Of All The Times...

            Hermione landed in the normally crowded waiting room at St. Mungo’s. She was on her back, and her trunk lay very close to her head, as if it had just missed hitting her, her hand still on it. She had barely begun to stand up when someone pulled her into a very tight hug.

“Oh, Hermione, dear, I’m so glad you came. Oh, how are you? Has your summer been alright?” cried Mrs. Weasley, as Hermione struggled for breathe.

          Molly Weasley held Hermione at an arm’s length. “My dear, you’ve been crying. Oh, hush now, it’s alright, love,” she said as Hermione looked down at the floor, blinking furiously. “C’mon, I’ll take you to see him.”

          She pointed her wand at the trunk, and muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa,” and levitated the trunk ahead of her, and it moved with Mrs. Weasley as she walked. She nodded to the welcome witch (a pleasant-looking brunette this time, Hermione noted), and she began walking towards a door at the far end of a hallway that was to the left of the Welcome Desk.

“Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione asked, puzzled, remembering the sign near the front desk. “Why are we on the ground floor? This is only for ‘Aftifact Accidents.’”

“Well, dear, they have a special ward for, er, certain kinds of well, injuries that are not caused by magic. It’s on the ground floor because it’s easy to get to.”

“Oh, ok,” replied Hermione softly, looking at the ground again. It’s easy to get to? What did she mean by that? Hermione wondered as she opened the door for Mrs. Weasley. They entered another corridor, this one filled with other doors, presumably filled with care wards.

          Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley, anxiety filling every particle of her being. She felt sick with worry, and could not understand why. When Ron was ever hurt, she never felt that way. Maybe she felt something different for Harry...

Stop it, she mentally chided herself. Ron and Harry are both your best friends, and you like them both the same, and equally. Hermione felt relieved that her logical, practical self had kicked into gear.

          They stooped in front of a red door, a plaque next to it reading “Celeste Divinieron Ward: Intensive Care Unit for Critical Muggle Wounds.” Hermione gave a small gasp. Intensive and critical...She knew Dumbledore had said that this might be her last chance to see him, but she hadn’t thought that...well, actually, she supposed that she just didn’t want to believe that Harry was in any real danger.

          Mrs. Weasley looked at Hermione, and lowered her trunk to the ground.

“Love, do you want to go in and see him first, or do you want me to explain what happened?”

          Hermione couldn’t wait any longer. The anxiety was really weighing down on her.

“I’d...I’d just like to see him first, please, Mrs. Weasley,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

          Mrs. Weasley nodded, and looked Hermione straight in the eye. For the first time, Hermione noticed the dark bags under her eyes, and also noticed how red her eyes were. Mrs. Weasley looked like she was just holding her tears in check.

          Hermione reached for the doorknob, and turned it, slowly opening the door. The ward was large, and had about ten beds on either side. No one occupied the room, except for a group of people crowded around the farthest bed on the left side. Hermione slowly walked towards them, slowly and apprehensively.

          Mrs. Weasley, who had been following her, gave a small cough, and everyone in the group jumped and turned around.

“Hermione is here,” said Mrs. Weasley, stating the obvious.

          Everyone stood up, making room for Hermione so that she could see Harry. When Hermione got her first glance, she gasped audibly. He looked horribly pale, and his scar shone brightly on his forehead, standing out from his almost paper-white skin.

          Hermione rushed to his side, not looking at anyone but Harry. She went to grab his hand, but stopped, her eyes staring, her and hovering a few inches from his arm. From his elbow to his wrist on each arm, there were long, deep, crimson red cuts. She looked at his face, and she felt a wave of despair wash over her. His face was contorted into a sort of painful grimace, and he didn’t look restful at all. He was propped up on a few pillows so that he was sitting up, and a few magical tubes attached to Self-Replenishing plastic pouches filled with dark looking liquids were stuck into his arm. 

          Hermione looked behind her, and saw everyone- the Weasley family, minus Percy, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Kingsley- looking at her.

“Wha-What hap-happened?” Hermione asked them, her voice shaking as she tried to hold back tears for the umpteenth time that night. She never remember when she had cried-or tried not to-so much.

          Everyone looked back at her, almost pityingly. Lupin got up from his chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hermione,” he said softly, leading her towards the end of the ward near the door. “I’ll explain over here.”

          Hermione sat down on a bed, and looked at lupin as he drew up a chair and sat down across from the bed. He pulled an envelope from his robe pocket, and placed it on his lap. He then looked at the wall, as if he was hoping that he could pull some strength from it.

“Hermione?” Lupin asked, looking at her straight in the eye. “Are ypu sure you want to hear this now?”

“Yes, sir.”

          Remus Lupin sighed, and Hermione saw that he looked incredibly tired, and looked almost...well, looked like he had lost one fo his best friends, again.

“Hermione...You know Harry tried to commit suicide, right?”

“Yes.” Hermione was getting a little impatient. Why was he avoiding telling her?

“Well...he had his reasons...many, in fact. But his main reason seemed to be...you.”