Harry Woke Up

Harry was very disoriented as he felt his feet land solidly on a hard floor. He had to believe Ron that it was St Mungo's, because he wasn't exactly sure. He tried to tune his ears to the sounds around him, but Ron was grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away before he had a chance to make sense of anything.

"She's... she's in here," Ron sniffed, obviously still highly emotional. A door opened and Harry felt Ron pull him through and down a long room. He knew by the length of the sounds in the room that it was not a corridor or a small room. It sounded large, like the large room he had visited in St Mungo's when Mr Weasley had been there.

The rattle of a curtain echoed in the room, and Ron tugged at him again.

"Harry!" It was Hermione's voice, low and pitiful sounding, layered with some kind of happiness for seeing him

"H-how are you?" Harry asked tentatively.

"I'm... I'm... not good... But come here," she said softly, apparently beckoning him over. He imagined that she was lying in a bed, and as he stepped forward to feel it, his suspicions were confirmed. Harry's hands brushed along the bed, mattress, and sheets until he felt Hermione's hand clasp his.

"So it's... she's..." Harry stammered, not wanting to repeat what Ron had told him.

"Yes, Harry." Hermione's voice was low and solemn. He found it difficult to hear her as she whispered. "It's what the Muggles call a... a... miscarriage. She's gone..." Harry knew she had started to cry. He knew her well enough to know what brought her to tears, and he knew the change the sound of her voice took when the tears came.

"I'm so... sorry," Harry said meaningfully but lamely, not knowing what else to say.

"It... she... was a girl, Harry. A little sister... for the boys," Hermione was sniffling and allowing the tears to come. "We... we were going to name her Evelyn or Eva... a little girl!" Hermione was sobbing and Harry let her.

"And you, you're okay?" he asked. He couldn't muster tears, not because he didn't care, but they simply weren't coming.

"Yes, I'm f-fine, Harry."

"No, you're not. She's not," Ron argued from slightly behind him.

"Ron..." Hermione warned.

"You're not. There... there were complications. We lost the baby but... they couldn't stop the bleeding for a long time. They tried spells and potions, and I even told Hermione we could go to a Muggle doctor-"

"But I told you, they can't do anything more than the Healers here. I'm fine now," Hermione insisted, though Harry had to admit that he wasn't convinced.

"Maybe. But it keeps reoccurring. The Healers said you've lost a lot of blood and you can't lose any more..."

"It'll be okay, Ron," Hermione replied, begging him to believe her. Harry heard footsteps behind him, moving around toward Hermione. The next time Ron spoke, his voice was opposite from Harry, apparently on the other side of the bed.

"I can't believe we lost her." Ron sounded like he was crying again. "I don't know how to tell Nick and Oliver."

"It's okay, we'll do it together," Hermione whispered. Harry wondered if they were holding hands or if Ron was comforting her in some way. He missed watching the affectionate touches pass between his friends.

Hermione's hand stirred in his and she raised his hand to her lips, kissing it. "I'm glad you're here, Harry. I miss you so much." And Harry thought perhaps her emotions were all out of whack and she was feeling a bit weepy. While he was sure she did miss seeing him as often as they had done before he woke up blind in the flat, he also thought such a thing shouldn't bother her when she was suffering such a personal tragedy.

He supposed it just added into her woeful feelings.

"Hermione, why," Harry began, gulping and uncertain if he wanted to continue. "Why did this happen?"

"Who knows?" she answered sadly. "Sometimes it happens for no reason. Sometimes there's an accident, a bad fall, or something that affects the mother's health and the baby's... I don't know... I don't know." Harry got the feeling that Hermione had asked herself this question quite often already.

"I wish I knew what to say..." Harry mumbled. It was rare that he was struck speechless with his two best friends.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm just glad you're here," Hermione answered tenderly, and then unfolded Harry's hand from hers and rested his palm against her face. Her skin was wet and tears were rolling against his fingers. A vague memory from only a half-hour before swept through Harry's mind. He frowned, then pushed it away.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked quietly. Blimey, he always forgot everyone else could see.

"Nothing, nothing..." Harry cleared his throat. "How long will you be here?"

"They're not sure," Ron answered.

"Hopefully I can go home in the next day or two." Hermione sighed.

"Hermione, there's no need to rush this. They have to make sure that you're healthy and you've recovered from the blood loss-" Ron argued adamantly, only to be interrupted.

"I don't like it here, you know that," Hermione answered through gritted teeth.

"I don't care if you like it. I'm not taking you home until you're well. I don't want anything to happen to you, too..." Harry could see the point behind Ron's argument. He was worried that if they were home, and Hermione's health quickly deteriorated, and they couldn't make it to St Mungo's in time, or else if Ron was at work...

"Keeping me here will not bring her back!" Hermione spoke sharply in Ron's direction.

"I know that!" he argued passionately.

"No, I don't think you do! She's gone and they can't heal this. I just want to go home and be alone, be with you, and away from this place and... and her..."

"Leaving won't make it go away," Ron whispered.

Harry felt as though he were an intruder on a very private moment.

Hermione and Ron had a peculiar way of allowing Harry to see the best, worst, roughest or most tender parts of their relationship. They didn't mind that he was privy to so many of their intimate moments, conversations, or shouting matches.

Hermione was sniffling and obviously crying again. Harry's hand was resting on the bed now, leaning against what he thought was her hip. The sounds coming from the bed indicated that Ron had just kissed Hermione and they were still both a bit soppy.

Then Ron was clearing his throat from farther up and Harry was reminded of his friend's old habit to blush and run a nervous hand through his hair.

"Ron, love, you've been here for hours. Take a nap or get something to eat and Harry will keep me company," Hermione's voice carried deepest care for her husband.

"I don't want to leave you," Ron argued softly.

"Harry will be here. Please, love. You need a break and some rest."

"All right, okay... I'll grab some food and... and Apparate and tell Mum and the others-"

"You haven't told your Mum yet?" Harry asked in shock.

"N-no," Ron mumbled. "It was all so... so fast and so much and it was just Hermione and me, and the boys were with Fred and George... But I... I needed you, Harry. So you're the first we've told. I've got to... my Mum... and the Grangers... Blimey." Harry felt sorely bad for Ron, and at the same time tenderly loving toward him for coming to Harry first, for even needing him.

"We'll see you in a bit, love. Try to take a rest at your Mum's."

"I won't be gone long."

"I know you won't," Hermione said with tender amusement. Then Harry thought they had kissed again before he heard Ron's footsteps moving, felt a brief wordless grip in his shoulder, and then the hand and feet disappeared, echoing down the room and out of the door.

"Harry, please don't stand there like a stranger. Come up here and sit with me," Hermione instructed, sounding as though she was forcing a lighter mood. He felt her scooting over and pulling at his arm to urge him up. He grabbed onto the bed, gingerly hoisting himself onto the mattress until he was sitting next to Hermione's waist, facing her, he supposed, and allowing her to hold his hand again.

"Tell me, how are you?" Hermione asked slowly. Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him.

"Me, Hermione? You want to know about me when you're-"

"Please, I'll be okay, but I want to know what you've been doing. And I want something else to think about. Please, I've... I've thought about it, about her... enough..." Hermione was pleading.

He knew the way her mind worked and was certain that she had spent a great deal of time turning over every detail in her situation and the loss they were suffering. He was reminded of his own moments of loss, and how, at times, he had so desperately wanted distractions from Sirius or Dumbledore, or even from Cedric Diggory. Sometimes he had wanted to talk, and sometimes he had just wanted to forget, to be distracted.

"Okay, it's okay," Harry said softly and quickly. "I've been all right."

"With Malfoy?" Hermione asked. It took Harry a moment to consider her question and what she might be getting at. Malfoy... His old enemy, right.

"Yeah, well... it's been weird... you know. But we've-"

"Weird how?" she inquired and Harry had so many memories of her facial expressions that he thought he knew exactly which one she was giving him.

"You know, just weird... But now we're learning these skills for when we leave the program. I guess they're pretty certain we're stuck, otherwise why would we be learning it, right?" He hoped she would follow him on the change of subject and not press it.

"What are you learning?" Harry breathed; she allowed the change.

"Braille. It's written-"

"Language for the blind! I've heard about it. Is it hard? Can you read and write it yet?" She sounded intrigued.

"I can read a little, and write a little. It's hard trying to do it all by feeling, though. My fingers aren't used to it."

"I always thought it might be difficult to learn. But I've seen the dot patterns and I've tried to read it by sight."

"Can you?" If anyone could do such a thing, it was definitely Hermione.

"A little, but it takes time and I need a little chart to help decode it for me." Hermione chuckled half-heartedly and Harry echoed, wishing he too could see the dots and use a cheat sheet to decode them.

"Malfoy's learning British Sign Language and, I think, how to read lips, but he's not any good at either of them because he doesn't want to learn. Considers it a waste of time." Harry shrugged, thinking it was a good time to do so.

"Why?"

"Because he thinks with magic he can get around the deafness with enchanted quills and such. Only Muggles need the other stuff, and he doesn't like Muggles, anyway."

"But an Auror who could read lips, that's such an asset! You know, Aurors never work on their skills for lip-reading because they depend upon magic. But it doesn't always work. He should definitely learn-"

"I've told him! But he's just kind of mad because he wants to hear again... you know." Harry's voice grew quieter and he knew that Hemione couldn't really know what it was like to just want your hearing or your vision back.

"So why have things been weird with you and Malfoy?" Hermione asked, and Harry frowned at her detailed memory.

"Just, you know, it's..."

"Are you friends with him? Is that it?" She paused. "It's okay, you know. He is a human being. Don't forget I was the one who found out he wanted to help us in the war. It must be weird though, after you both hated each other so much... Living together... being friends..."

"We're not really friends," Harry argued lamely.

"Well, what are you?"

"We can't be friends, Hermione. He's... He likes to use people just to get what he wants. He manipulates and lies and in the end he can erase everything like it never happened. He lets you believe whatever you want so long as it suits him, and as soon as he needs something else, it's all gone as if it never existed. He can't be trusted, you know. And he... he's prejudice against Muggles, and arrogant about blood, and he likes to take advantage of any person or any circumstance just so he can come out on top... I can't be his friend... I don't think he even knows what a friend is..."

"Harry, he's not Tom Riddle. He had no friends. Malfoy wants friends and needs friends, even if he doesn't know how to be one." Hermione would have to be his voice of reason; at least some things never changed.

"Yeah, I dunno," he replied, brushing his finger over Hermione's hand.

"It sure seems like you've thought about him a lot."

"I haven't thought about him!" Harry answered probably a bit too quickly and excitedly. "Just, we're trapped in there like animals without much to do so... you get a bit reflective." He shrugged, hoping the gesture matched his expression.

"So basically, you think Malfoy is acting like your friend, but he doesn't really mean it. Or maybe he's done something to make you think he doesn't mean it."

"I don't know..."

"Come on Harry, talk to me..."

"I am! I just... don't feel like being psychoanalysed today," he answered quietly, but politely.

"All right, point taken. I know I can be pretty pushy," she conceded. "Come here, lay down," she instructed, patting the bed next to her, he guessed. Harry turned around and slowly lay down next to Hermione, stretching out on the half a bed next to her. She curled into his arms and rested her head against his chest, her bushy hair tickling under his chin.

"I wish you could see again, but I'm proud of you for working on the Braille and not letting the blindness stop you," she said against his chest. Harry let out an amused breath.

"I don't want to be blind, but there's not much I can do."

"I know. But you're still my Hero-"

"Stop it, you're killing me!" Harry lightly laughed at her cheesy line. Hermione giggled too.

"And you'll still make a great Auror, you're an amazing friend to Ron and me, a wonderful godfather to the boys... and some day you'll make a great husband and father. I'm so proud to call you my friend. Harry Potter, my friend." She laughed again.

"Hermione, you've lost it. If you start calling me the Boy-Who-Lived, I'm leaving." But he smiled as he said this.

"Harry," she said softly, and Harry knew the conversation was taking a turn.

"I... I really wanted a little girl." Harry sighed and moved, wrapping his arm around her, brushing his hand against her forehead and leaning down to place a kiss in her hair.

"I know you did," he whispered.

"Ron really wanted a girl, too..." she whispered back.

"I thought as much." They continued to whisper together, as though the topic was too delicate to speak in stronger tones.

"He cried and cried. I've... never seen him cry so much..." Harry rubbed her back and let her snuggle against him.

"I don't want to tell our parents, and have to face them... and feel, feel... like I messed up, like I'm a failure..."

"Don't say that, Hermione. You're not, and it's not your fault."

"I know but... they're all going to cry and look at me in that way that... that makes me want to disappear and never face them again. And what if... what if I can't have any more children?"

"Is that a possibility?" It hadn't even occurred to him.

"Yes, it is. After the complications and... well, they're not sure if I can, or if it's safe, and... And Ron and I wanted a big family..." She was crying again and Harry felt the wetness leaking onto his shirt.

He and Hermione lay on the bed for a long time, Harry just holding her and trying to comfort her in Ron's absence. He didn't understand much about parenthood or pregnancy, but he knew it was tearing Hermione up. After what seemed like a very long time of holding her in silence, Harry heard the Healers approaching the bed. He clambered down and allowed them to examine Hermione.

In a matter of moments, the Healers deduced that something was wrong again, and they mobilised her bed, carting her off into another examination room and leaving Harry standing in the corridor, bracing himself against a wall, trying to find a place to wait for Ron.

He didn't have to wait long.

After a very anxious exchange, finally Harry got Ron to sit down in a waiting room down the hall. They sat together for a very long time, sometimes talking and sometimes silent. Eventually Hermione was returned to her room, and Ron held her this time while Harry sat in a nearby chair, listening.

How could someone who hadn't really yet lived still be dead?

But if she was called dead, then she must have been considered alive at some point. Hermione had felt the child growing and moving inside her. The baby was real, and living, and a part of her. She had lived, perhaps only a few short months, and yet because of that, she had also been granted the ability to die.

He wondered if unborn babies held any memories in death, but he supposed he didn't even know whether anyone who died still held memories.

He couldn't really fathom this loss. It was only real to him inasmuch as Hermione's tears were real, and Ron's cries were miserable, and their worlds were torn apart. It was only real by proxy.

It was a very long time later when Ron and Harry finally left Hermione's side. She was asleep, which was good, because she seemed terribly exhausted. Ron had realised that it was nearly six in the morning, and that he had promised not to keep Harry away not for too long, and certainly not over night.

They Apparated back to where ever the flat was. Harry heard Healer Divitz bustling around to welcome him back, and Ron apologised for the delay. A door opened, and instantly Harry knew he was home. Or rather, he was back inside his flat.

The air had the familiar smell of two men living together, laced with each of their natural scents and that familiar fragrance that lingered around Malfoy. He recognised the sounds that came with his flat and the way his feet echoed in the room. Ron gave Harry a brief hug and they said goodbye, Ron promising to contact Harry again if anything changed with Hermione.

Then, Harry numbly made his way to the bed, with its soft sheets and soothing pillow, and fell into its protection, allowing himself to become lost in its embrace, the warmth and balm offered to someone who had gone far too long without it.