coded N.E.W.T. revision timetables for herself, Harry, and Ron, more out of habit and the need to do something with her hands than any real interest in studying.

She added Ron's timetable to the pile of assignments and homework she and Harry were keeping for him. Hermione had sorted everything in to separate files: Divination (why he and Harry were still taking that rubbish, she hadn't a clue), Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Hermione began to wonder if there was any way he could ever catch up.

Or if he'd even want to.

Mr. Weasley's fire-call had confirmed her suspicions (I was right all along, why doesn't anyone believe me?).

She'd never wanted to be more wrong in her life.

Ron had finally come around in the middle of the night on Sunday. Mr. Weasley had insisted Mrs. Weasley go home and sleep in her own bed for the first time in almost a fortnight, and so Bill had been there with him at the time, asleep in an armchair by his bed.

It hadn't taken Ron long to figure out that he was paralyzed from the waist down, and by the time the monitoring charms had alerted the staff he was awake, he had smashed a water glass on the bedside table and tried to slit his wrists. The sound of smashing glass had woken Bill before Ron could do any real harm to himself, but the fact that he'd attempted it in the first place....

Hermione badly wanted to go to him, but Mr. Weasley said that Ron was refusing to let anyone but the mediwizards into the room, not even his parents, and as he was of age the staff were forced to agree to his request. All they could do was strengthen the monitoring charms and remove anything potentially dangerous.

"I think it best if you two stay at Hogwarts for now, Hermione," Mr. Weasley had said. "I'll keep you updated, I promise."

Wizarding medicine had advantages that Muggle medicine did not. Madam Pomfrey had once regrown every bone in Harry's arm overnight with a dose of Skele-Gro, and another time she had shrunk Hermione's over-large front teeth to a normal size in a matter of seconds. Wizards had practically eliminated the common cold, developed ways to save babies born too premature to survive if they had been born in the Muggle world, and were able to cure almost every type of cancer without the use of debilitating chemotherapy or radiation.

But they didn't know everything. They were unable to cure lycanthropy; there was no foolproof and permanent method of vision correction; no way to restore lost hearing; no way to replace an amputated limb...and no way to cure paralysis. Not even phoenix tears could undo that kind of damage.

Well, there is a way, but you're not allowed to do it....

She and Harry were stuck here at school, knowing Ron was miserable and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Harry was sitting beside her, supposedly doing homework but in reality staring off into space.

She slid his copy of the revision timetable over to him. "Here," she said unenthusiastically. "We don't have long till the N.E.W.T.s."

What a stupid thing to say! Who cares about the N.E.W.T.s anymore?

He didn't look her or at the timetable, but chewed absently on the end of his quill.

He turned to her suddenly. "You know what Ron was supposed to be doing this week, don't you? He was supposed to officially try out for the Tornados' Keeper spot."

"I know." She had remembered, but was trying not to think about it.

"It's not fair!" he said, slamming his quill on the table. "Ron was finally really good at something for a change! And not just chess, or some such thing, something important!" He shoved his glasses higher up on his nose. "And that bastard Malfoy had to go and screw everything up."

Hermione didn't say anything. Harry had got that look on his face, and usually when he did, he didn't want a conversation.

He picked up his quill and viciously stabbed it into the paper until the nib of it was a splintered ruin. Then he flung it across the table and put his face in his hands.

"Why does one of us almost have to die before we can say we're sorry?" he asked, so softly that Hermione could barely hear him.

There was absolutely no reply she could make to that statement.

He needs a distraction. What would Ron suggest if he were here? He'd probably tell Harry to go out and fly his broomstick for a while.

That wouldn't work; Harry's beloved Firebolt had been irreparably smashed when he and Ron had crashed. Natalie and Dennis had picked up the pieces and brought them to Harry a few days later, and he kept them in his trunk with the fragments of his old Nimbus Two Thousand, the one that had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow.

A game of chess?

No. It would just emphasize Ron's absence even more.

Practicing new spells?

That would take more concentration than Hermione could manage at the moment, and Harry probably felt the same; anyway, the Auror Trials didn't seem all that important anymore.

He hasn't been to see Hagrid very much at all this year.

"Harry, let's go see Hagrid."

"Hagrid?" He looked at her blankly. "What for?"

"I was just trying to think of something to do...." That sounded awful, like she didn't care about Ron. That couldn't be farther from the truth - she hurt so badly for him she thought she would smother. Feeling rather stupid, she took out a book and pretended to read.

Harry took the book from her and set it aside. "I know what you mean. But Hagrid will want to talk, and I don't feel like talking. Let's go for a walk."

A walk.

Something Ron could never do again.

The thought of it made her heart ache.

They left Gryffindor Tower and headed out towards the lake.

It was chilly and gloomy out, the clouds overhead threatening to resume the rain that had been pouring for the last few days. It was almost as if the heavens were chiding her for strolling around the lake with Harry while Ron was cooped up in a tiny hospital room unable to get out of bed by himself.

She began to walk faster, almost but not quite running, though she wasn't sure why. It just felt good to be doing something, even though it was utterly pointless. Harry kept up with her easily since his legs were longer than hers. He didn't say anything, or ask her why she was walking so fast. For that she was grateful, because she didn't know what she would say if he did talk to her.

Hermione lost track of how many times they circled the lake, walking as fast as they could without running, and she only stopped when her leg muscles began to ache and burn in protest.

Harry stopped a few steps away from her, scooped up a handful of small rocks, and began to hurl them one by one into the lake. Each throw was accompanied by a muffled grunt. When all the rocks were gone, he gathered up a few more and heaved them in as well, punctuating the splashes with unintelligible shouts.

Hermione heard footsteps approaching, squelching nastily in the soggy ground.

"Having a temper tantrum, Potter?"

Harry's face went dead white as he turned to face Draco Malfoy, who was either extremely brave or extremely stupid to have come down to them without the lumpy shadows of Crabbe and Goyle.

"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" Harry asked in a voice that was so calm and quiet that it made Hermione's neck prickle.

"I thought I'd come to offer my condolences," Malfoy said lightly, brushing a speck of lint off the sleeve of his robes. "On losing the Quidditch Cup, and all. Tough luck, that."

"Luck had nothing to do with it!" snapped Hermione, wanting nothing more than to transfigure him into a ferret and slam him against the ground as hard as possible. She had to cross her arms tightly across her chest to keep from reaching for her wand. "Dirty rotten cheating, more like!"

Malfoy feigned innocence. "Cheating? I didn't break any rules. None that matter, anyway."

"Do you have any idea what you've done to Ron?" From the look on Malfoy's face, she knew he did.

"No great loss, if you ask me. There are far too many Weasleys running about as it is; I shouldn't think one more or less would make much diff - "

His sentence was abruptly cut off as Harry locked his hands around Malfoy's throat, dragged him to the edge of the lake, and slammed him to the ground, dunking his head under the water.

Harry's face had gone hard and blank, his eyes flashing a hate Hermione had only seen once before - when he saw Sirius for the first time, when he thought he was face to face with his parents' betrayer.

Malfoy kicked and struggled to get free; he and Harry were the same height and build, but Harry had straddled his chest, and Malfoy could get no leverage on the slippery slope of the water's edge. Malfoy's hands scrabbled frantically in the mud, fighting to get them under his body and push himself up enough to break the surface of the water, but it wasn't working.

Harry's going to kill him, Hermione realized, seeing the empty hate in Harry's eyes. He's going to hold Malfoy's head under the water until he drowns.

As much as she hated Malfoy for everything he'd ever done - not the least of which was what he did to Ron - she didn't want him dead.

She didn't want Harry to be a murderer. That thought was what finally shocked her into action.

"Harry! Stop it!" she shouted, throwing herself on Harry, hoping to knock him off Malfoy.

"Hermione, get off me," he said, in an eerily detached voice, as if the Harry speaking and the Harry choking Malfoy were two different people.

Malfoy's face surfaced for a brief second, gasping desperately for air; Hermione caught a glimpse of his horror-filled eyes before Harry plunged him under again.

She was terrified now; Harry's rage went beyond anything she'd seen before, and she was certain that he was not going to stop until Malfoy was dead. "Oh, Harry, please...you don't want to do this, he's not worth it, he's just a Malfoy...."

It was as if she hadn't said a word.

Hermione dug her heels into the ground, clenched her teeth, and slammed into Harry's side as hard as she could. He lost his grip on Malfoy's throat and frantically grabbed at Malfoy's clothes to keep him from getting away, but the expensive fabric ripped as Hermione knocked Harry on his back into the mud. She didn't get off him, but stayed put; it was stupid, really, as he could easily shove her off to go after Malfoy again, but he didn't.

Harry lay still, panting heavily.

Malfoy rolled onto his hands and knees, coughed up a large quantity of water, and got unsteadily to his feet. Hand-shaped bruises were darkening on his pale throat, and his clothes and hair were caked with mud, but Hermione was focused on the arm underneath the sleeve that had ripped when she knocked Harry off him.

The Dark Mark stood out clearly on Malfoy's arm, even though it was streaked with mud and slime.

Harry began to shake violently beneath her, whether in revulsion at the sight of the Dark Mark or in renewed anger Hermione didn't know. His eyes still had that sickening, empty look, and they were fixed on Malfoy.

"Get out of here, Malfoy," she snapped, "because if he gets up he's going to kill you, and I don't think I can stop him."

Malfoy stood there dumbly, staring at Harry as if he'd never seen him before.

"GO!" Hermione screamed, scooping up a handful of mud and hurling it at Malfoy, praying to whatever God would listen that he would get out of there before Harry went after him again. She'd almost lost Ron to suicide; she didn't want to lose Harry to Azkaban.

The mud hit his stomach with a wet smacking sound and seemed to jolt him out of his trance. With as much dignity as one could muster while soaking wet and covered in mud, he pushed his dripping blond hair out of his face and walked away.

As soon as Malfoy was out of sight, Hermione slid off Harry and sat back on her heels. He was still shaking, but the hate had disappeared from his eyes, leaving them empty and cold.

"I was going to kill him, Hermione," he said, sitting up slowly.

"I know."

He shook his head. "No, you don't. I was going to kill him. All I could think was what he did to Ron...and then I stopped thinking about everything but getting my hands on him. I could feel his throat in my hands, feel him fighting for air...." He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself tightly, trying to stop the shaking.

"Harry...." Hermione reached out to put her arms around him, to try to give him the comfort they both so desperately needed, but he pushed her hands away and shoved himself backward.

"Don't touch me! I was going to fucking kill Malfoy, don't you get it? I was going to drown him, watch the life go right out of him, look straight in his eyes as he died, and God help me, Hermione, I liked it...." He dropped his head to his knees and began to rock back and forth.

Hermione could hardly breathe.

I liked it....

"I could feel how scared he was of me, and I liked it. It was like a drug...and I couldn't stop it...it felt good...."

Automatically, Hermione tried again to reach out to him, and this time he almost let her, but before she could pull him close to her he wrenched free of her arms and pushed her, hard. She fell flat on her back on the soggy ground and watched as Harry got to his feet and clutched his head in his hands; not over his scar, but over his ears, as if he were trying to block out voices he didn't want to hear.

She could feel the terror pouring off him in great, rolling waves. Not only terror, but disgust and shame at what he had almost done and how he'd liked it.

He was scared.

Scared of himself.

Scared that The Boy Who Lived could turn into The Boy Who Killed.

She scrambled to her feet and stepped towards him, but he retreated, and she stopped.

"Hermione," he said, in that oddly detached voice. "Go away. Please."

Part of her was scared of him too and wanted to run as fast and as far away as possible; but the rest of her wasn't scared of him - this was Harry, and she couldn't leave him alone like this. What if he gave in to those murderous urges and decided he really liked the thrill of power that came with killing?

Was that what had turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort?

Well, it's not happening to Harry Potter - not if I can help it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," she said, moving cautiously, almost imperceptibly toward him.

A tear rolled down Harry's cheek, cutting a clean track through the grime on his face. She took another cautious step forward. He didn't step back.

"Hermione, if you don't go away, I might do something...I might hurt you...."

"You won't hurt me." Another tiny step. He stayed put. Good.

He shook his head. "Don't come any closer."

She didn't say anything, but took another small step.

Another tear rolled down his cheek as he fought to keep everything inside. "Don't touch me, Hermione...I don't know what I'll do...please...." The detachment was gone from his voice, replaced with pure, raw emotion. "For God's sake, go away."

"You know that doesn't work for us," she said calmly. "We say it, but we don't mean it."

"This time I mean it."

He really did not want her to touch him, she realized, and this time 'go away' meant exactly that. This was one time where pushing him would only make things worse.

A time that Ron would have been much better at handling Harry than she would.

Hermione stepped back, just a little; she couldn't put her arms around him, no matter how badly she wanted to, but she couldn't leave him out here by the lake by himself in this state. He was like a ticking time bomb that had to be handled extremely carefully to keep from self-destructing.

"Harry, I'm not going to touch you; just listen, okay?" She kept her voice low and soothing - she hoped.

He nodded, and let go of his head, letting his arms fall limply to his sides.

"Give me your wand."

She expected him to refuse, but he didn't; and once she had his wand in her pocket she saw (or felt, she wasn't sure) a small wave of something like gratitude wash over him, as if he were glad to be relieved of the responsibility.

"Is your Invisibility Cloak in your trunk?"

He nodded again.

She took out her own wand and concentrated on an image of the cloak, folded in Harry's trunk in his room. "Accio Invisibility Cloak!" She was taking a risk, she knew, if anyone saw the cloak flying through the air; but enough students had gone home for the holiday that the chance was worth taking. A moment later, a silvery bundle hurtled towards her and she caught it before it hit the ground.

"Listen carefully, Harry, okay?"

Once again, he nodded.

"We're going to go back to the castle now. You're going under the cloak, so no one has to see you, and I'll be right behind you. I'm going to get you up to - " she stopped, thinking his room wouldn't be the best idea, as he'd have to look at Ron's empty bed, " - my room, since Lavender and Parvati went home, and you can have it to yourself for as long as you want. Once I get you in there, I'll leave. I promise. Okay?"

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he nodded.

"You're not going to try to run off, are you?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Be still - I'm going to put the cloak on you now."

She draped the cloak over him, and once she made sure he was completely covered, they headed for the castle. He had said he wouldn't run off, but she still listened carefully for his footsteps to make sure he was still there with her. Once they entered the front doors, she wished she were under the cloak as well, as her mud caked robes and hair attracted a ridiculous amount of attention ("I fell down a hill" was her automatic reply), but they managed to make it up to Gryffindor Tower without a major incident.

She got him into her room and shut the door behind them, locking it firmly with every charm she knew. Harry just stood there, not taking off the cloak. She fumbled around a bit till she found him, yanked off the cloak, and tossed it aside. He was shivering still, likely from a combination of emotion and the fact that his clothes were soaked.

What do I do about his clothes? She wished she'd gone by his room first, to get him some clean clothes, but she wasn't about to leave him here alone and she wasn't going to let him go in his room yet, not while his nerves were so raw. Seeing Ron's empty bed might just send him over the edge.

"You need to get out of those clothes, Harry," she said as she dug in her trunk for the largest of the old t-shirts she used for pyjamas. Harry wasn't too much bigger than she was, just a little taller, so it would do for now.

Harry hadn't moved. He looked almost catatonic. Should he go to Madam Pomfrey? No, then I'll have to explain that he's like this because he tried to drown Draco Malfoy in the lake. Don't think so.

"Harry? If you don't want me to touch you, you'll have to do this yourself."

He didn't respond, and she knew she was going to have to do this after all. He couldn't lie around in dripping clothes. She unfastened his robes and threw them on the floor, removed his glasses, stripped off his t-shirt, threw it down with his robes, and pulled the clean shirt over his head, all the while trying to touch him as little as possible.

It was like dressing a very large doll. He didn't resist, but he didn't help either, and it worried her; his vacant stare and limpness were very unnerving, not to mention the fact that he hadn't said a word for at least the last half hour.

Shock, that's the problem. As she fumbled with his belt buckle her mind raced through her Healing Arts textbook - which, like her other schoolbooks, was practically memorized - trying to remember the recommended treatment for shock. Chocolate, obviously...and he has to stay warm...and...think! What else? She pushed his trousers down over his hips, determinedly not looking - good thing he hadn't been completely soaked to the skin, because she didn't think she could have taken his boxers off - and sat him down on the bed, where she tugged off his filthy shoes and socks and pulled his muddy trousers free of his ankles.

He was still rather grimy, but it was the best she could do short of giving him a bath and she wasn't about to do that; at least he wasn't soaked anymore, and that was good enough for now. She grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of her bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, then took the one from Parvati's bed and added it for good measure. He pulled the blankets tightly around him, drawing his feet underneath him on the bed, but otherwise didn't move.

Okay, now what? Think...right...the first treatment for emotional upset is chocolate.

She didn't have any chocolate handy (being the daughter of two dentists had ingrained into her a slight paranoia of sweets), but she remembered that Lavender kept a box of Chocolate Frogs in her dresser for emergency use after her rows with Seamus. Sorry Lavender, she thought, grabbing a couple of the Frogs, but I think you wouldn't mind. Tossing the wrapper and card aside, she held one out to him.

"Here, have some chocolate - it'll help."

He looked at her blankly, as if to say I just about killed someone, d'you think chocolate's going to help that?

A flush of irritation caught her by surprise. Why do I have to be the one in charge all the time? And what the hell else does he expect me to do for him? I'm not Madam Pomfrey or anything.

"Fine, then...I changed your clothes, but I'm not feeding you." She put the Frog on the quilt beside Harry, kneeled down, and dragged her potion-making supplies and cauldron out from under the bed.

Ideally, she would have made him a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but she didn't have the key ingredient - Glumbumble treacle - which Snape kept locked up in his supply closet. If she thought Harry would have been all right alone for a bit, she wouldn't have thought twice about breaking in and stealing some. A less potent Sleeping Draught would have to do. It would be enough to help him calm down, at least.

If Ron were here, you could both look after him.

She set up her cauldron on the table, conjured a small fire underneath (she'd learned how to conjure portable fires early on in her first year), measured the ingredients into the cauldron, and stirred carefully.

If Ron were here, that would mean he wasn't lying paralyzed in a hospital bed watching his hopes and dreams get washed down the drain. Harry wouldn't feel the need to kill Malfoy for ruining Ron's life and he wouldn't be wallowing in self-loathing.

As she ladled a dose of potion into a mug to cool, she heard a series of small snapping sounds. Harry had broken the Chocolate Frog into small pieces and was slowly eating it.

Hermione felt very small for her earlier remark. She'd never almost killed someone before, so she had no idea what he was really feeling at the moment.

"Harry?"

He put the last piece of chocolate in his mouth and looked up at her, squinting, as he hadn't put his glasses back on.

"I didn't mean to snap at you just now...I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head and shrugged slightly. Whether that meant he accepted her apology or didn't care, she couldn't tell.

The liquid in the mug was now cool enough to drink, and she handed it to him.

"It's a Sleeping Draught. Drink it up, and I'll leave you to yourself for a bit, like I promised."

Not even a minute after he'd drained the mug, he closed his eyes and lay back on the pillows.

Hermione tucked the blankets in around him carefully and watched him for a few minutes to make sure he was asleep, then gathered up some clean clothes and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. The dried mud was making her skin itch madly, but she hadn't realized it until now.

When she got out of the shower, she dressed quickly and checked on Harry again. When she was satisfied he was asleep and would stay that way for a few hours, she picked up the Invisibility Cloak and left the room, locking the door behind her.

She had work to do.