Je crois...

Je crois des miraclés...

Cheers erupted from half of the stadium as the Ravenclaw team walked onto the field. They kicked off the ground and began doing warm-up laps around the pitch. Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin section and noticed Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson slip in. Obviously, they'd just been somewhere and thrown off hoods in a great hurry, because their hair was a mess. She shook her head and returned to watching for the Gryffindor team.

It never came out. Professor McGonagall ran onto the field with a large purple megaphone. "This match has been cancelled," she announced.

There were boos from around the pitch. Students began filing back to the school, grumbling. Professor McGonagall grabbed Ron and Hermione. "Granger, Weasley, come with us, please."

"Us?" Hermione asked. "...Oh."

The Gryffindor team was following her as well--at least, most of it was. Hermione gave it a careful scrutiny. Someone was missing--but who?

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked, turning a little pale.

Fred, Ron's older brother, shrugged. "He never turned up." The whole team definitely looked worried.

Professor McGonagall led them to the hospital wing. "Now this may come as a bit of a shock," she said gently.

Ron gulped. He knew what was coming. The last time McGonagall had said that, it was when Hermione had been attacked. He had a feeling that they were about to find out why Harry wasn't there.

Lying on the bed was Harry, and he had never looked worse. He was lying on his stomach, covered with mud and burns. His neck, and most likely his back, was covered with long gashes and nearly round bruises. His glasses, broken into four pieces and covered in mud, were on the bedside table. He was clearly in pain, and definitely unconscious. And who knew how many other injuries he had, the ones they couldn't see, the ones that were inside?

"He was found at the base of the Whomping Willow, among the wreckage of a barrel," said Professor McGonagall. "Just a little while ago. Madame Pomfrey hasn't had time to assess total damage, but he's pretty bad."

Madame Pomfrey came over. "I was just getting ready to look him over," she said worriedly. "This is what comes of playing in barrels, though where the mud and burns and bruises on his neck came from I don't know."

She moved the blankets back, exposing his bloodstained, torn robes. Ever so gently, she removed them, but he still tensed up in pain. She pushed up his T-shirt to see his back, and everyone gasped. As with the neck, there were ellipsoid bruises and immense gashes, but there were also a few burns. Gently, with some magical equivalent of saline, Madame Pomfrey washed his back. She drew back when he tensed up from the touch, even though he was unconscious, and the gashes began to bleed again. She assured the team that this would help and continued. Then she stared at the washcloth.

"If I didn't know better," Madame Pomfrey said, staring at it still, "I'd say there were flecks of wood back here--almost as if he was hit with sticks. These bruises are almost certainly from stones--I recognise them. As for the rest of the assessment, I believe the burns may be from some kind of curse, or from hot coals. I'm not sure which. Either he was rolling around in the mud, or someone threw it at him, and he seems to be poisoned, so he may have eaten some of it by mistake or by force."

"Will he--" Hermione gulped, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. "Will he be all right?"

Madame Pomfrey said ten words that caused his best friend, his girlfriend, and most of his teammates to cry, and his captain to faint.

"There's nothing I can do. It would take a miracle."

Over the next few days and weeks, Hermione refused to leave Harry's bedside, even to eat or sleep. She simply sat there, day after day, holding Harry's hand gently and staring at him. Ron came in every day, and stayed with her as long as he could. The teachers, even Professor Snape, seemed to understand why Hermione wasn't in class. They took away no house points, assigned her no extra homework, and often came in between classes to ask how Harry was doing. On these occasions, Hermione would simply shake her head and continue to stare at Harry in shock. She hadn't spoken since the Quiddich match five weeks ago, barely ate or slept, and now it was approaching Christmas holidays. The day before vacation, there was a Hogsmeade visit. Rather than go, Ron went to the hospital wing to sit with Hermione and Harry. He knew he had to say something.

"Hermione," he began, "it's been five weeks and you haven't left Harry. You've barely eaten, you've barely slept, and you haven't said a word. Don't you think it's time to take a break?"

Hermione looked up at him. He recoiled from the look in her eyes. They said, plainer than if she had said the words herself, "If anything happens, I want to be here for him."

Ron nodded. "Well, if that's what you want, fine. I'll stay here as long as I can."

On Christmas Eve, the Weasley twins and Ginny, their little sister, stopped by as usual. "Is he any better?" asked Ginny nervously.

Ron shook his head glumly. The twins looked at one another, realising that Ron was getting to be like Hermione, then each put an arm around Ron. "Come on, Ron," said George gently. "It's Christmas Eve. Let's go have dinner together as a family, okay?"

"Okay," said Ron. "See you later, Hermione." He got up and followed his brothers out.

Something happened that night, something that had not happened for six weeks. Hermione Granger, tired out from not sleeping well for so long, fell asleep where she sat. Her head hit the mattress near Harry's hand, and she slept.

Hermione awoke to a noise, like a low moan. She realised she had fallen asleep and got up quickly. Harry's hand clenched in a fist, then relaxed. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Hermione's eyes widened, and she spoke for the first time in over a month.

"Harry?"

"Wh--where am I?" murmured Harry weakly.

"The hospital wing," said Hermione anxiously.

Harry started to sit up, clutched his head, and eased back down again. "Where's Ron?"

Hermione checked her watch. "He's on his way. He'll be here in a minute. Oh, Harry!"

Harry reached over for his glasses, clean but still in several pieces. Hermione pulled out her wand. "Occulus Repairo," she said, and the glasses mended themselves.

Harry smiled his thanks and put the glasses on. Just then, Ron came in. "Hey, Hermione. Is he any better?" He hadn't seen Harry yet.

"He's a lot better," said Hermione.

Ron's eyes widened. She was talking again! He came over. "Harry! How're you feeling?"

"Sore," he answered feebly. He looked at them. "I'm not going to be able to play the match."

"The match is over," said Ron.

"Was Oliver mad?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "We didn't lose. The match was cancelled because of what happened to you."

"Are we doing a rematch?" Harry asked anxiously.

Hermione shrugged. "They're talking about it," said Ron, "but it won't be 'til after Christmas."

"Why wait that long?" queried Harry.

"It's not that long, people will be back in about two weeks," said Hermione.

"Wha--how long have I been here?" Harry asked, sitting up a little bit.

"Six weeks," answered Ron.

"Has it been that long?" Harry asked Hermione.

She shrugged. "You'll have to trust him. I lost count."

"Hermione hasn't left the wing since they brought you in," said Ron.

Harry looked at Hermione in admiration. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall came over. "Hello, Ron, Hermione, Harry," she said gravely. In an instant, she realised what she'd said. "Harry! Glad to see you're feeling better at last."

"Not a whole lot better," said Harry, "but a little better."

Madame Pomfrey came over as well. She looked very surprised but managed not to say anything. She also asked how Harry was feeling. Hermione had a feeling he'd get that question a lot. Harry answered that he was a little tired. "I'm not surprised," said Madame Pomfrey. "Go ahead and rest." Harry slipped into a deep slumber.

Madame Pomfrey turned to the other three. "I believe I told you, when Harry first arrived, that to cure him would take a miracle. Quite frankly, I don't hold with miracles, but this is certainly a miracle.

Hermione looked down on Harry, who was sleeping peacefully--not in a coma.

"Christmas is a time for miracles," she said softly.