The Human Condition

Chapter Thirteen: Debris of a Dangerous Mind

Word that Harry Potter, the alleged murderer and leader of the Black Order, who had been convicted and sentenced to 150 years in the maximum security prison Vincula Solitarum, had escaped hit the streets and the press not more than half an hour after Harry had been taken to the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione read the article, which was actually very accurate, to Ron from The Evening Prophet. She had been given the paper upon request, as she and Ron were trapped in an interrogation room-one often used for criminals-and had nothing to do. She and Ron were whisked into this room and were questioned about the past few months. They were both careful and danced around the details involving the IWBI. When the questions of "So how did Harry do it?" came, Hermione said, with an obvious hint of irritation, "It's amazing what will drive an innocent man to bring the guilty to justice."

Ron hadn't answered quite as venomously. "Hey, Harry's got skills. He could've easily broken out of your 'maximum security prison,'" he said repeatedly with in-air quotations.

An hour passed as the meaningless dribble of questions came and went mostly unanswered. Their questioners finally agreed that no more information could be withdrawn from Ron and Hermione, so they left them alone in their room.

Ron assumed that there were listening devices hidden in the corners, seeing as how it was for interrogation, and hoped Hermione would assume the same and keep her questions and opinions to herself. She didn't.

"Did you see the look on his face?" she whispered as she stared at the palms of her hands.

Ron didn't need to question her for clarification. "Yeah," he responded.

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully and spun her finger in a strand of stray hair. "I wish they'd let us talk to him. I wish they'd tell us what's wrong with him or at least what they did with him."

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked disbelievingly. "Hermione, he saw you kill his wife. His wife, Hermione. I'm thinking, just off the top of my head, that he might, might be a bit traumatized." He turned away from her, amazed that he was giving her a lesson in emotions.

Hermione slammed her fists onto the table then jumped out of her chair. "You think I wanted to Ron?" she asked dangerously, her face flushing scarlet. "You think I wanted to kill her, to kill his wife? You think that was somewhere in my life plans? Couldn't you see that I didn't have a choice?"

Ron still had his back turned but his shoulders sagged.

"We---were---losing---him!" she whined, tears brimming in her eyes. "He would've stayed with her, Ron! He would've done God only knows what with that woman, and I could see that. Couldn't you see it too? Couldn't you see that look in his eyes?" She made Ron face her. "Either I killed her or Harry would've agreed to her proposal."

Ron regarded her with delicacy and didn't snap back. Hermione continued.

"Besides," she said, "you were sent------y-you wanted to kill her because you knew Harry wouldn't! So don't tell me you don't understand why I had to kill her." She blushed slightly at nearly mentioning the IWBI.

Ron sighed and nodded his head, though he still said nothing.

Hermione dropped back into her chair and laid her head on the cold table. All she could see, all she could think of, was Harry's face. That lost, desperate, frightened face, not of a grown man, but of a young boy.

It seemed like hours had passed by the time Arthur Weasley entered the room Hermione and Ron had been locked in. Hermione bolted out of her chair and demanded answers, but first she scolded the Minister for interrogating them, especially because she and Ron were completely innocent.

"I know, Hermione," Arthur said. He made them sit down as he took a seat opposite them. He held his hands together like a praying monk as he listened to Hermione continue her rant, but he didn't silence her. By the time Hermione had said all she needed to say, Arthur had planned on what to tell them.

First he moistened his lips and told Hermione to sit down, again. She did as told but still appeared cross.

By reading Arthur's body language, Hermione knew whatever he had to say was not excellent news. The moment Hermione's breathing returned to normal, Arthur began his explanation.

"We brought in three Healers," he said, tracing his eyes over Ron and Hermione. "Supposedly they're the best in their specialties. For the past hour they've been checking and re-checking Harry. The thing is they can't find anything physically wrong with him. His pulse is normal, his temperature is normal, all of his brain waves read normal, but something isn't right. While you two have been in here, being questioned, Harry's been stationary and hasn't responded to any kind of stimulus. We brought Dana into the room, and he still didn't react. The Healers don't really know what to make of it, and frankly, neither do I. Hermione," he said, focusing most of his attention on her now, "you said that Harry witnessed Audrey's murder?"

Hermione had answered the question no less than a dozen times, but she couldn't bring herself to reply snidely. "Yes," she answered.

Arthur nodded to himself and sighed as he sat back in his chair and picked at his chin. "I think this may pass, but the Healers are very concerned."

Ron leaned forward over the table. "So Harry's in some kind of coma?" he asked.

Hermione turned her head to stare at Arthur for confirmation.

Arthur frowned. "It seems that way, yes," he affirmed.

"But he'll have to come out of it eventually, won't he? You think this will pass, right? So Harry will come out of it. He has to," Hermione said quickly.

Arthur inhaled a large breath. "Well, it's really more complicated than just waiting for him to come to. Harry isn't allowing any means of life support, like intravenous fluid or any magical means for us to get him what he needs to live."

Hermione's mouth dropped slightly and she reached for Ron's hand. "He's not allowing life support," she mumbled to herself.

"I'm afraid not," Arthur said. "He's shut down. It's very strange. He's alive and functioning on a normal level, but he's not here with us."

Ron gave Hermione's hand a supportive squeeze. "So what happens next?" he asked.

Hermione bit her lip and stared at Arthur through blurry eyes. She needed that answer to cling to. What happens next?
Arthur wiggled in his chair and twisted the ring on his finger. "The Healers think it best if he's sent home. Hopefully the familiar surroundings will bring him out of this. I've also contacted, out of the Healers' requests, Doctor Marc Simon and Clarice Starling. It appears as if this coma is self-induced, meaning most of it is psychological, and for that we'll need experts. The Healers would like for you two to be there. Dana is too young and the explanation of what has happened to her father and the whereabouts of her mother are too much to go into at this time. Vanessa and her mother have taken her for the time being."

Hermione watched Arthur's lips move, and she vaguely heard what sounds were coming from them. Something about Clarice Starling... she heard Vanessa's name mentioned, and Dana was off somewhere... the death of her mother and condition of her father would be too overwhelming... And while Hermione knew this information was important, Hermione couldn't listen. She kept replaying the moment when she'd killed Audrey. The raising of the knife, the stabbing, that feeling of the knife sliding into her heart like Audrey was butter... And she heard Harry's pained cry, a howl, for her to stop. She saw his face. That distraught and helpless face and desperate eyes as he held Audrey and watched her last breath leave her...

Hermione had Ron lead her to Harry's flat by hand. "He's like this because of me," she mumbled as Ron took her to the door to Harry's home.

Ron said nothing, and it was probably best that he didn't. He reached for the handle and opened the door, then took Hermione and led her through.

It seemed as if Harry had never left; as if there had never been an Audrey, or Leucosia, or a trial, or a verdict... Hermione felt as if she'd simply stepped into his home and expected Harry to smile at her from the sofa.

The chairs and tables were exactly where they had been months ago. The dark floor sparkled, the kitchen counters shimmered, and the spice bottles and jars all gleamed from their nooks. The only thing that was noticeably different was the five people huddled in a corner of the flat, buzzing at each other like wasps. Hermione broke away from Ron and walked toward them, as if hypnotized.

There were three Healers among the hive. They wore their lime green robes and were busy discussing Harry's medical history and current situation with Doctor Marc Simon and Clarice Starling, the elderly woman who'd taught Harry the basics of telepathy. She, above the other four, seemed most concerned. From a distance Hermione could see Clarice's watery eyes and shaking hands.

Hermione walked closer to them, but one of the Healers noticed her. Instead of stopping the conversation, the Healer took Hermione and Ron down the hall to the double doors of Harry's bedroom.

"He's in here," she said softly, nudging the doors open just wide enough for Ron and Hermione to side-step into.

The room was soaked in shadow. The large windows were cloaked with black curtains, and rags had been stuffed under the balcony doors, to ensure that even the most innocent band of light could not invade this space.

Hermione and Ron treaded softly toward a lump on the bed; blankets were draped on Harry and, to add to the strangeness, a peculiar monitor with dashing lines of electric red was nailed to the headboard. Hermione's eyes roved over the monitor, making little sense of it, and turned her weary and blurry eyes to Harry's pale face.

Why the Healers had deemed Harry physically healthy, Hermione didn't know. His face was ashen, his eyes were opened halfway and glazed over and seemed to stare into space but not at any specific target, and his mouth was slack; Hermione could just hear him breathing.

Hermione kneeled on the ground and ran her fingers through his shiny black hair. "Harry?" she whispered. Nothing happened; she didn't expect anything to happen.

The sight of him so weak and helpless was nauseating. Hermione had to clutch her stomach with one hand and ignore her constricting chest. "Harry," she said again, her voice wobbling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

It was terribly unfair. Mere hours ago Harry held Hermione in his arms, joyous at the sight of her, beaming from ear to ear, holding her tighter than he ever had. The sight of him had been Hermione's kiss of life, for, over the past months, she was certain Harry and Ron thought her dead. They would've mourned her, but moved on. The very idea had cost Hermione thousands of tears.

And here he lay. Once so powerful and full of life, Harry lay sickly and in a state of shock nearly equal to that following Voldemort's defeat.

"It's like déjà vu," Ron said in a cracking voice, apparently thinking the same as Hermione. When they found Harry seven years ago, he lay lifeless, his eyes glazed over in the same lifeless way they were now. Meters from Harry lay the quickly decaying body of Voldemort, which was slowly turning to ash. They had screamed at Harry to wake up, they shook him and slapped him, but nothing would bring him out of it. Hermione had been too scared to put her ear to his chest to listen for that beating heart.

Everyone thought he was dead, even Dumbledore, who stood quietly by and wept soundlessly. Harry wasn't breathing; he wasn't blinking. He wasn't living.

Yet mysteriously, after thirty seconds or less, Harry took a large breath, blinked his eyes, and coughed. He'd turned over on his stomach and coughed into the dust of the floor, possibly unaware of the tension he'd relieved in the people surrounding him.

No one knew how he did it and he never enlightened them. Once Harry was taken to St. Mungo's for a check, they were laughing with relief---except Harry. Dumbledore, relieved that his pupil had survived, deemed Harry the first human phoenix. Ron and his brothers spent that night toasting Harry, as did most of the wizarding world. Fireworks were sent into the sky, shooting stars streaked across the northern hemisphere into the southern, feasts were held in his name, the newspapers and magazines all across the world plastered Harry's face to their covers and front pages...

And Harry had sat in his hospital room, staring into space, not speaking to anyone, not wanting to speak to anyone, just...sitting. Just staring. Hermione, setting the festivities aside, had gone into the room to be with him, to talk to him should he want to say anything. He'd acknowledged her presence with a subtle grunt, but he said nothing to her. He left Hermione to conclude that he'd seen something, been somewhere, like the In Between Place C.S. Lewis had written of, or maybe someplace more spectacular, or just mysterious and strange, in the seconds he'd been gone.

Harry never confirmed this. He never discussed where he went for those seconds, not with anyone, or at least that was what Hermione believed.

Her musings were cut short by the penetration of two new voices. She broke her eyes away from Harry and noted that Doctor Simon and Clarice Starling had entered the room. Hermione wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood to face them.

Doctor Simon seemed unsettled, and Hermione was glad. Doctor Simon, like countless others, presumed that Harry was delusional and had created Leucosia as some kind of defensive mechanism. Hermione couldn't muster much sympathy for the man.

Clarice, on the other hand, was clearly concerned. She dabbed at her teary eyes with a handkerchief as she sniffed and wept.

"What can we do?" Hermione asked, surprised by her steadiness.

Doctor Simon looked down at Harry and said, "He has to come out of this on his own."

"Yes," Hermione replied, "we were told that already. But there's got to be a way we can pull him out of it, right? There always is. So what are our options?"

Clarice cleared her throat to answer. "We can't bring him out of it, dear," she said gently.

Hermione wouldn't accept that answer. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because it's self-induced," Marc replied.

Hermione turned and scowled at him. "That's for the obvious," she said. "But that isn't good enough. There has to be a way, there just has to be. There is always some secret way, hidden in a spell book or something, that can get him out of this. There must be something we can do--"

"No, it's self-induced so it must be ended only by Harry. He has to pull himself out of this. We can't do anything for him," Marc said.

Hermione glowered at him. "Okay," she said. "So he'll bring himself out of it. We'll just wait here for him to wake up, right?" She looked to Clarice for this answer.

Clarice shook her head, as a few more tears slid down her wrinkled face. "No dear. He's not going to wake up."

Hermione stared at her accusingly. "What?" she snapped.

"Harry isn't going to wake up," Clarice said again. She dabbed her eyes again with her handkerchief then blew her nose.

"He has to," Hermione said, unknowingly balling her hands into fists.

"No he doesn't," Marc answered.

"Then what are you saying?" Hermione asked, daring them to tell her the truth.

Marc took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "What were saying," he began delicately, "what were saying is that within a few days, maybe more, maybe less, Harry's body will completely shut down. He cannot survive without water or food, and there is no way we can get him to take it, not like this. What I'm saying is that in a matter of days Harry will die."

Hermione watched Marc for a while, allowing the meaningless words to wash over her. How could a person die from sleeping a few days? Logic, however, slapped Hermione in the face. Marc was right. A human being can't go days without water. So was this how it would end? Harry was going to slowly deteriorate with each passing hour until his body could no longer sustain life. Would Harry's despair, his bitter sadness, his helplessness and loss lead him to death?

Hermione couldn't feel her knees. She knew Marc, Ron, and Clarice were staring at her, but she couldn't see their faces. Her vision, already blurred, gave out on her. In a matter of days, Harry will die. Harry will die. He'll die. Harry won't breath or talk or laugh or cry or eat or sleep or blink or yawn or play or love or smile or frown or yell or live...Harry will die. But he can't. This morning he was fine. He held me; he let me kiss him. He told me he was so afraid he'd lost me; he wore that look... that look that I've worn for him. If he knew everything would mend, that time heals all, if he knew he'd orphan his daughter...if he could possibly know how much we love him, how much he'd be missed, he couldn't leave. Dana needs him...if he only knew...

"Harry can't die," Hermione said feebly, only aware that she'd said it minutes later. "If he knew how much he's needed, he wouldn't do this. Harry's proactive; he's a fighter. He wouldn't give up unless he knew there was nothing worth fighting for."

"He knows he's needed," Clarice said from Harry's bedside. "He knows everything."

Hermione pivoted around to face her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Clarice smiled. "He knows he'll be missed," she said gently, stroking Harry's face with the back of her bony hand. "He knows that you and Ron cherish him. He knows that when he leaves here you and Ron will mourn him. And he doesn't want to fight anymore. I think," she whispered, "I think he's tired. He wants to let go."

Hermione shook her head violently. "We can't 'let him go,'" she replied.

"Harry isn't afraid of death," Clarice said. "He's willing to take hold of it. He's ready to leave."

Hermione scoffed. "Harry can't leave, I don't care if he's ready to or not. He's going to abandon and orphan his daughter because he doesn't want to live anymore? Well, I'm sorry, but that's not good enough." Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulder and shook him, trying to wake him up but knowing it was no good. "Did you hear that, Harry?" she asked him. "What about Dana? What about your little girl? Are you going to leave her behind? Are you? She won't have a father, Harry. She's lost her mother, and now she's losing you! Wake up!" she screamed, shaking him more violently than before but achieving the same result. "WAKE UP!"

Ron yanked Hermione away from Harry, but she wouldn't stop screaming even as Ron took her out of the room. "WAKE UP!" she hollered, her face red and shimmering with tears. "DON'T LEAVE US!" she cried, "HARRY!"

But Harry didn't flicker an eyelash.

*******

A steaming cup of tea balanced on Hermione's knee. She watched the bag sink to the bottom of the small cup; the brown waves flowed out of the bag and diluted into the water as she toyed with the string. Ron had been stirring his tea for the past five minutes. The clinking of the spoon on the cup echoed off the walls. Every now and then Hermione would clear her throat and say, "There must be a way," then she'd toy with her tea bag again. Ron would stop the clinking of his spoon to sigh, then would stir again.

"I don't think there is. I certainly can't think of anything," Marc said.

Clarice took a sip of her tea. "Nor I," she added.

Hermione put her tea on the coffee table. "But there's always a way," she said. "There's always something. Someone somewhere has to have a cure for this. Harry can't possibly be the first wizard to self-induce a coma."

Now Ron set his tea down. "We've checked all the books and records, but all of the past wizards died of thirst or hunger," Ron said.

"Well there's probably a case that isn't documented! And anyway, Harry's stronger than those wizards were," she said.

No one said anything to that. The fact that Harry was more powerful than the other wizards only added to the problem.

It had been ten long hours since Harry was brought home. In that time Harry's pulse slowed by one beat per minute and his temperature dropped half a centigrade. All three Healers had agreed that while the changes were slight, they were abnormal and dangerous.

After everyone finished their tea, Marc asked for everyone to get some much needed rest. Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to do that, knowing that Harry was down the hall, slowly dying. But trying to stay awake as everyone else slipped off into slumber, she found to be a chore. She decided to rest her eyes a bit... then she slid in the sofa so her head was nestled in the crook of the arm and the top cushion. She tried opening her eyes again, but was drawn into sleep...

She was walking, well, kind of gliding really, down the hall of Harry's flat. Ron was sleeping in his chair, Marc was reading a book, and Clarice was feeling around blindly. Hermione walked over to her and took her hand.

Clarice looked up into her face and smiled. "I see you now," she said then escorted Hermione to Harry's bedroom, where he lay in his bed. There was another man standing in the corner of Harry's bedroom. His head was bent so that his chin was on his chest. Clarice took Hermione to him. The man snapped his head up.

It was Harry.

"You broke me," he growled at her.

Hermione looked at the bed. Harry was in bed, in a coma... yet he was also standing here, talking to her.

"Playing the hero," he continued.

"I had to," Hermione said firmly.

"So do I," Harry said and he pulled a knife from his back trouser pocket, the knife Hermione had used to kill Audrey, and stabbed it in his heart.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Hermione yelled aloud, waking herself and the rest of her sleeping companions.

"What?" Ron asked, falling off the sofa in surprise.

Hermione gasped and shivered, clutching her chest and feeling her wet blouse. She'd been sweating. "It was only a nightmare," she sighed, letting herself fall back to the sofa. She could see the sun rising out one of the many windows. "Only a nightmare," she repeated to herself.

But Clarice hobbled over to sit beside her, took her hand, then squinted into Hermione's eyes. Hermione stared back into the old woman's cloudy blue eyes with as much interest as Clarice stared into hers.

"You spoke to him," Clarice said.

Hermione sat up and tensed her muscles. "How did you--"

"I saw him too."

"How? How is that possible?"

"Maybe he's reaching out to you," Clarice said. "It sounds as if he's searching for a reason to survive, and you have to give him one."

Hermione bit her lip and tried to remain calm. She didn't want to work herself into a frenzy over nothing. "Okay, I have plenty of reasons to give him, but how exactly do I go about telling him? He's in a coma and he can't hear a word I'm saying to him."

Then a new voice from the doorway of Harry's flat sounded the answer. "You could try using Starling as a telepathic link."

Hermione turned to see, once again, Ashika Narayan making her usual dramatic entrance with her know-it-all attitude and her braggadocios grin. She strode inside and nodded to Marc Simon, who was flabbergasted by her sudden appearance, shook Clarice's hand vigorously, then turned to Hermione and gave her a proud grin. "It's nice to see you alive and in one piece, Miss Granger. And I would also like to congratulate you for your courage to bring an end to Leucosia and her spells." Ashika cast a brief but scathing glance at Ron, then turned her attention to Hermione and Clarice.

Hermione was too curious about Narayan's idea to care about the comment regarding her courage. "You were saying?" she asked. "Something about using Clarice as a telepathic link?"

Ashika helped herself to some tea then sat down. "That's right."

"I don't understand," Hermione said.

"Well it's complicated, but I can make it real simple. Harry and Clarice share a link, a common trait."

"Telepathy," Hermione said.

"Right," Ashika said, then made a face when she drank her tea. She set it down on the table. "The reason you saw him in your dream is because Clarice is in close proximity to Harry, and it's been more than a few weeks since Harry had his regular dose of the spectareminure potion. His cerebrum is hyperactive, or so my Healer tells me. You see, Harry is in a coma, but only in the way that he's not communicating to us. His higher brain activities are functioning well above normal. Whatever Harry's thinking, he's thinking a lot about it and sending out signals. In doing so, his brain is ultra-sensitive to any kind of extrasensory stimuli. In your desperation to communicate to him, you subconsciously used Starling as a link, and it worked. More importantly Harry heard you and reached out."

Hermione tried to process everything Ashika was telling her. "But it was a nightmare. Harry stabbed himself."

"Well of course," Ashika said slowly. "You can't possibly expect sudden forgiveness."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"To put it in layman's terms, Harry was trying to get a rise out of you, trying to keep you away from him. Its conflicting information, but no one said anything about this making sense. In making you see his pain, Harry has made you feel guilty. He wants you to see where he's coming from. He wants you to stay away from him and let him die, but at the same time he's shown you a way, accidentally, to get to him."

Hermione scrunched her face. "Harry reached out to me but wants to make me feel guilty for killing Audrey?"

"Exactly. Big mistake on his part. Now you can get in."

There was a period of dead silence. Then Marc spoke for the first time.

"So how can you re-establish the link? If Hermione reached out on the subconscious level how can she communicate with Harry consciously?"

Ashika scoffed at him. "You have such a pathetic little mind," she said to him. "I really can't see the reason for your presence here, Simon. Are you here waiting to apologize to Harry on bended knee when he comes out of his wallowing self-pity?"

Marc was affronted. "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" he asked.

Ashika laughed. "More important and smarter than you are, and that's all you need to know. Now," she said, turning her attention back to Hermione and Clarice, ignoring Marc's strange throat noises and Ron's soft laughter, "in order to achieve a good link, Hermione must be in a controlled REM sleep. The only way to come out of it is to have Harry wake with you. The risk, therefore, is incredibly high."

Now Ron spoke in a high pitched and panicked voice. "So if Harry decides that he's going to ignore Hermione, she could die with him?"

"Right," Ashika said with little emotional flare.

Ron stood up and shook his head and his hands at the both of them. "No way, Hermione. You're not doing this."

Hermione stood, shakily at first, to meet Ron's eye. "I believe it's my choice Ron, not yours," she said.

"So I don't get a say in this? I'm not losing you again because Harry's feeling sorry for himself!"

"Don't try to make it that simple," Hermione replied. "He saw me murder Audrey, remember? He's traumatized, in your words. He loved her. How well would you react if you saw me murdered right before your eyes? Would you simply skip around and go about your day? Well, I hope not!"

"I wouldn't put myself into a coma. This is insane! Doesn't anyone think this is insane besides me? Harry did this to himself, why should you bail him out of this?" he asked her.

Ashika spoke before Hermione could. "Harry feels as if he's lost everyone. Why don't you tally it up yourself, Ron? Everyone Harry has loved everyone who's loved Harry, has died. Everyone. He even thought, for a time, that Hermione was gone. Now he's lost his wife."

"The first person he ever told he loved," Clarice mumbled.

"Exactly," Ashika went on. "This isn't about logic. It's too much for him to deal with. Try putting yourself in his place."

Ron crossed his arms. "I still don't want Hermione doing this alone."

"There's no other way," Hermione said.

"But if he tells you to sod off, you die with him!" Ron yelled. "I can't stand here and let that happen! I can't lose you twice, and I certainly can't lose both of you."

Ashika tried making Ron sit down, but he wouldn't have it.

"Ron," she said, "Harry won't let an innocent person die because of him, that's why it will work."

"You just said Harry's furious with Hermione for killing Audrey. He doesn't think she's innocent. To him, Hermione's the reason he's in a coma! Am I the only one who realizes that? If anyone goes it should be me. I've been friends with him just as long as Hermione has. No, longer! I was friends with him before she got herself locked in a lavatory with a troll!"

Ashika rested her hands on her hips and sighed. "We don't have time for this," she breathed. "Ron, yes you're right. Harry is upset with her. But he searched her out in Ithaca. Remember how torn he was when he thought Hermione was dead? He almost put himself into a coma then. He locked himself away and wouldn't see anyone, remember?" She turned to Hermione. "He's upset with you now, but one day he won't be. He was devastated, as was Ron, when he thought you were dead. One day he'll realize you had no choice-that you had to kill her. I promise you that. But it's up to you to make sure he lives to see that day."

Hermione locked eyes with Ashika and saw a desperation that matched her own. Ashika wanted Harry to live as much as she did. Everyone wanted him to live.

She could save Harry, but at a great risk to herself. What if he did decide to die? She would die as well, so young... But would he allow for it? Would he let her go for his sake? She'd known Harry thirteen years now and very much doubted Harry would let her die, no matter what she'd done to him.

Hermione twirled a lock of her hair as her mind skipped over all the reasons against it, but focused on all the right reasons to save him.

"Let me go," Ron said again. "Hermione's been through enough."

"No," Ashika said, quite seriously. "You can't."

"Why not?" Ron asked. "I'm just as capable."

"Many reasons," Ashika said. "First of all, Harry didn't reach to you. Secondly Hermione is, no offense, much smarter than you are and frankly, she'll be able to interpret symbolism faster than you. Harry's mind will present itself like a dream and will need quick interpretations."

Ron grinned. "Hermione quit divination where we discussed dreams. I'm more experienced than she is at this, so I should go, not her."

Ashika rolled her eyes and checked her wrist watch. "Ron, what does it mean when people have dreams about their teeth falling out?" she asked.

Ron furrowed his brow. "Huh?" he asked.

"I rest my case," Ashika said. She took Hermione by the elbow with one hand and Clarice by the other and escorted them into Harry's bedroom. In all this time, Clarice hadn't asked one question. She seemed to understand everything and was perfectly willing to go through with it.

Ashika shut the doors to Harry's room, closing it on Ron and Marc's curious faces. Once Hermione was sure that Ron couldn't hear her, she said, "I have no idea what it means when someone has a dream about their teeth falling out."

Ashika seemed unconcerned as she prepped the bed for the process. "No matter. You won't see much symbolism anyway. I can't have Ron do this, and we don't have the time for long explanations. You saw Harry in your dream, not Ron. If it had been reversed, he would've gone, but he didn't. Besides, you're quite a bit smarter than he is, and you have a better grasp on emotions. You'll need that."

Hermione nodded and wiped her sweaty hands on her shirt. "Okay," she said. Hermione watched Ashika arrange the bed without a word, but she was certainly feeling--

"Nervous?" Clarice finished with a smile.

Hermione tried swallowing but didn't have sufficient saliva. "A little," she admitted. "No, a lot."

Ashika turned Harry on his back and put his hands at his sides. Then she watched the strange monitor above his head, which Hermione suspected showed his brainwaves and heart beat. But she had to admit she didn't know a great deal about Healing, though she wouldn't admit that to anyone else.

Ashika then readied the other side of the bed by smoothing the sheets. She beckoned Hermione with a finger.

Hermione, with labored breathing, lay beside Harry and, upon instruction, took his cold hand. Clarice sat in a chair that Ashika provided and sat at the foot of the bed. She took several deep breaths and shut her eyes.

"Wait," Hermione said, sounding much calmer than she actually was, or wasn't. "Wait, I have no idea what I should be doing. Sorry Ashika, but your explanation was horrible. I know I'm supposed to convince Harry to come out of this, but I don't know how to do that. What should I expect? What will I see?"

This time Clarice spoke. "You'll have to find him first. I've seen in many minds myself, and when you penetrate into them, the minds organize. It's hard to explain. Most people's minds look like houses, castles, or just rooms leading to other rooms. Those doors will lead to sections of Harry's mind. But the way we're handling this, he can't see into your mind, only you can see in his. But other than that, we're not sure what you should expect. You just have to find him. He'll be behind a door. I can't tell you more than that."

Hermione lay her head down on the pillow. "So I'm going in blindly?"

"Basically," Ashika said. She withdrew a vial of green potion from her robes and handed it to Hermione. "This will put you into REM sleep but also provides you with the nutrients you'll need to survive this. I'm not sure how long it will take you. Time will be different there. What may seem like seconds to you could be minutes or hours here. Just don't panic." she said.

Right, don't panic. Yeah right.

Hermione took the vial but didn't drink it yet. Ashika took two round, purple amulets from her pockets. She stuck one on Hermione's forehead and the other on Harry's. "This will tell us when you link to him," she explained.

Hermione uncorked the vial, tried ignoring her nervous squirm in her stomach, and looked to Clarice, who nodded. Hermione took several deep breaths, her heart thudding against her ribcage, then drank the potion in one gulp.

Clarice and Ashika melted away. Then there was darkness. Yet Hermione knew it, and could see it. Black.

In the back of her mind, Hermione heard a faint whispering, a chanting, like someone was saying an incantation. It had a rhythm and kept repeating until Hermione saw a light. The whispering faded as the light brightened. Then Hermione was sure that she was standing. Standing. She was standing somewhere... a hallway... a strange hallway.

The wide hallway had black marble floors so shiny she could see her reflection. She had her own body! Hermione looked around her. The hallway walls were made of rich wooden panels, and the doors were not square, but arched and made of stone. The ceiling of Harry's mind was cloudy, like the ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

But what worried Hermione the most was the number of doors. They seemed to go on forever, both ahead of her and behind her. There had to be thousands and Harry was only behind one of them. But which one? It would take her years to search all of them, years Harry didn't have.

"Deep breaths," she told herself. She walked to a door on her right and gave it a go. She pushed it, twisted the knob, but it didn't budge. She frowned and tried another, but it too was locked. Hermione tried five more doors and nearly sobbed when none of them opened. She was just about to burst into tears when the door directly in front of her morphed from stone into a soft red curtain.

Hermione held her breath, reached out her hand and touched it, then pulled it aside and walked into the room that lay beyond it.

Inside was a round room, like an office. The walls looked to be made of crimson velvet. In the center of the room was a grand oak desk with a shiny top. Hermione walked around and noticed strange portraits on the wall, portraits of people Hermione had never seen. These people examined her skeptically and seemed just as interested in her as she was in them. But studying these photos led her nowhere, in fact, this room led her nowhere. Harry wasn't here and she had to find him before his time came to an end.

"Why if it isn't Florence Nightingale," said a warm voice from behind her.

Hermione whipped around to stare at a handsome man sitting on the desktop. He must have just come in, for he wasn't here when Hermione entered. He had thick, shiny black hair, a powerful square jaw, a chiseled face, and a proud beaming grin. Hermione had to blink in quick succession before looking at him again.

"S-Sirius?" she asked.

Sirius's grin, if possible, widened and he nodded at her. "I've been expecting you," he said kindly.

Hermione couldn't move. She stared at him skeptically but he laughed at her.

"Yes, it really is me, Hermione," he said.

Hermione found her voice. "But you're--"

"Dead?" he finished, his eyebrows raised.

"Well... yeah," Hermione said.

"You think being dead stops me from doing important things?" he asked her with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Doesn't it?" she asked. She wasn't sure she should believe this image or to run from it. But Sirius was dead, had been for nine years. Yet here he stood, talking to her like he'd never left.

Sirius barked a laugh and walked to her. "Hermione," he said gently, "if you're going to succeed, you're going to have to believe in the extraordinary. I seem to remember Harry telling you and many others that he'd spoken to me."

Hermione reached out her hand and pushed his shoulder. It was warm and solid. He grinned and took her hands.

"Sirius," she said and she felt her tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn't restrain herself any longer and before she knew it, she was hugging him and didn't want to let go. "Sirius, Harry needs help," she cried. "Audrey tricked him into loving her, and I--"

"I know," Sirius said and he pulled here away from him, but he still clutched her shoulders. "We know what's happened."

"We?" she asked.

Sirius nodded to all the portraits in the room.

"The dead?" she asked.

Sirius nodded again and regarded her with a friendly smile. "Harry asked me who had stabbed him and why. I couldn't tell him the truth, but I gave him a few hints. The thing is, Harry already suspected Audrey. Well," he corrected himself, "he knew there was more to her than met his eye. He knew she was special in a way he couldn't understand. There was something about her, something mysterious. You couldn't sense it. No one sensed it but Harry. She did that purposefully. But he knew something was different about her and he wasn't surprised to find out that she was his enemy in a fitting disguise."

Hermione stared at him. "Then what did you tell him?"

He grinned again, but pensively. "I told him things that would help him cope. I'm not allowed to alter people's lives, only to keep them on the right track. I gave Harry three pieces of advice that he will need in the coming weeks and months, even years, after he learned the truth of Audrey. He thinks he's solved the riddles, and in some ways he has. They affirmed the truth, but one riddle, mine, still isn't adding up. I know how confusing this is for you," he said when he noticed her frown, "but those words are for Harry alone. I can't give them to you."

Hermione sighed a bit but not from relief. "I thought Harry was crazy when he said he'd seen you. He was on a lot of medication."

Sirius laughed again. "Oh Hermione," he said. "Harry has never been more sincere in his life than he was at that very moment. He meant every word he said to everyone. Sure he sounded a little, should I say, befuddled? But Harry meant everything. He did talk to me. What he said to you and to everyone else was the truth. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" he asked with warmth in his eyes that he'd never had in life.

Hermione recalled what Harry had said to her as he lay in that hospital bed. But she'd thought maybe he was only being polite. What was he supposed to tell her after she'd told him that?

"Only the truth," Sirius said again. "I need for you to remember that."

Hermione raised her moist eyes to meet his. "Harry said he loved me."

"He does," Sirius said warmly. "He really does."

Hermione swallowed as he lips trembled and formed a sad smile. "He loved Audrey more than he ever loved me," she said. She didn't know why she said it, but she felt compelled to tell someone her girlish and childish thought.

Sirius tilt his head to one side and sighed. "And why do you think that?"

Hermione heard herself laughing. "He married her. Audrey was right about so many things. She saw Harry as he was. She saw his bad and his good. I can't see that. She said I didn't want to, and she was right. She said Harry was a murderer."

Sirius took a deep breath and rested his hands on his hips. "Audrey had a few good points; that's for sure. But you see Harry's good, and Audrey only saw his bad. We all have a bad streak. I tried to kill Snape when I was sixteen. I tried taking revenge on Peter Pettigrew, but Harry stopped me. Do my actions make me evil to the core? Did you or Harry and Ron focus on my dangerous flaws?" He went on before Hermione could answer. "Harry's had it rough, and while it doesn't excuse some of the things he's done, it explains them. You'll find how rough Harry's had it in a few moments. He's never had a break, and he probably never will. He has to work hard for everything, and it's tiring. He's had to persevere and hope that tomorrow would be better than today, and it rarely is. I don't have time for speeches, but Harry has had an exceptionally hard life, and the appearance of Audrey suddenly made it easier. It doesn't seem like it would, but to Harry it did."

"He killed four people just the other day," Hermione mumbled, hoping Sirius could explain that away.

"Yes I know. He killed them to protect himself, as they attacked him. Audrey didn't mention that. But we don't have a lot of time, Hermione. You need to know that Harry has an enormous capability to care for people and just as much capability to pretend that he doesn't. Harry loves you and Ron and always will. You were there for him when no one else was, me included. You, Hermione, never doubted him, not once. Even when things got rough and he hurt you, you still believed in him. You're the only person who's stood up to him and asked him to think things through, but you've never thrown it back in his face when he didn't listen to you, and it turned out horribly wrong.

"Your love for him isn't self-serving, and he knows that. Promise me that whatever you see, you'll remember it."

Hermione crossed her arms and nodded. "Okay. But how do I find him? What do I have to do, and what will I see?"

Sirius backed away from her, preparing to depart. "Memories Harry is reliving. He's drowning himself in them. He's behind one of those doors. In order to break him out of this trance, you must convince him to live."

"But," she said as Sirius began to dematerialize, "the doors are locked!"

Sirius smiled as he faded away. "This is Harry's mind, Hermione. Do whatever he would do." And then he vanished without a goodbye. Hermione stood alone in the office with the pictures of the dead. She looked around at them as if they could offer some kind of clue. How was she supposed to get into those locked doors?

She left the office and found herself in the hallway. What would Harry do if he came to a door he couldn't open but needed to get into? That's easy she thought. He'd break through it. Hermione took a deep breath and backed across the hall to one door, then ran all the way across to another, throwing herself at it to break it open.

Miraculously it did open.

Now Hermione stood not in the hallway, but in a house she'd never seen. Immediately to her right was a flight of stairs. In front of her was a short walkway which seemed to lead to the kitchen. This wasn't Audrey's house and it wasn't Harry's flat. Perhaps it belonged to one of Harry's girlfriends?

She heard laughter and a ripping sound. She walked forward and saw a family room to her left, complete with a family of three. The Dursleys.

Petunia sat on the ground and watched her plump son unwrap a toy fire-truck. He had to be no more than five. Vernon was beside himself with glee, taking pictures of the fat blond boy opening another gift.

Hermione stared around. If this was Harry's memory, then he should be here somewhere... There were photos of Dudley and his parents everywhere, but not a sign of little Harry. It was Christmas morning, where was the other boy?

She searched the rest of the family room then the kitchen. No Harry. She ran up the stairs and searched the upstairs rooms. No Harry. Stumped, Hermione came back down the stairs and nearly left the house when she noticed tiny fingers pushing open the cupboard door under the stairs...

Hermione frowned but waited. Sure enough those fingers were followed by a hand, an arm, shoulders and the body of a tiny boy, short even for a five-year old. He had messy black hair, wore clothes that were much too big for him, and had round glasses that slipped down his nose.

Little Harry didn't go into the family room. He stood by the cupboard door and watched the Dursleys have their Christmas morning. Dudley had just unwrapped a toy ambulance, which made real siren noises, and the light rack lit up. Hermione walked over to Harry and knelt down to get a better look at him. He didn't notice her, and Hermione didn't expect him to. It was his memory, and Hermione certainly wasn't part of it. Harry's eyes were red on the edges and appeared tired; maybe he'd just woken up. There was his lightning bolt scar under his bushy hair, which Hermione hadn't seen since it healed the night Harry came back to life when he was seventeen.

Suddenly, little Harry made an about face and went back into the cupboard, closing the door quietly behind him. Hermione tried opening the cupboard but found that her hand went right through the solid object. She slipped inside and found Harry lying face down on a small cot. In the corners of this cramped space were spider webs. Harry's clothes, the few that he had, lay in a neat pile at the foot of the cot, and the rest of his meager belongings sat beside them.

Hermione wanted to touch Harry, but her hand went through him too. She leaned closer to him. She could hear small whining noises; he was crying, but so quietly that he wouldn't disturb the family outside of his dark space.

"Harry," she said, knowing he couldn't hear her. Then he dissolved, along with the room.

She was in the hallway again, faced with an infinite number of doors. She walked to another door as she wiped a few tears from her eyes. In all the years she'd known him, Harry had never said he'd lived in a cupboard. She wondered how long he'd lived in it, only she didn't have the time to wonder.

She decided to try the door directly across from the one she'd just visited. She ran at it and rammed it open, just like the first. She was once more inside the Dursley's home.

But this scene was quite different from the one previous. Petunia and Dudley Dursley were not in her view...

Harry was cornered against his cupboard and being screamed at by Vernon, whose face was red and swollen with sheer ferocity. Harry was taller than in the last memory, but not much. He looked to be seven or eight years old.

"I clearly remember telling you that you weren't allowed--"

"But I wasn't there!" Harry contested.

"Don't you dare interrupt me!" Vernon said, raising his finger at Harry. "You follow my rules, or I'll kick you out of this house, you ungrateful wastrel! I told you to not to go there and, you didn't listen to me! You're to stay in that cupboard for a week, do you hear me?" he growled.

"Dudley said I went, but I didn't go! He's a liar!" Harry yelled back, and Hermione found herself cheering for him, just before Vernon raised his balled fist and struck Harry across the face.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth, as if she could be heard. Harry started to push himself off the floor when Vernon grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and literally threw him into the cupboard, then locked it. "Don't you ever call Dudley a liar!" Vernon yelled. Then Vernon stormed off in towering rage.

Hermione closed her eyes. She didn't want to see Harry abused like this, she didn't want to know that he'd lived this life. She knew the Dursley's were horrid people, but this? Harry never said anything about it... Yes he did. You just thought he was joking... "You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle. Good sense of when to duck, more like..."

Hermione opened her tear-filled eyes to find herself, yet again, in the hallway of Harry's memories. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, but found they wouldn't go away. Hermione took a turn left and walked for a while, hoping to find Harry's more recent memories where perhaps he was visiting.

She tried not to think about what she'd seen, but found that idea hard. It was easier to put aside when she came to a few special doors, special because not only were they locked, but they had chains across them with padlocks. Extra protection against her. She had no idea what lay beyond them, but figured that, if they were locked so tightly, maybe Harry was behind one of them, wanting solitude. Harry had to know by now that Hermione was sneaking around in his mind. Wouldn't he try protecting himself from her?

Hermione pulled the chain but it didn't budge (not surprisingly). "I can't get in!" she yelled. Maybe Clarice would hear her and give her some advice, but none came.

Hermione yanked on the chain and braced herself against the wall, her feet helping her push. But it wouldn't budge. "COME ON!" she grunted as she tried with all her might. She gave one final pull and the chain snapped. She stumbled to the floor but quickly pulled herself up. Making a mental note that it was not her physical strength but her determination that snapped the chain, Hermione rammed into the door and opened it.

Nothing could've prepared her for what she saw.

The fact was that this wasn't Harry's memory, it was hers. Only it wasn't a memory, as it never happened. No, this was a vision, a fantasy she'd had a little over a year ago when Harry had come to her office for lunch. She remembered having it because at the time the fantasy came to her, she'd been talking to Harry. It had been so embarrassing! She was too good, too moral of a person to be having a fantasy like this one.

The fact that Harry could see Hermione's fantasy and kept it locked under chain in his mind made Hermione want to vomit.

Hermione was staring at herself and Harry... they were in Hermione's office at Sparks Publishing... but she wasn't working and they certainly weren't having a nice lunch. Hermione was pinned down on her desk, which had been cleared of all its contents by Harry. His shirt was open and he was kissing her while unbuttoning her blouse

Real time Hermione wanted to look away from this fantasy, but she seemed compelled to stare at it.

Now Harry's hands were pulling up Hermione's skirt, while his eyes were fixed on hers. Then (if only she could pull her eyes away and run from this room!) he started to settle himself over her hips.

"Hermione," he said in a very sexy voice, looking adoringly into her eyes.

"Yes, Harry?" she asked from beneath him.

"I love you," he said. "I've loved you for years but I've never been strong enough to tell you."

"Oh Harry," she said with a smile, and she kissed him with all the passion she could muster. "I love you."

Real time Hermione felt like puking.

Fantasy Harry grinned and kissed her neck as Fantasy Hermione gasped. Real Time Hermione couldn't watch any longer. She knew how the rest of it played out, and she didn't want to see it, it was too embarrassing knowing Harry had seen it! Hermione turned around and ran out the door before she saw her fantasy self and Harry having sex on her office desk.

She slammed the door behind her and would've locked the door herself, but it locked automatically. Hermione slid to the floor, clutching her heart which raced from mortification. Suddenly she felt a surge of anger toward Harry. That was her fantasy, and he wasn't allowed to see it! How dare he snoop around her mind and find her kinky secrets! And it wasn't as if she could control that. She'd been in her office with Harry having lunch, and he'd looked so good and handsome that the fantasy just came to her. She didn't know he could see it as well. Why didn't he say something about it? Of course, what would he say? "So Hermione, I know about that secret desire you have about me shagging you senseless...?" Maybe not.

She was a mature young woman, and it wasn't unheard of to have sexual desires. She was allowed to have them, and it wasn't going to stop her from saving Harry.

She took a few deep breaths and tried desperately to forgive Harry for seeing that. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he hadn't learned to control his telepathy enough to block it out...

Hermione stood again and began down the hall. She didn't have time to hate Harry, she had to find him, convince him to live, and save him, damn it. She decided, however, to not bust her way into a door with an extra lock on it again. She didn't trust her own brain.

**********

Ron paced Harry's flat balcony and tried to see into Harry's bedroom from the outside windows, but they were still blockaded with curtains.

"She'll do fine," Marc said to him as he handed Ron a glass of ice tea.

"I wish I could see..." said Ron. "I wish they'd tell us what's going on!" Ron stomped back into the flat and went to pound on the bedroom door when Ashika stormed out of the room like she was on a mission.

"What's happening in there?" Ron demanded.

Ashika walked to the kitchen and picked up a bowl and a cloth. "She hasn't found Harry yet," she said. "Her temperature is rising, and his is dropping. Do me a favor and falcon the Healers. I'm not sure how to stabilize Hermione or Harry."

"Can you break the connection?" Marc asked.

"That would kill them," she replied. She filled the bowl with cool water and grabbed her cloth and started for the bedroom.

"Can I help?" Ron asked, trying and failing to sound calm.

"Yes. Falcon my Healer. She's on the sofa. Just tell her to get help, and she'll know what to do."

Ron walked back to the living room and saw an elegant falcon perched on the sofa, looking curiously at him with round yellow eyes. "Uh," Ron said, but urgently, "get the Healer here?"

The falcon launched off the sofa and flew around the room then slipped into a whirling vortex that it seemed to create and was gone. Ron thought it would take a few hours before the Healer arrived, but it only took a matter of seconds. The Healer came to the door and let herself in, then allowed Ron to escort her to the bedroom. Ron saw Harry and Hermione sprawled out on the bed briefly before the door was shut; a strange white beam connected their heads.

"What's happening?" the Healer asked.

Ashika took her to Hermione and Harry. "Every degree she gains he loses. We're trying to bring him out of this coma by convincing him. Hermione agreed to link telepathically with Starling as the conduit. So far Hermione hasn't found him. Each hour that they're unconscious she heats up, and he cools down. Is there a way to stabilize them without breaking the link, which could kill them?"

The Healer studied Hermione's red, wet face then at Harry's sheet white face.

"I'm not sure," she said. She gathered more blankets and piled them over Harry and encouraged Ashika to damp Hermione's face with a wet cloth, like she'd been doing. "The sooner she gets him out of that coma the better. But the longer they go the hotter she'll get. If she breaks a certain temperature, she'll burn out. Can you determine their status?"

Ashika pointed to Clarice, who also had a white beam shooting out of her head that was connected to Hermione and Harry's beam, forming a very wavy 'T'. Clarice's eyes were shut, but she was weeping.

"I have no idea, but I think Clarice sees what Hermione sees. It's been hours since we started this, but I'm losing hope. Harry really doesn't want to be found."

The Healer put her hand on Ashika's shoulder. "How did you come up with this idea?" she asked.

Ashika sighed. "Someone rescued me from this same fate."

**********

Hermione had been through thirteen more doors but hadn't found Harry yet. If anything she was losing hope and was beginning to see Harry's attitude toward life. The door she had just been in lead to Sirius's murder, which Harry had also witnessed. Before that Hermione saw Voldemort rise again and torture Harry, and three doors prior to that Hermione saw a Dementor leering at Harry and Sirius. But she wouldn't give him up yet. Somewhere down this hall of memories past, Harry was watching and waiting for death.

She blast her way into another door, this memory appeared to be more recent. She was in Harry's darkened flat so it had to be post-Hogwarts. It was clearly late at night and there was no light in the room. Hermione searched for Harry.

He was huddled in a corner, his legs held to his chest, his head on his knees. Hermione stopped and decided ten feet from him was close enough. She looked down on him and couldn't control her own tears as she watched twenty year-old Harry sobbing uncontrollably. Hermione had never seen Harry cry, not even in the past few doors. She knew he probably did, but she'd never seen him do it. Yet here he was. In his flat alone, crying. He wasn't even trying to stop. And quite suddenly a voice filled Hermione's ears, maybe even the room..."Remember how you would go to your flat in London and huddle in a dark corner and cry?" Audrey's voice sounded. "No one noticed. No one saw how miserable you really were. Hermione had her family to go to during the holidays. Ron did as well. So you were left alone, again. You had saved them, Harry. You were the hero of the world. But you were twenty years old and completely and totally alone in the world, the world you saved. That's when you tried something you hadn't attempted in many years. You prayed, Harry. You didn't even know that's what you did. You pleaded into the night to be happy. You prayed for me."

Hermione remembered. It was the Christmas of 2000. She went to Milan with her parents to enjoy the holiday and Ron took a trip with Fred, George, and Charlie to New Zealand. Harry had said he was spending the holidays with his friends from Auror training when Hermione had told him her plans. She believed him. Now, though, she could see that Harry had lied so Hermione wouldn't feel guilty about having a good time.

And so Harry, alone and hero of the world, sat huddled like a scared child, like the child he once was, and spent Christmas in a dark, empty, and cold room with no one to see him, no one to hear him.

Hermione took a few steps closer and saw Harry mouthing something. She got even closer.

"Please," he whined quietly, tears streaming down his face, "I don't want to be alone any more." He sniffed loudly and wiped his face, but the tears didn't stop flowing. "I don't wanna be alone anymore. I don't want to be alone," he whimpered over and over again.

Hermione didn't realize she was crying with him. "We were here," she said despite the fact that Harry couldn't hear her. "You should've told us," she cried back. "Why didn't you tell us, Harry?"

She turned and ran out of this memory. She couldn't stand it any longer. She didn't want to see how miserable a life her best friend had led. She didn't want to see any of it. But she didn't want to lose him to death either...

Hermione sprint down the hall of memories past, hoping to pass years of horrid memories to find a happy one. Maybe Harry was reliving his happy memories before dying.

Suddenly a door opened on its own. Hermione slid to a stop and ran into it.

Christmas again. But Harry wasn't alone.

He was throwing tinsel on a tall Christmas tree, but he wasn't in his London flat, and he wasn't on Privet drive. No, he was in his twenties, so this was a very recent memory, perhaps within the past couple of years.

A woman passed Hermione. Audrey. Audrey wore a red silk dress that shined as she walked gracefully toward Harry, who heard her coming and turned around to beam at her.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi back," she replied with a smile. She brushed tinsel out of his hair then kissed him, a private, longing, kiss of true love, suitable for the movies. "Looks good," she said, looking at Harry but referring to the tree.

Harry blushed a little but kept grinning at her. "I'm not sure I like it," he said with a shrug.

From behind the tree came Dana, who was much shorter and rounder than she was now. This Dana had to be two years old, or around that age. Her dimpled smile made Harry laugh and she hugged Harry's leg. He hesitated before picking her up. He kissed her cheeks and made her laugh. But Dana yawned and leaned her head on Harry's shoulder and rested her eyes.

"She's attached to you," Audrey said, winding one arm around Harry's back, and the other caressing her daughter's face.

Harry grinned again then grabbed Audrey around the waist with his free hand. Audrey laughed then kissed Harry with a hungry passion that he matched.

"I love you," she said to him when she pulled back to look into his eyes. Even from a distance Hermione could read utmost sincerity in Audrey's dark eyes and soft voice.

Harry laughed and said, "Awww."

"It's polite to return the affection, you know," Audrey said with a wink.

Harry sobered and brushed hair out of her eyes. "I love you, Audrey," he said.

Hermione felt her stomach lurch at the sight of them. Harry couldn't stop smiling at Audrey and wouldn't let go of Dana. He looked blissful. Completely blissful, without a care or concern in the world. His complete happiness looked strange on his face, as it was rarely there.

After all Hermione had seen from this man's life, this was the saddest memory. Harry deserved this life, and he should've had it permanently. Hermione's anger for Audrey flared up again. How dare she dangle this in front of him and yank it away. He wanted this life; he wanted it terribly, more than he'd ever wanted anything. Audrey trapped him with it; she ensnared him and tainted this wonderful life with evil. Harry worked so hard for this life, the life he deserved, but it wasn't real.

The memory dissolved and the door opened for her. She walked back into the hall and saw another open door across the hall. Like before, she went inside.

Hermione was standing in a small room, a formal room, with certificates and awards and plaques on the wall. And up ahead of her were four people. A man she didn't know wearing formal attire. He held a book, wore a smile, and read to the two people standing before him, facing each other.

Harry held Audrey's hands in his, and held her gaze in his eyes. Dana was skipping around the three of them, wearing a pink gown and a silver tiara.

"And will you, Harry James Potter, take Audrey to be your wife? To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" the stranger asked.

Harry took a deep breath and smiled nervously but said firmly, "I will."

So Hermione was watching Harry's small wedding. Harry pulled a ring from his pocket and slipped it on Audrey's finger. Audrey had already put Harry's on.

The man marrying them smiled and continued on. "With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Harry," he said with a grin, "you can kiss her now."

Harry smiled and didn't hesitate. He met Audrey halfway and kissed her delicately, as if she were made of glass; like she was precious.

"Yay!" Dana yelled and ran at Harry and her mother. Harry laughed and lifted her up into the air and spun her around before kissing her.

Audrey couldn't stop grinning as she looked at Harry, and he wouldn't pull his eyes away from her. His smile was so magnetic and powerful when he was this happy, Hermione saw that now. This was how Harry should always be. When he smiled like that, all of his suffering melted away.

"We're married," he said to his brand new wife, the woman who would betray him and dash his heart onto shards of glass.

Audrey nodded and hugged him the way Hermione had done just before confronting Audrey with the truth.

Hermione didn't cry, though she had in most of Harry's memories. Instead she felt something deep down in her gut, but it wasn't anger, it wasn't sadness, it wasn't jealousy. She wanted, more than she wanted anything, for Harry to have this again. She wanted him to smile like he smiled now. Whatever it was, whatever would bring that boyish grin back to his face, Hermione would get it. It didn't matter what it would take, she would make it so. If Harry saw a woman that made him grin like that, Hermione would do whatever she could to get her for him.

But she had to find him first.

********

Ashika had allowed Ron and Marc to come in the room with them. Ron cooled Hermione's face with an icepack. Her cheeks had flushed pink a few hours ago and now her entire face was red and oozing sweat. Every now and then Hermione would mutter something, but it was so incoherent no one understood her.

Harry, on the other hand, shivered. The Healer had brought in special blankets with heating pads, which attempted to bring Harry's temperature up. The blankets may have helped a little, but his temperature still dropped. They were failing. Harry's skin was so white it was nearly translucent. His face had turned green and was now becoming blue.

The monitor above his head showed a dropped temperature and a slower pulse. His brain waves were still functioning, but they too were dropping.

Ron took Hermione's free hand and looked back at Clarice Starling, whose face was screwed up in determination.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron whispered. "You've got to hurry."

*********

If there was an order to these memories, then that meant there was an end to them. If she started in Harry's early years and she'd just seen him marry Audrey, then Harry's memories came to an end. Memories weren't infinite. He was only twenty-four and there had to be an end.

Hermione sprinted down the hall passing door after door, many of which opened for her as she ran. But she was onto Harry now. He wanted to distract her so she couldn't find him. Well, if Hermione was anything, it was clever, and Harry wasn't going to outsmart her now, even if she was in his mind, playing by his rules.

Suddenly the wooden hallway morphed into black. Hermione slowed to a jog but kept running. But a curious creature intercepted her and blocked her path.

A hippogriff. Buckbeak.

Hermione came to a halt. Buckbeak came at her. He screamed at her, thrust his magnificent head toward her, sharp beak open and ready. He spread his wings and reared at her.

"He's not real," Hermione told herself, but bowed none the less. "I'm getting close."

Buckbeak, however, was not interested in diplomacy. Hermione heard him canter toward her. She leapt out of her bow and dodged him. She wasn't going to let him chase her away, not when she was this close. Buckbeak reared, spread his wings, and slashed at her with his talons. Hermione screamed but she was able to evade him and managed to skirt past him and run. Buckbeak chased after her, and a spine-chilling screech followed the sound of his clattering hooves and scraping talons on the ground.

Hermione ran as fast as her dream body could run. Up ahead was a solid black door. The door leading to the Department of Mysteries.

Buckbeak was closing in on her, but she was determined to stop Harry. She ran to the door, smashed into it, and fell into the circular room of the Department of Mysteries. There were twelve doors here and Hermione wondered which one led to the right chamber.

She knew she didn't have much time, she knew Buckbeak might be close behind her, but she couldn't help but wonder which door to take. Hoping she made the right choice, Hermione ran at the door directly opposite the one she'd just come through.

And now she stood in a dimly lit rectangular room which she'd been before. At fist glance it looked much like a medieval amphitheater with cold stone benches surrounding the center of the room, which sunk down.

In the center was a raised platform on which stood an ancient archway, held neither by walls or the ceiling. Hanging from that archway was a tattered, worn, old veil of the darkest black. It fluttered peacefully, as if waving at her with welcoming intentions.

Hermione walked down toward the archway.

Harry sat on a bench close to the veil, his hands in his lap, his head facing his hands.

"You shouldn't have come, Hermione," he said to her solemnly. He didn't face her even though she sat beside him.

"I had to come," she told him. "Harry, we have to get out of here."

Harry smiled to himself, but not the smile she'd seen when he married Audrey; this was a haunting, sinister smile. "You're right," he said.

Hermione felt a chill. Harry lifted his head and looked at the fluttering veil. "I should've gone through already," he said.

Hermione watched the veil sway tranquilly though there wasn't any breeze. "You can't, Harry. It's not your time."

Harry turned to face her, still wearing that sick smile. He laughed softly and said, "No it's not. My time was years ago."

"No it wasn't," Hermione argued. They didn't have time for this. As they spoke, Harry slid towards to the veil... as time passed Harry got closer to the veil. She noticed that she was sliding with him. "Harry," she said, trying to ignore this new development, "you have to live. You're not ready yet." Why weren't the right words coming to her? She sounded like a babbling idiot!

Harry turned to the veil again, pointing at it casually. "I've seen the other side, you know. I should've gone through when I had the chance, when I had the choice." He sighed and shook his head. "It's so peaceful. Damn is it peaceful."

Hermione felt her lip tremble. "What about Dana?" she asked him. "Are you just going to orphan her? You're just going to leave her behind without a father or a mother? You're going to do to her what Voldemort did to you?" she asked.

Harry laughed cruelly. "And why doesn't she have a mother Hermione?" he asked, snapping his head around to glare at her. "Audrey was my responsibility, not yours," he hissed.

"We don't have time for this, Harry. I'm sorry I killed her; I really am. It wasn't what I wanted to do, and it wasn't what I wanted for you. But you were going to join her; I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let you become part of her, to be evil like she was. I had to think about everyone else, not you."

Harry stood and clenched his fists, shaking them at her. "That was my choice! Not yours. Stop meddling in my life. This is my life, and I can do with it what I want!"

"No you can't," she said. "You're not thinking clearly Harry. You've lost Audrey--"

"Don't make it sound like it was a tragic accident!" he said acidly. "You killed her. She's dead because of you. How did it make you feel, Hermione? Did you feel powerful? Did it make you feel good? It's such an interesting feeling, isn't it, ending a life. Did you enjoy it? Would you do it again if you could?" he asked her, his face red, his eyes full of trapped tears.

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said. "I didn't enjoy it. I had to do it, Harry. She was corrupting you."

Harry laughed now, though his eyes were still brimming with tears, his eyes looking greener, if that was possible. "Corrupting me? She was right about everything, Hermione. Everything! I enjoyed killing those men. I enjoyed slaying them."

"I don't believe you," she said. She tried ignoring their closing proximity to the black veil.

"That's because you're naïve and lack the proper intelligence. Books are all well and good, but you can't read me. You didn't want to see how I killed them, did you? You wouldn't walk into that door, would you? But it's there if you want to go back. It's still open," he said with a hateful smirk.

"I know this is hard for you, but you can't leave your daughter. Audrey is dead, she's dead. I killed her because I had to. I saw that look in your eyes. You were going to go with her and would've done God only knows what with her. You knew it was wrong. Don't try to pretend that I was the sole perpetrator in this. It's over now," she said. "Leucosia is dead. Remember that's who it really was, Harry. Leucosia. The thing that put you through a new kind of hell! Are you going to run away, be a coward for the first time in your life, and leave your daughter behind? You're going to orphan her? What kind of father does that to his own little girl?" she yelled.

Harry stared into his eyes, his face strangely blank. He didn't answer right away. He squinted into her eyes as if trying to see what she was thinking. Finally he spoke. "I'm not her father."

"Of course you are," Hermione insisted, sounding rougher than she intended.

He shook his head at her. "No I'm not. Her father died years ago. Dana doesn't remember him and she sure won't remember me."

Hermione was dumbstruck. "Why are you saying this?" she asked shrilly.

"Because it's true," he replied. He didn't appear angry anymore, which was a step in the right direction, but now he was pensive and determined.

"Harry," Hermione said, trying to sound rational, "Dana loves you. Can't you see that? Can't you see that she adores you? And you love her back! What you're saying doesn't make sense."

"She's so young right now," he said, nodding to himself. "In a few years she won't remember me. She'll have images of me, I guess, but she won't remember who I was. And she'll be taken care of. She'll be cared for better than I could care for her."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione snapped. She looked at the veil in the corner of her eye, yet tried to remain focused on Harry.

"I thought you would've figured that out," he said. "Parenting is a learned skill. It's imprinted. I don't know how to raise a little girl. I don't know how to raise any child."

"Yes you do!" she screamed. "Dana loves you. She adores you, and she's worried sick about you. Harry how can you abandon her?"

"Hermione," Harry said with a tired sigh, "you think you know everything, but there are so many things you don't understand. She loved me, sure, when I had Audrey to help. But Audrey's gone. You killed her." Harry turned around and walked back to sit down on his bench. "I'm sure that, at some point in the future, I would've hurt Dana. And if I did, if I hurt her with my words or with my hand, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. And I know I would hurt her. She deserves a good life, one that I can't give her. I'm not a good father. I wasn't even a very good husband to Audrey. Domestic life was too hard for me." He forced a laugh. "How fucked up is that?"

Hermione saw the ground move beneath her feet. "You're a very good father," she said. "You won't hurt her because you love her too much. You have to come back with me. We'll help you with Dana. I'll help you, but you can't leave her. You have to see her live."

Hermione watched his face and saw a tear trickle down his face. "And watch her die?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, perplexed by his question.

"I can't out live her," he said, his voice raspy as he cried freely. "I don't want to out live her. I can't watch her leave me."

"Why do you assume--"

"Wake up, Hermione," he said to her, turning to her so that she could see his red face soaked with tears. "Everyone leaves me. Everyone I've loved. They're all gone. They always go before me, and I can't watch Dana die. I can't do it, and I won't. I won't survive my little girl!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she stared at him. So it wasn't solely about Audrey. He didn't want to watch Dana die. If he died now, he wouldn't ever have to see that. Hermione had to admit to herself that Harry's reasoning for this was well founded.

"Do you understand now?" he asked her. "You know why I have to go? This way I'll never have to bury my child. I'll never have to out live her. And I'm not afraid of death. It's peaceful. On the other side of that veil are people who loved me, but were taken from me. I want to go, Hermione. Please just let me go!"

Hermione raked her hands through her hair. She felt as if there were hands tightening around her throat. "Harry, I don't want to die."

"I never asked you to do this. I never asked you to rescue me," he said. "This was your choice, not mine. I'm ready for this, I have been for years."

"No," she said. "I can't let you do this. You have to come back with me; you have to watch Dana live. You have to love her. You can't leave her an orphan. What about Ron? What about your future, Dana's future? Don't you want to see that?"

"And I will from the other side," he said calmly.

Hermione wept soundlessly. "I don't want do die," she mumbled. "Please, Harry, I want to live! I want to live with you!"

Harry looked up her and gave her a strange smile. "Playing the hero isn't what it's cracked up to be, is it? I said already that I didn't ask for this. I have been ready for death for so long. I wasn't meant to live this long, can't you realize that? I was born to neutralize Voldemort, and I've done that. I wasn't meant to be a husband or a father." He smiled a little. "I was born to be a hero, and I was one. But I don't want to be anymore. I don't want to live anymore. I'm tired. I'm so tired of suffering. The moment I found true happiness, it was tainted with evil, I'll admit to that. Leucosia was evil, but I loved her so much. So you see, no matter where I go, evil follows me. I fell in love with it. How can I fight it? It's time someone else deal with it, not me."

"Harry, I--"

Harry continued quickly, noting how close they were to the veil. "I wanted you to be happy with a man who would treat you right. I know you've been wondering. I know what you've seen, Hermione. I know what you saw. And I've known for years, even before that, the way you really felt about me. It's the reason you're here now, isn't it?"

Hermione tried mustering a smile, but fond that her facial muscles weren't working properly. "Then why Audrey?" she asked. Not even Sirius would answer this question to her liking.
Harry sighed again. "Dear, pathetic Hermione," he said. "Haven't you guessed by now? I used to think you deserved the world. You deserved someone who would always make you smile and never make you cry. I'm afraid I did too much of the latter to you. And I'm sorry I did. I never wanted to hurt you, but I always managed it. And if I hurt you so bad, when I wanted to make you happy, could you imagine how Dana would turn out? It's more than that, Hermione. I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted you to have children and grandchildren and go out into the world with them. If you'd had me, you'd be afraid. You'd be a weapon for my enemies."

Hermione wiped her eyes. "Harry, Audrey was evil and I'm sorry that she was, but you have to come out of this. I'm sorry I had to kill her, but I saw you wanted to join her, and I couldn't let that happen. I had to think about the rest of the world. God, Harry, I wanted you to have her. I wanted you to be with her and be happy. I wanted to be wrong about her. I wanted to be jealous that she had you. I never wanted this for you! Please know that I wanted you to be happy. But you can't leave. You have to live for your daughter."

Harry angled his head so that he could watch the veil grow closer yet still see Hermione. "On the other side of that veil is peace. It's peace. I can finally know that everything is okay. No more suffering, no more pain, no more death, only joy."

Hermione fell to the floor. But she didn't feel any weaker like she expected, she felt stronger. "What's happening?" she asked him.

"I'm letting you go back," he said to her. "You're not ready yet."

"No," Hermione said, grabbing his knee. "I'm not going without you!"

"Then you're not going back. Listen to me and listen well. The hardest thing about this world is living in it. I've lived miraculously, cheating death, choosing against it, for twenty-four years and I'm done. My time has passed."

"NO!" Hermione howled. "Harry please, please come back with me! Think of Dana! This is stupid Harry, that's what this is. Don't be a coward. Please come back for Dana. You don't want to leave her, I know you don't. Killing yourself is not the way to prove your love for her. What will she think when she finds out you killed yourself because you didn't want to be with her?"

Harry frowned. "She won't think that," he said, but Hermione detected doubt in his voice.

"She will," Hermione said. "Someone will tell her what really happened. She'll ask because she'll remember you. She'll wonder where you went. What do we tell her, Harry? Do we say that you left her because you were so sick of life and miserable that you died? That you were terrified you'd lose her before she lost you? How will she react when she learns you didn't love her enough to live for her?"

Harry's frown became more pronounced. "No one will tell her that."

"You don't think the story will leak? Everyone will know what you did, Harry. Dana will find out eventually." Hermione shook her head and laughed. "You're going to orphan you're little girl because you're so selfish."

"Selfish?" he asked her. "I'm selfish? When have I been selfish? That saving people thing made me selfish, did it? Tell me Herm---wait. Wait, that reverse psychology won't work on me."

"You think I'm trying to trick you? You think I'm bluffing? Fine. What about it is false?" she asked.

The veil was now so close Hermione could feel the wind it was producing. A warm, welcoming wind.

Harry stared at her but didn't answer. "I came to save a life," Hermione growled. "You're too precious to die, Harry. Don't you want to watch Dana grow old? Don't you wish you'd had a father to teach you to play ball, to love you, to show you how to be a good father? Don't you wish Sirius could've seen you married and been there for you? Don't you wish you could've had Christmas with your family, with your mother and father? They were robbed from you. You suffered for all of us, but now you're going to make Dana suffer because you did? Dana lights up your life. I've seen how you are with her, Harry. She's your reason for living. Don't deny it. She's your light!" she cried. "Don't you want to see her in love and married? Don't you want to see her happy, to see her dance and sing?"

Harry's eyes moistened again.

"Harry there's suffering in life but there's so much good," she said, feeling that, for the first time, she was reaching him. "You can never stop living, Harry, not when you have Dana to live for. She's amazing. How can you possibly think of leaving her? There is no greater love than a parent for his child."

At that Harry cried again, like he'd heard those words before.

"Everyone can see how much you love her. She's your world, and you're going to give her up for death, for people who will always be behind that veil?"

Harry stood, and so did Hermione. The veil was inches away.

"It's too late, Hermione," he said.

"No it's not. You can wake up right now."

Harry shook his head and turned toward the veil. "No," he said. "I don't want to feel that way again."

"Audrey's death will pass from you," Hermione said firmly. "Take as long or as short a time as you like to mourn her passing and to hate me. I don't care. You have to take care of your little girl. You have to, Harry. Death will always be there," she said, half laughing. "Don't you want a life you're proud of before you die? You can't end like this, dying slowly in your bed, your daughter in the care of strangers. You have to go out fighting. You're a hero, remember? Heroes don't die like this, they don't wallow in self-pity, they take action. Take Dana and live!"

Harry turned to her, put his hands on her face and said, "Wake up."

The Death Chamber turned into a swirling haze. Hermione opened her eyes to see Ashika and Ron huddled over her, looking deathly worried. Clarice sagged in the distant chair, clearly relieved of her mental burden. Everyone was talking so fast, Ron crowded her, Ashika pelted her with questions, but she couldn't listen. She gripped Harry's hand and turned to watch his face. He wasn't waking up.

She squeezed his hand. "Come on," she whispered weakly. "Come on. Harry," she pleaded, but he wasn't waking up. His eyes, once so full of life, were dull. As she shook his hand his eyelids, to her horror, shut. "No," she said, shaking his hand though she didn't have the strength to make much of a difference. "No Harry. Come on. Come on. Come on, Harry." She tried shaking his entire body now. "Come on," she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of reality. "Harry, come on. HARRY!" she cried. "HARRY, NO!" she howled, unable to control her sobbing. "HARRY!"

She dropped down to his chest and shook him slightly, which was as much as she could do. But his body was cold, and Hermione wouldn't admit what she was thinking. She kept shaking him, sobbed into his neck, and stroked his hair with one of her hands. Harry wasn't moving...she couldn't hear him breathing. She'd failed. Harry had died because she had failed.

Her head rose steadily but she didn't move her neck.

Harry took a long deep breath then exhaled. Then he took another. Hermione sat up and took his hand again. "Breath!" she commanded. Everyone in the room held their breath as Harry took his.

Harry took another breath and slowly opened his eyes, which were brimming with tears. Hermione dropped down to the bed and held him, weeping tears of joy now, knowing that he was alive.

But Harry pried her arms off of him and pushed her away.

"Harry?"

Harry shook, and his face returned to a pale pink; the tears overflowed and dripped down the sides of his face. He didn't look at her, but rolled over to his side, then his stomach, his face in his pillow. Hermione went to touch him, but Clarice held her back.

"No," she whispered with the shake of her head.

Hermione could feel Harry's whole body shake as he wept into his pillow.

"I want to stay with him," Hermione said, yanking her hand out of Clarice's vice-like grip.

"No," Ashika said, then pulled Hermione away. "Leave him alone."

"He doesn't want to be alone!" Hermione yelled and tried to get back to Harry, but didn't have the strength to fight all of them. Ron, Ashika, and Clarice were dragging her away from Harry. She turned her head back and saw one of the Healers tending to Harry, who was sobbing into his pillow.

She was taken to the guest room and laid down on the soft bed. The Healers administrated potions and checked her vitals. They talked to each other about what was wrong with her and what she needed, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to listen.

Ron forced himself through the small crowd and sat down beside her on the bed. Hermione looked up at him and saw that his face was changing from green to its normal freckled hue. "You did it," he said weakly, then cleared his throat. "You did it," he said again, in case she didn't hear him the first time.

Hermione nodded to him. It was all she could do. Now that she knew Harry was alive, now that she knew Leucosia was no longer a threat, it was all she could do to stay awake.

"Hermione?" one of the Healers said. "I need you to rest. I need for you to sleep for as long as you'd like. Eight hours or more if you can manage."

Hermione nodded. She was sure she could sleep for at least eight hours. Though she was in a form of REM sleep, she had been so stressed and afraid she'd fail that it really couldn't count towards sleep or rest.

"Okay," she breathed.

Hermione shut her tired eyes. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been this tired. She heard Ron settle himself in a chair next to her, and she was so glad that he did. He could watch over her and keep her safe, from what she didn't know, but it was just the idea. With that last deep breath, Hermione nodded off.