Tell Us Again, Please!

Hermione woke with a start as she heard her named being exclaimed from across her hospital room.

"Ginny?" Hermione ventured a guess. She wasn't sure what other girl would be calling out her name, and it did sound very much like a Weasley, very much like Ginny.

"Yes, it's me! You're awake! I was so worried!" she exclaimed, her voice indicating that she had made a beeline for Hermione's bed. Hermione felt Ginny's hand grab onto her arm. Now that she lacked her vision, Hermione found that she very much liked feeling a touch. It made her feel not so completely alone, like she wasn't merely drifting along in her own dark world, as it sometimes felt.

"I'm glad you're here." Hermione smiled faintly. She was glad that Ginny was visiting her, but she couldn't forget that her two dearest friends lingered between life and death. As much as she enjoyed having anyone come to see her, more than anything she just wanted Ron and Harry to visit. She wanted to know that they were okay.

"I was afraid you wouldn't wake up. I'm so glad you did. I can't believe you guys made it out, and you destroyed Voldemort! The whole Wizarding world is in an uproar. It's like they've declared a brand new holiday or something!" Ginny was talking quite excitedly and quite quickly.

"Guess I've missed out on a few days, huh?" Hermione breathed a small, what she hoped was convincing, laugh.

"Well, you haven't really missed anything. Just that Voldemort is gone and the whole world is rejoicing! What was it like being unconscious?" Ginny asked, but laughed at her own insincerity. "I'm only kidding."

"How are Ron and Harry?" Hermione asked her, suddenly blurting out the question. She couldn't be sure if it had been hours or days since she had spoken with Mrs. Weasley. She had to judge the passing of time on taking naps and being forced to eat. She hadn't mastered the art yet.

"They're the same," Ginny said quietly. Her voice had changed, indicating what Hermione suspected was an entire change in her demeanor. Even the air around her felt a little different. Hermione wondered if Ginny had actually been avoiding that question.

"Oh. What about everyone else? Our friends? Your brothers?" Hermione ventured, hoping it wasn't more terrible news.

"Well, most of the DA survived. They're all beat up pretty bad, but they'll make it. Neville's got a curse on him, too, but it's nothing life threatening. Justin was killed, though. No reason, he was just in the way. Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill are all just fine, oh and Mum and Dad, too. Charlie's also in St. Mungo's 'cos they're regrowing some bones and patching him up, but he'll be good as new. Seems you three got the worst of it. I 'spose Voldemort had it out for you. But I'm really surprised we're not off a lot worse," Ginny concluded. Hermione sighed and nodded. She was glad they hadn't suffered too badly, but that just left her thoughts resting on Ron and Harry. She wanted to see them.

"When can I visit Harry and Ron?" she asked Ginny.

"I dunno. It's up to the Healers... I'll try to ask them, but Mum keeps shooing me away. I know Harry would like to see you. And Ron, well, maybe he would wake up if you could visit him." Hermione wasn't sure if Ginny was sad or teasing. The two girls talked for awhile longer, trying to stay away from the more cumbersome subjects of conversation. At last Hermione became too sleepy to keep her mind on Ginny's words.

"I think I need some rest, Ginny." Hermione sighed, and then was overcome with a yawn.

"Yeah, I guess you do. I just wanted to see you. Fred and George want to come down too, but I'll tell them to wait a bit. Well, rest up and get healed so you can get out of here!" Ginny insisted.

"I'll try." Hermione smiled weakly in what she thought was the direction of Ginny's face. Hermione felt Ginny's hands squeeze her forearm and hand, and then slowly, her skin brushed down Hermione's and left her feeling alone again. She listened to the footsteps until they disappeared. Other footsteps echoed in the distance. There were distant pops, the ticking of clocks, and a muffled conversation. Hermione wasn't sure if her eyes were open or closed, but supposed it didn't matter any more. She turned over and allowed her mind to wander until she was overcome with sleep.

..:..

It had been three days since Hermione had regained consciousness, or so she had been told. They had still not found any counter-curse or healing solution for the Blinding Curse or whatever it was exactly. And still Hermione had not been allowed to see Harry or Ron. This frustrated her, but there was little she could do. She was tempted to climb out of her bed and find them herself, but she had no practice wandering around as a blind person, and it was simply lost on her as to how to avoid being seen when she didn't know who was looking at her!

So she had to wait and wait, hoping for the moment in which she could see her friends. Sometimes it worried her, and she was afraid that they just might not survive, and she would miss getting to see them, or at least speak to them or touch them or hear them one last time. This thought brought her to tears she hadn't planned on, and she quickly forced herself to stop them and wiped away the remnants. She didn't like being weak or tearful, and she didn't know who was watching her. This thought constantly unnerved her.

She had been dozing on and off throughout this particular day, sometimes plagued by fears or memories, other times merely lost in a dazed world of darkness. As she awoke from an apparent nap, she sensed that someone was in the room with her. She opened her eyes, but still was met only with darkness. She hadn't heard footsteps entering the room nor anything else. She tried to quiet her breathing and the sound of her own heart beating enough to try and detect someone else's breathing. Perhaps she could faintly hear it...

"Hey." A voice called out quietly, gently, and almost gruffly. She knew the voice. Before she could answer, she felt warm skin on her right hand. His hand had grabbed a hold of hers. The skin was rough, but warm and gentle. She forgot about answering him, and instead concentrated on the feel of his skin, his fingers, and his palm. Was he really standing there next to her?

She wanted to see him.

She let her head fall back as her mind put together the image - the dark messy hair, the piercing green eyes, the rounded glasses, the scar, the skinny face, the mischievous smile. She breathed deeply and could even smell him - he smelled like earth, with a hint of musky sweetness. He normally had a certain clean smell also mixed in, but she noticed it was missing. It had probably been his normal soap or shampoo.

And then she felt a touch on her forehead. It was the first touch she had felt in a place other than her hand or arm since she had awoken in this blank world at St. Mungo's. His left hand had softly and slowly lowered onto her forehead, and the rough but warm skin brushed along her brow and smoothed her hair back. His other hand still held onto hers. She swallowed and nuzzled into his hand, as an affection-starved pet dog might. Her head pushed into his palm as it brushed smoothly down the side of her face and rested affectionately on her cheek. His thumb brushed what she guessed was absentmindedly against her skin. Again Hermione tried to open her eyes, as she had been doing every day, only to discover that they were already open. She longed to see his face. She wasn't sure if she could get used to living in the darkness.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered tenderly. His thumb still brushed her cheek and his other hand caressed hers.

"Yeah," she finally answered him. "You?" Hermione whispered too, although she was unsure why.

"I've been better." Hermione imagined half a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His voice hadn't been depressed, but rather a little amused. It also sounded weak.

"I wanted to see you," she confessed.

"I know. They told me. So I decided to come down," he replied.

"They let you?" she asked.

"Well, yeah. They couldn't stop me, but I promised to go back." Hermione imagined a smile again, another one that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a strange quality in his voice that sounded unusual, like a mixture of both happiness and sadness.

"I wish I could see you," Hermione whispered remorsefully.

"What can you see?"

"Darkness." She lowered her head a little, though she no longer had to worry about meeting or not meeting someone's eyes. She had no choice now.

"There's not much to see," Harry insisted. She could feel him moving closer to her. It was funny how she had never felt so much before these days. There was a warmth that radiated from a person's presence. She could tell he was leaning over her. She felt a tender satiny touch on her forehead, but it wasn't his hand. Both hands were still in their places, one on her hand and the other resting against her cheek. This touch on her forehead was soft and smooth, even delicate. Then she heard a small noise that gave her a clear indication. He had kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm glad you're alive, Hermione," he whispered, but now his voice sounded very close to her ear.

"I'm glad you are too," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. She had spent the last few days being tormented by images of Harry's and Ron's deaths. Even as Harry stood with her, the images still flashed through her mind. She shuddered, hating them. But Harry didn't say anything. She wondered how serious a condition he could be in if the Healers had let him come down and see her. He must be doing better than she, and she wasn't all that bad off. She took a little comfort in this thought, but her worries for Ron still stubbornly refused to be placated.

"Well, I had better get back," Harry whispered. He had pulled a little farther back from her, but his voice still sounded nearer than where he had originally positioned himself. She wondered if he was looking at her, and what he was looking at and what he saw. She hadn't a clue how she looked. What if she had been scarred and was now horridly ugly and would be for the rest of her life? And no one had told her!

"Do you have to go?" she asked.

"Yeah, I promised." She thought he sounded a bit amused again. But she couldn't ignore the hint of sadness that laced his words. It worried her. Shouldn't he be happy? They had survived and destroyed Voldemort. What more could they ask for? She felt Harry's hand slide out of contact with her face, and instantly she missed its warmth. Then she felt his palm slide over the back of her hand and pause as he intertwined his fingers over the top of hers. He gave a little squeeze, and then she felt his skin brushing away, past hers.

"Will you come back?" she asked, suddenly afraid that he wouldn't. She didn't like being left alone and being so far from him and Ron.

"Yeah," he breathed. She listened as his footsteps fell across the room until they faded into a hallway. What about Ron? She still wanted to see him, talk to him, hear his voice, be near him, know that he was going to be okay too.