Time For Goodbye

Not surprisingly, Hermione was in the library when the news came.

Since the beginning of term, she'd been haunting the stacks as much as she had during fourth year. And for the same reason now as then.

She was trying to keep Harry alive.

He'd told her of the prophecy one late night at the Burrow during the Christmas holidays the year before. She'd known she'd caught him at a weak moment, but nevertheless the whole story had come tumbling out once he'd finally started speaking. At first, she'd been quite put out with him for not telling her sooner. But she'd let it slide because, truth be told, she'd already figured most of it out on her own.

Once she had all the facts rather than supposition, of Harry's predicted destiny to be either survivor or victim, she decided then and there to make it her mission to ensure that that he wasn't the latter. So she'd retreated into her beloved library, coming up with curses and jinxes and counters to bolster him in his final showdown with Voldemort. She, along with Harry and Ron, had spent hours with their heads in books or hiding out in the Room of Requirement to practice what they'd found.

Ron had been a great help when time had allowed, finding an utterly marvelous healing spell that would repair minor physical damages almost instantly. But when seventh year had arrived, his duties as Head Boy had meant that he couldn't spend as much time locked in the stacks as Harry and Hermione could. Hermione had been nominated for Head Girl, but had turned it down flat once she'd heard what Harry was facing. When all was said and done, she'd rather have Harry alive and well than the words "Head Girl" on her resume.

Her decision had stunned and disappointed her parents, but once she'd explained it all to her mum, they'd eased off. Her mother had leveled her a look, eyes seeming to bore straight into her soul, before nodding knowingly and enfolding her daughter in her arms.

"I didn't know," she'd said tenderly, her eyes misting. They'd always enjoyed a mother-daughter bond that occasionally negated the need for words. This had been one of those times.

Hermione had been grateful. She hadn't been ready to speak the words her heart wanted to scream, about the depth and breadth of her feelings for Harry Potter. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be ready for that. She'd simply returned the embrace and cried all of her fears into her mother's shoulder.

But that had been then, and this was now. And now was uncertain enough without feelings and declarations muddying the waters. Right now, Harry needed her help, not her heart. She hoped, in time, that he'd realize he wanted both.

"Hermione!" Lavender panted, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

Shaking her head to clear it of her musings on the past, Hermione raised surprised eyes to Lavender's. The serious face of her normally flighty fellow seventh year sent Hermione's heart into her throat and a feeling of dread lodged in her stomach.

"What's happened?" Her voice shook with fear or worry; she couldn't decide. Probably both. The fact that it was Lavender, and not Ron, coming to find her was foreboding. A shimmer of unease danced down her spine.

"Harry's leaving. Ron wanted me to come find you, because apparently the letter that Dumbledore received is real. You Know Who's got Professor McGonagall. From what I could overhear, he's bartering her for Harry."

So this was it. This was how it was going to come to pass.

When Professor McGonagall had first gone missing, rumors had flown around the castle like Pigwidgeon's cousins. No one had wanted to admit that it had been Voldemort, least of all Hermione. When Harry had been informed of the Auror's investigation into the professor's disappearance, he hadn't wanted to wait. It had taken both Ron and Hermione grabbing both of his arms to keep him from charging out, ready for battle. Ron had been the one to bring up Sirius.

The name alone had been enough to keep Harry in the castle until confirmation came.

But now he was leaving. The time had come. After months -- okay years -- it was all coming to a head.

Panic filled Hermione. It had her hands shaking and her throat closing. She'd always known that this day would arrive. Had made it her life's work to ensure that Harry was as prepared for it as possible.

But what about her? How prepared was she? Was she ready to say goodbye?

Tears clogged her already tightened throat. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Lavender's touch to her shoulder shocked her. She'd forgotten the other girl was there. Hermione's cheeks were soaked with tears as she turned towards her. "I've got to..." she began, but trailed off. She didn't know what to do. Fear and dread had frozen her feet to the floor.

"Aren't you going to go and say goodbye to Harry?"

Goodbye.

It was such a final word. Could she really bring herself to say goodbye to Harry? Especially when there were so many other things she wanted to say? She had to, though. The time had come to let him go, to face his fate. It was time...

She needed more time.

Time...

Time!

Inspiration struck as swiftly as the bolt of lightning forever emblazoned on Harry's forehead. With a curt nod to Lavender, Hermione tore from the library as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. She had to reach Gryffindor Tower before Harry left. Gryffindor Tower - but she had to make one stop first.

*^*^*^

Such was her haste to reach the Tower, Hermione ended up running smack into Harry as he crawled out of the portrait hole.

"Hermione!" Harry reached out to steady her and in that moment, their eyes fixed on each other's. As in the past, the look they shared said it all. His hands tightened on her shoulders, as if he was trying to put an indelible impression there. One that not even his death would erase.

His eyes were saying goodbye. They were telling her that he had so much to say, but no time in which to say it. She was sure that the same expression was mirrored on her own face.

"Come here, Harry," Hermione said, her voice a bit more breathy than usual from her mad run through the castle.

Harry moved in closer, and she watched his brow furrow as she reached into the inside pocket of her robes. The confusion didn't leave his face when she pulled out a long, thin chain with a bit of a charm at the end of it.

It cleared a bit when she looped the chain over both of their necks and turned the little gold hourglass twice.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, trying to keep his feet under him as they arrived two hours in the past.

"Professor McGonagall kept mine after third year. She told me a few months ago where I could find it...just in case I needed it. And today, I needed it."

"But it's not going to change anything, Hermione. Weren't you the one that kept after me third year about not changing the past?"

"I don't want to alter the past, Harry." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, yes, I do. But that's not why I wanted this. When Lavender told me you were leaving, I...I..." Her throat threatened to close again. "I knew I couldn't just wish you well and send you on your way. I have too much I need to say to you, Harry. I just need the time to say it. Is the common room full?"

"Yes," Harry informed her, telling her of the somber, quiet mass of students who had milled around to watch his departure.

"Then come with me," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down the corridor. He kept up with her as she opened door after door until she found what she was looking for midway down the corridor. The room had the musty smell of disuse, but a wide bench sat near a window overlooking the lake. She slid her hand down his arm until it reached his hand. She clasped it, heartened when his hand gave hers a powerful squeeze.

Once they were seated, Hermione had a fleeting moment of indecision. These were words she'd never intended to say. Not until he'd met his destiny and had overcome what had been predicted. Not until...

But the days for "not until" had passed. This was the moment of "it's now or never".

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry was looking perplexed again. "Did you come up with some new jinx or something?"

"No, Harry," she said to his face, then lowered her eyes. She just couldn't look at him while she confessed this. She wouldn't be able to bear it if she saw disappointment in his eyes. "I just wanted you to know...before you left, I had to tell you that...that I love you, Harry."

Hermione risked a quick glance upward and saw that the confused look hadn't left Harry's face. "I love you too, Hermione."

"No, Harry," and now she smiled a bit. Boys, even those destined to face powerful dark wizards, were inherently clueless. "Not like that."

"Like what, then?"

"Like heart racing, hand shaking, I-want-to-snog-you-senseless...," she sighed. "I'm in love with you, Harry."

"You are? You do?" Harry looked like he'd just taken a Beater's bat to the head.

"Yes," she said, forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed on his.

"You want to snog me senseless?"

He looked so utterly flummoxed Hermione began to wish fervently that the floor would open up and swallow her. In all her dreams, every time she'd envisioned this moment, she never imagined that he'd look like he'd rather be belching slugs. Mortified beyond all bearing, Hermione stood and turned her back to him. She had to fight her feet to keep them from running from the room.

Harry could use the remaining time, until he caught up with real time, to further prepare himself for his encounter with Voldemort. Her stunt would not be a completely wasted effort. On his part. Or on hers. She had her answer; she could say goodbye now, knowing that he knew...that she hadn't... She wiped at the wetness on her cheeks. And she could...she could... She didn't know anymore.

"Hermione?"

Harry's voice, right behind her, stopped her feet, but it didn't stop the tears that were now trickling unchecked down her cheeks. His hands were on her shoulders, holding her in place. She couldn't face him. This was a stupid idea. I should have swallowed my feelings as I've always done and just let him go.

"But then I wouldn't have known, would I?"

Shocked, Hermione spun towards him. "I said that out loud?"

"You did," he confirmed, his face still not giving anything away, except for the tiniest glimmer in his eyes. "Thank Merlin." He leaned down towards her as he sighed out that last line. Hermione's pulse went into overdrive. Instead of kissing her, though, he merely touched his forehead to hers and shifted his hands from her shoulders to wrap her more firmly in his arms.

"I'd never thought..." he trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"You never thought about me that way?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice even, so he wouldn't know that her heart was presently tearing itself in two.

"Honestly, Hermione, no. I didn't. I've been so focused on Voldemort; there hasn't been enough room in my head for anything else. Maybe I've been too afraid to think of life beyond what I'm facing with him. But I guess there was room in my heart...Just now, when you got up and walked away...it felt like you were taking a part of me with you. I felt empty all of a sudden. And I knew I couldn't let you leave me like that."

"I'd never leave you, Harry. Don't you know that by now?"

"Of course I do, Hermione. I've known that since first year." Harry pulled back and cupped her face in his hands, his smile now turning the glimmer in his green eyes into a gleam so bright it almost hurt her eyes to look at it. "I suppose I should have said that I couldn't let you leave me without this."

Before Hermione could ask what "this" was, Harry showed her. Later, she was always amazed that her body didn't implode from the sensory overload of finally feeling his lips on hers. When it happened, however, she was too wrapped up in the kiss to think.

Harry's lips were soft, sweet, and felt oh so right on hers. He was gentle at first, just brushing them across hers. But gentle didn't last long. Hands moved from her face to the nape of her neck, his tongue slid along the seam of her lips asking for permission. She granted it on a silent sigh, her mouth opening beneath his. Harry groaned.

Her arms, which had been hanging limply at her sides, now reached around to pull him closer. Acting on instincts she didn't know she had, Hermione placed her hands at the base of his spine before lowering them a bit. She'd seen him in jeans, even in his pajamas, but not until this moment has she truly appreciated that Harry had a spectacular arse. As Harry investigated the contours of her mouth, she investigated the contours elsewhere. Based on the increased thrusts of his tongue in her mouth, he wasn't at all adverse to her exploration. Once she was satisfied that she knew every inch of it, she grabbed hold and pulled him even closer.

She gasped. Harry groaned.

"God, Hermione," he growled, removing his mouth from hers to rain kisses across her cheek towards her ear. "What are you doing to me?" he whispered.

"I'm saying goodbye," she said on a whimper, pulling her face from his searching mouth just as he started to nibble on her earlobe.

Her statement was enough to dampen the ardor that had nearly overcome them both. Their breathing was labored, their faces flushed, but their eyes were serious and intent on nothing and no one but the one in front of them.

Suddenly, reality was back in the room.

"I..." Harry began, then seemed to lose what he was going to say. Instead, he brought his mouth down on hers again. This time, he didn't start with a gentle investigation. This time, when his mouth tasted hers, he fed like a starving man.

Like a man unsure about ever having the ability to do this again.

Like a man trying to squeeze a lifetime of kisses into one embrace.

Like a man that wanted to kick reality back out the door...for just a little while longer.

When Harry returned his attentions to her earlobe, first sucking it into his mouth, then giving it small bites, Hermione was more than willing to share the delusion. She tilted her head back and he took the invitation, moving from her earlobe to the column of her neck, pausing to kiss the spot where her rapid pulse rate was the most obvious. She felt the effects of his kiss from the tips of her curled toes to the very core of her being. When he reached the hollow where neck met torso, his hands finally pulled free of her hair to meet at the front fastenings of her robes. Hermione felt her knees buckle in anticipation.

But Harry stopped. He stepped away and turned his back to her.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I can't do this, Hermione."

Hermione's heart tripped, a small part of her wondering if he had been just kissing her to placate her. Then he turned around. The torment on his face was staggering. But there wasn't a hint of regret. No remorse. Just heartbreaking anguish.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because his arms snaked around her waist and he pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I can't do this, Hermione. Not now. Much as I want to..." he sighed and tightened his arms around her. "Much as I want you...I can't. It wouldn't be fair, to either of us. This is too important... I...I don't want our first time together to be something rushed in a dusty room. You deserve better than that."

Hermione's newly awakened libido was screaming that fair didn't matter a damn, that she wanted his hands on her body, but her rational side quashed it. Harry was right. She wasn't going to believe that she was sending him to his death. There would be time enough when he came back to finish what they'd begun. She had to believe that.

But she couldn't find her voice long enough to agree, so she only nodded.

"I'll be back, Hermione," Harry vowed. "I'll come back to you and we'll pick up right here, all right?"

"It's a date," Hermione choked out, voice clogged with tears she refused to shed.

*^*^*^*

The wait was unbearable.

No one knew when Harry walked away from the castle when he'd be coming back. Some were certain he wouldn't be back at all. Hermione, however, was not one of them. She'd lingered at the oak front doors until Harry had passed the gate and Disapparated from view until Ron had forcibly led her back towards the Tower. And had started to wait.

The first twenty four hours were the worst. The second weren't much better. By the third, Madam Pomfrey was threatening to put her in the hospital wing unless she started eating and sleeping of her own volition.

The lack of information was maddening. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found and owls sent to his office were being returned unopened. None of the professors seemed to know anything. The remaining members of the Order, those that weren't off fighting, were being similarly closed mouthed.

If anyone did have any information, they weren't sharing it with her, and it was driving her stark, raving mad.

"I just want to know," she'd sobbed in Ron's arms on the fourth night. "Dead or alive, Ron, I just want to know."

Ron had stiffened at her use of the word dead. "Is he...do you think?"

"No," she said, softly, fiercely. "I'd know. I'd feel it."

Ron hadn't contradicted her.

Hermione didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't for Harry's body to be discovered, broken and bloody, lying at the stairs leading into the castle as dawn of the fifth day of her vigil broke.

Broken and bloody...but alive. Barely.

No one seemed surprised that Hermione refused to leave his side. Nor did anyone try and make her do so. Ron brought her news as it filtered in from Dumbledore, from the Daily Prophet, from members of the Order as they resurfaced.

News that Voldemort was indeed dead, by Harry's hand.

News that Minerva McGonagall was alive and recovering at St. Mungo's.

News that Bellatrix Lestrange was also dead, by Remus' hand.

News that Nymphadora Tonks hadn't survived.

News that Alastor Moody hadn't, either.

For Hermione, those were joys and sorrows she would cope with later. For right now, she could only see Harry.

Madam Pomfrey had tried to sound optimistic when she spoke to her, but Hermione had overheard the nurse when she'd spoken to Dumbledore. That Harry's chances of recovery weren't good and that with every hour he remained unconscious the prospect of his awakening lessened. She'd use every healing spell she could think of, she'd told him, but he wasn't responding. His body was healing, but his mind wasn't recovering like it should.

Hermione, of course, refused to accept that. He'd returned to Hogwarts alive when a scant few had expected that. He would awaken now, even though even fewer seemed to think that was probable. If sheer force of will mattered, hers would bring him back.

To believe anything else was unacceptable.

During the day, Hermione sat in the one chair by Harry's bed; reading to him from the Daily Prophet, or from one of his favorite Quidditch books. The nurse had made up the bed next to Harry for her, but she didn't use it. She didn't want to be that far away from him. Instead, she remained in the chair, her hand firmly holding his.

She desperately wanted to climb onto the bed once Madam Pomfrey had left them for the night, but she didn't think it wise to push the nurse too far. She was bending rules right and left to allow Hermione to stay with Harry day and night. Despite what Harry had just done, they were still students at this school, and the nurse had very strict rules about how students in her care behaved.

*^*^*^*

She was walking in a beautiful garden. Flora surrounded her on all sides; flowers bigger than her head bloomed in shades of red, yellow, even the occasional purple. The fragrance was befuddling. She walked from flower to flower, inhaling their scent, drawn to each bloom like a bee to nectar. Her feet paused before a particularly large, red flower. The hue was so vivid it seemed to be dripping from the petals. Then she realized that it was dripping. There was a pool of red at her feet. She pushed the bloom aside. She needed to rip up the plant before it bled to death. Thorns ripped at her, adding her blood to the puddle. She paid them no mind. Finally locating the stem, she reached for it. On the ground beside it was a small plaque. Rest in Peace, Harry Potter. Nooo! she screamed. He survived; he's not dead...No!

Hermione jerked out of her sound sleep, pulse still hammering from the nightmare. She straightened in her chair, using her free hand to massage the ache at the base of her spine. Usually she settled herself into a more comfortable position the chair before she slept. Must have been more tired than I thought, she said to herself.

Then she felt something. A slight pressure. As if someone was holding her hand.

Or, more to the point, as if someone was holding her hand back.

She stared at their joined hands. She willed him to move his fingers, to prove to herself that she hadn't been imagining it. All of her concentration was focused on their ten intertwined fingers. Then he did it again. She felt the pressure of his hand squeezing hers.

"Her..Hermione?"

The voice was weak, shaking, and hoarse from lack of use. But it was his voice. Unless she'd slipped from a nightmare into a dream and was still asleep. She moved her free hand from her back to her leg. She pinched it. It hurt. She was awake.

"Hermione?"

It seemed to happen in slow motion. She raised her eyes to look into his face. Saw the green of his eyes visible low candlelight that always illuminated the hospital wing. Saw his weak smile. She pinched her leg again, wincing in pain this time.

"Stop pinching yourself," Harry said knowingly.

Tears she'd kept bottled up since his return welled in her eyes. Her breathing became shallow as her heart thudded in her chest. She couldn't move; she couldn't think. Harry's hand increased its slight pressure.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder towards the nurse's office. Then her eyes met Harry's again and she smiled through the tears. Madam Pomfrey be damned. Harry was here, he was alive and he was awake. She was bloody well not going to stay apart from him another moment.

Gingerly, Hermione crept onto the mattress. She lay on her side, facing him. He shifted as much as he was able so he could face her. She raised a shaking hand to brush the fringe off his forehead. He took that hand and clasped it, pausing to place a small kiss to her fingers.

That one gesture, the feel of his lips on her skin, slipped under the door she'd kept tightly shut on her emotions. Tears began to course down her cheeks, and small, whimpering sobs escaped from her throat.

"Shh, Hermione," he said, his voice the barest of whispers in her ear. "I'm here. I'm okay."

Hermione tried to speak, tried to stop crying. She failed miserably. Harry seemed to realize that any further shushing would be pointless, so he tightened his grip on her hand and let her carry on. After a while, the sobs dwindled down into small hiccups, and Hermione finally found her voice.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Not really, no." Harry's voice was still rough from lack of use, but the statement was clear. The firm set to his face told her enough.

She wondered if he'd ever tell her what had happened. Probably. She was always able to get him to talk, even when he didn't want to. It might take years, she knew. But the exact timeline of what Harry had endured wasn't important right now.

"Fair enough," she said, raising a hand to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. "I should really go and tell Madam Pomfrey that you're awake." She made no move to do so, however. She was too comfortable in the small, cramped bed.

"She'll know soon enough. She checks on me every morning when she brings you breakfast."

Hermione gasped. "How do you know that? You've been unconscious, Harry." Her stomach suddenly felt like a herd of thestrals had taken residence. If he'd heard...

"In a way," Harry replied, breaking into her train of thought. "I don't know much about healing, but I know that I've had times where I was aware of what was going on around me. I was trying to wake up, trying to talk to you, but I just couldn't. When I tried, I'd get so tired that I'd slip into nothing again. In some ways, the fight to wake up was almost as hard as my fight with...him."

"So, you've heard me reading to you?" Hermione paused, then plunged on. If he had heard what she'd said, she needed to know. "And...my prattling on about all that other nonsense?" Hermione tried to keep her voice as casual as possible. In between readings from the Prophet and Flying with the Cannons, she'd said some highly embarrassing things. Things she'd never have said if she thought he could hear her.

"I wouldn't exactly call your telling me that you'd love me until the day you died 'nonsense', Hermione," Harry said.

Mortified, Hermione lowered her eyes from his. He had heard all of those things. Now all she needed was a big rock to crawl under. Harry, it seemed, sensed her discomfort and was having none of it. He released the hand he'd been holding, using it to raise her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"In fact," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "I'd call it wonderful. Perfect. And," he tightened his grip on her chin, "not nearly long enough."

Hermione shifted her body upwards and pressed her lips to his. It was gentle, reaffirming, and held a promise of more to come. After long, silent moments, Hermione ended the kiss and his head dropped back onto the pillow. Hermione curled into his side, content for the first time in months. She could feel him drifting away, into sleep.

"I should move," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "You need your rest. And I know that Ron, and Remus, and Dumbledore and," she paused, considering, "and just about the entire wizarding world will want to know you're awake."

"Don't you bloody dare," Harry said quietly. His eyes remained closed as he turned his head to drop a kiss onto the top of hers. "They'll know before too much longer. I'd like to enjoy having you to myself for a bit. Unless you have any objections?"

"Not a one," Hermione giggled and stayed where she was. Long moments later, she could feel the change in his breathing. If he wasn't asleep, he was only moments away from it. Hermione kept her eyes on him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the slight smile that remained on his face. She watched as he slept, feasting her eyes on the boy she loved. The boy she'd almost lost.

"Did I you know that Madam Pomfrey didn't think you'd wake up?" Hermione whispered. "And that most were certain that you weren't going to come back?" Hermione said, lying her head on his chest and letting the tears soak into his hospital gown.

"Of course I was going to come back," Harry mumbled, his voice distant and slightly slurred as it came from the edges of sleep. His hand left hers to hold her head in place on his chest; his fingers tangling themselves in her hair. "Did you really think I'd forget our date?"