A Hospitalic Romance

Gabrielle was there for him the entire time. When he got out, that was what he remembered: she was there. He also remembered other things, such as the sudden appearance of Ron and Hermione as a happily married couple (well, happily except for the bickering that was so familiar from what must to them be so long ago) and the even suddener appearance of his Godfather as a free man. That was the one that really took Harry's breath away. When he had been knocked unconscious, Sirius had still been a convict. And now he wasn't-a result of Death Eater confessions. Harry felt rather proud of that.

What really got him, though, was Draco Malfoy. That was what really drove home the time change. He was married, of all people, to Ginny Weasley, had apparently undergone a complete change of heart, and was looking as tired as anyone had a right to look. He was wearing clothes that Harry would have worn-not raggedy, but not the manicured perfection that had been his want. "My Father insisted on that," he said when Harry commented. "I see no reason to waste my time on that now."

He had had a streak of silver just above his left temple. Harry remembered that when his father's mask had been knocked off, there had been a similar steak on the right.

And Gabrielle was there.

When Harry left his meetings, he went to the hospital's physical therapy room. He had to use a wheel-chair-Gabrielle had insisted that he do so, in the implacable voice that he had learned back in testing that it was better not to cross. She had arranged for him to keep the room he was in, but insisted that he not try to walk down to PT. "When you can, you may. I will talk to your instucteurs when they say you can."

All very well and good, but he hated to face people in a wheel-chair almost as much as he hated facing them in bed. Finally, they compromised: she would help him into a chair, but she got to watch throughout the interview, and if she thought he was getting too tired, she would cut the interview off.

And she was there.

When Harry found himself collapsing from exhaustion just from learning to walk again, she was there to dump him in a shower and help him back into a wheelchair. When he was ready to just give up in frustration, she was there to make sure he got back on track. When he had to strain to stay awake long enough to get to his room, she was there, saying, "You sleep. I'll push, and wake you when we get there."

Whenever he needed her, she was there.

Then, one day, she bustled into his room a little earlier than usual. She woke him up-he was usually awake and dressed when he came in-saying, "get up, Harry, you're walking to therapy this morning."

And that was how the road out turned so that he could see the sunset he was walking into.

*******

He was released from the hospital almost a month later. In that time, he recovered enough strength of body that he could fly passably, although his trainer had said that it would be at least a year before he got up to Standard Flight Proficiency. That was what had hurt the most-not being able to fly. Flying was his freedom; he had to be able to fly, he just had to.

He had also taken his N.E.W.T.s. His professors had come up from Hogwarts to teach him the last few things that he needed to know, and then that last week was N.E.W.T.s. It was grueling, especially when combined with PT. He made it, though, and even got top grades-"Well deserving of your title of Head Boy," said McGonagall. High praise, considering the source.

He had also been given an award of several thousands of Galleons for defeating Voldemort, at a huge presentation ceremony. This was right after he got out of St. Mungo's, and he felt so exhausted that he asked to be allowed to remain seated during the reception that followed. He got to meet several high-placed Ministry officials, and was overjoyed to learn that Arthur Weasley had been promoted rapidly upon the fall of Voldemort.

In fact, there were only two major things that displeased him about the whole event. The first was that everybody gasped when he said "Voldemort." The second was that several private companies asked if they could say that he used their products... many broom companies, all of whom he was obligated to turn down, although he told the company that made Firebolts that this was more because he was not yet competent to ride a broom again then that he preferred another brand, and he was happy to say that he planned to ride a Firebolt-but he would altogether prefer the freedom to choose his own products.

And through it all, Gabrielle was there.

In fact, Harry invited her to be his date, although he also insisted that Ron and Hermione be provided with admission tickets. She had blushed, brilliantly, to the tips of her hair, and Harry had rushed to explain that this way, people would be less likely to assume that there was a romantic interest in his life, or that he was only into a girl for looks-it was obvious that she had brains, as well... and that if worst came to worst he could always just pretend she was only there to help him if he ran into trouble. Harry's face had hurt for nearly an hour afterwards, just from blushing so much.

It was only when she arrived to help him to the ceremony that he realized how stupid that last remark had been. No one was going to believe that she was only there to help him, not while she was wearing that dress. Her hair, normally pulled back in a tight bun that was eerily reminiscent of McGonagall, was instead falling into loose curls that could have been either natural or put in-although now that he thought of it, he seemed to remember that she had had them back at the Triwizard Tournament, too. And the dress... was light, iridescent coral, low-cut, slinky, and altogether sexy. Harry had gulped, and wrenched his eyes hurriedly back up to her face, where he attempted with indifferent success to keep them for the entire night.

There was a mob of media when they got to the event. It was being held in the Ball Room, which was located at the end of one of the side streets of Diagon Alley. Harry's flat, luckily, was just at the other end. It was reasonably near any place he would want to go, including St. Mungo's, the gymnasium, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and St. George's Academy of Flight, where Harry would be going to remedial training. Which galled him incredibly, but there it was.

They pushed their way through the mass of cameras and newswitches and arrived in the front hall of the Ball Room. The Ball Room, despite the name, was actually an entire building that was frequently used for Ministry events or other large-scale wizarding galas. Although the Prophet had been shut up with the promise of a full length interview the next morning, there were numerous other small publications that were practically begging him to talk to them. So when they got to the front hall, they were given the impression that it was a vacuum-all the reporters were sucked away, leaving Gabrielle to help Harry to a seat.

The ceremony itself was long and boring, and really rather pointless. Everyone knew what they were there for, and the big speeches didn't make any difference to that. Harry did feel rather proud when he got his medal, and he felt rather stunned when he was told how much money he was being awarded-Ron was clapping the loudest at this point, but then, Ron looked like he was doing pretty well himself-but mostly, Harry just felt rather silly. He knew he had done it, everyone else knew he had done it, and they all seemed in agreement that it was about ten years too late.

He found he was much prouder of the Honors N.E.W.T.s scores, and was especially proud that after all that break, he still graduated fifth in his class.

It helped that Gabrielle was prouder of him for those, too.

He quickly adapted to life in his new flat. He had enough money that he didn't need to work for quite some time, but he found a job anyway-he wanted the practice. He took up work as a writer for the Daily Prophet, under a pseudonym, and wrote up all these huge events that he was always invited to. This kept him busy at night-which was good, because he had lately taken to being a night owl-and let him work on his physical therapy and flying recovery during the day, which also let him appear unemployed.

Harry was working hard to get his flying skills back. It galled that the best Seeker Gryffindor had had now had to strain to stay on a broom. It didn't gall for long, though; impatient as he was with his own progress, everyone agreed that he was recovering remarkably quickly. Doris Diggory, the flight instructor and a cousin or something of Cedric, said that he was the fastest pupil she'd ever had. She also said that she would have given anything to see him in his prime-anyone who flew that well before they could run five hundred feet without gasping for breath had to have been fantastic. Harry had smiled, wistfully, and said he hoped he be able to get that good again. Maybe even better.

Gabrielle assured him that there was no reason he couldn't.

She was at his side for no small number of those ftes. Whenever he was asked to bring a date, he asked her. He always pretended that it was because she was his doctor, and she always pretended to go along until she showed up at his door in something completely impractical for caring for someone and eminently practical for making someone care.

Ron and Hermione both thought this was a very bad idea. Hermione said, "I hope you don't think she'll wait forever, Harry."

Harry asked, "Wait? Wait for what?"

"I can't believe you," Ron groaned. "One of the most beautiful women in the world is waiting on you practically hand and foot, and all you do is say, 'Well, she's my doctor!' You git, why don't you stop thinking about how much you like her and start convincing her that you do?"

When Ron and Hermione had ascertained that Ron had only said "One of" the most beautiful women in the world, and that no, he didn't really think that was her best feature, Harry said, "I just can't stop thinking of her as... well..." he paused to consider his words. There were two phrases that could go into the blank here: "my doctor" and "my best friend." Both were true: she was, absolutely, his doctor, and since Ron and Hermione had become much closer to each other and less close to him, where as Gabrielle had become much closer to him, she was also his best friend. However, neither of these was politic: the latter would offend both of them, and the former would make Ron express the opinion that Harry was mental. Finally, he filled in, "an older woman," and leaned back to see how they would react.

Hermione bristled, and said, "You can't think that matters! If you have feelings for her and she had feelings for you, surely age doesn't matter! And besides, you are older!"

"Hermione, I just graduated!" protested Harry. "I've been out of the world for more than a decade! To all intents and purposes, she is an older woman."

"That's ridiculous-" started Hermione hotly, when Ron spoke up slowly.

"No, I don't think it is. It's a valid concern-and it could certainly make things awkward." He paused. "I researched that spell to cast it you have to be-" An embarrassed gesture from Harry cut him off. "Yeah, well, I can see how that would make a difference. My advice is to go for it, though; Hermione's right, if you really love each other, age won't matter."

So, Harry decided (with a little help from his friends) to go for it.