Penance

A/N: A bit short, but worth it I think.


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Hermione left the hospital wing the next day, Harry being semi-stable. He was in and out of it and they had to keep him drugged with a special potion to help him rest without the influence of Voldemort. When he did wake she could see the pain in his eyes and it tore her up inside. She didn’t have much time to do what she needed to do. She was going to save her friend, no matter what the cost.

She hadn’t been back to the Den for more than a few minutes before Ginny knocked softly on her partially open door. Hermione bid her entrance and was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“Ginny? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Hermione! It’s such a mess! I don’t know what to do!”

The wailing girl flung herself into Hermione’s arms and she settled the girl onto her bed and soothed her into some state of composure.

“H-he told me he l-loved me! I was going to tell him, honest I was! But he told m-me and I c-couldn’t say it! Hermione, I couldn’t tell him I’m with Luna! He has no idea but I c-can’t tell him now! He’s so weak and he n-needs me! Hermione, I don’t know what to do! I don’t want to hurt Luna by not telling him and I don’t want to be the reason for Harry’s death! What should I do?”

“Ginny, you’re thinking too much into this. Harry is under so many potions he isn’t in his right mind. He’s going to be saying all kinds of things. And I don’t think you’re giving Luna enough credit. Do you love her?”

“Yes, you know I do!”

“Then she’ll understand. She knows you and Harry were a thing before this and she was the one who helped you cope in the first place. She will understand if you have to delay this for a few days. We all have to sacrifice a little for Harry right now. He needs us. Just talk to her, let her know why you can’t. She’ll agree that it’s the best thing for him and that it has nothing to do with your feelings for him.”

“Hermione…that’s the thing…you know, I never really got to settle my feelings for Harry, I don’t know if they’re still there or not. I loved him, I did. When he died, or at least when we thought he’d died, I was a wreck, you know that! But Luna…Hermione it’s so totally and completely and wonderfully different from what we had…but I can’t lie to myself and say that I don’t still have some unsettled feelings for Harry. I’ve never really been able to get closure. Hermione, I don’t know if I love him or not,” Ginny admitted dejectedly.

“Gin, stop making this so hard on yourself. Give yourself a little bit of slack, for goodness sake! You lost the love of your life, you never got to say goodbye. You fell in love with another without really letting those other feelings lay to rest since he was gone and there was no reason to. Now he’s back. Everything’s going to be a little confusing at first, but he’ll understand in the end.”

“He’s going to be so heartbroken. Hermione, I feel like I’ve been cheating on him all this time!”

“No, Ginny, that’s ridiculous!” Hermione scolded. “He was dead, for all we knew! You can’t blame yourself for moving on and I know he won’t either. Yes, he’ll be devastated, he still loves you, but because of that, he’ll let you go. You need to do what’s best for you. Everything happens for a reason, Gin.”

Ginny rested her head against Hermione’s shoulder and Hermione wrapped an arm around her.

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Ginny mumbled, sniffing. “You always know what to do.”

Hermione hugged her close and closed her eyes. She had yet to tell anyone but Draco of the curse. She knew she should, but she couldn’t. So she urged Ginny to find Luna and talk to her and turned back to the business at hand.

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Hermione stood in the snow, looking up at the building she had spent the last year and a half in, minus the previous few weeks. She trudged up to the office, snow leaking into her trainers. She pulled open the creaky door and smiled at the old woman sitting at the reception desk.

“Welcome to Weeping Willows may I- Janie! Oh my dear, it’s good to see you!”

Hermione smiled. “Hello, Maureen. How have you been?” she asked, hugging her when she jumped into her arms.

“Oh, fine, fine, you know me. Nothing’s going to take this old body down!”

“And Jack?” she asked, referring to her husband, the manager.

“Same as always, tinkering around with something or another. Come in, come in, how have you been?”

“Great, actually. Went to visit some old friends unexpectedly. There was a little emergency, I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly.”

“Oh it’s no problem dear, no problem. These things happen, we understand that very well.” The grey haired woman ambled over to the coffee maker and started pouring some. Hermione smiled, thinking about all the tea she’d been drinking recently. Maureen handed Hermione her cup and she thanked the sweet woman kindly, sipping the hot substance to bring heat into her bones.

“Maureen, what did you guys do with my things? I know without the payment you had to clean it out, but I just wondered…”

“What are you talking about, dear? You’re paid up for the next few months, remember?”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The payment that nice young man left, the cute one. He said you gave it to him. You did, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, yes I remember now,” she lied.

“Yes, he’s a hard one to forget I imagine. What was his name again? It was a funny one…”

“Draco,” she breathed. Draco had paid her rent? Why hadn’t he told her?

“That’s it! Draco. Such a sweet young boy, nice to watch walk away as well, if you know what I mean,” the woman said with a wink.

“Maureen!” she cried incredulously.

“What? I’m old, not blind!”

Hermione laughed. Well, the lady did have a point. She still couldn’t believe he had done that. When did he have time?

“Now, go on up and see your kitty. He’s been missin’ you, the poor thing. Getting fatter than ever, I’m afraid, but he only likes me when I feed him so I can’t help but spoil the little guy,” Maureen admitted with a smile. She’d taken care of Crookshanks?”

“Thank you for watching after him,” she said. “I appreciate it more than I can say.”

“Janie, you know we’d do anything for you. Now, go on up. If I had known you were coming I would have turned on the heat but it’ll probably be a little chilly. We’ve kept it at sixty-five for Crooksy here, but you don’t have a fur coat.”

“It’ll be great. Thanks, Maureen. Tell Jack hello when you see him,” she said and departed, handing back her half empty coffee mug. She was gripping the key to her old apartment so tight the grooves were carving the design on her soft skin. She shakily put the key into the lock and turned it.

It was the same. Maureen had picked up the clothes Draco had knocked about when packing her things and folded them nicely on her bed. She’d cleaned out the percolator and left it on a towel by the sink to dry. Hermione got to her knees and petted a mewling Crookshanks who wound himself around her and thought this was a rather odd greeting until she noted the empty dish. Maureen had not yet come for his mid-day meal. Hermione lifted the huge animal into her arms and headed for the kitchen where a brand new bag of cat food had been placed beneath the sink in her usual spot. She shook her head at the actions of the sweet old lady and filled up Crookshanks’ dish, petting him on the head while he dug in. Hermione looked around her and wondered where to begin. So she turned on the heat and started by sorting through her clothes and deciding which was trash and which could be donated. She would never be coming back to this apartment and she didn’t need anything in it. So when she finished she would call for the Salvation Army to pick it up and they would disperse it among those who needed these things. She certainly wouldn’t.

Pushing down the pity she realized that she smelled awful. Tying the handles of the garbage bag around an old sweater which was poking out, she wrote in black Sharpie that it was to be donated. Rising, she looked around. All of her belongings were piled and organized into sacks and some cardboard boxes she had kept for ‘just-in-case’ purposes. She was glad she had. She was surprised at how long she had been there and nothing had happened. She shrugged it off and walked to the bathroom where she decided to enjoy one last shower. If they didn’t come to her, she would go to them. Resolved, she turned the heat all the way up and stripped. She looked down at the scars of her body, running her fingers over the more prominent ones. She felt the smooth skin of the ones on her belly and shuddered. She hated the memories.

The water scalded her skin at the touch and she gasped involuntarily. The burn was almost cold, it was so hot. Her skin began to turn red and sore, but she scoured it with the soap she had left there anyways, scrubbing her hair with an unmitigated fury. She raked her fingernails over her skin, wanting to rid herself of the scum of truth. The pain made her drop the breath she’d been holding. She was alive. Still alive. The aching in her stomach taunted her. She was alive, damn it!

Anger consumed her. She punched the cheap plastic walls of her shower, finally succeeding in breaking through it and ripping the skin of her hands, her red hands. The dark blood ran onto them, flowed up from the scrapes. She screamed. She yelled. Tears mixed with the spray, distinguished only by the salty taste when they fell onto her tongue. She stopped, letting her jaw slack as she caught water in the cavern of her mouth, letting it overflow, run down the sides of her face to swirl with the water on the bottom, the dirty water that rained off her dirty Mudblood bastard skin. She was a bastard. She was a Mudblood. She was a failure. She was a coward. She was still alive through she felt dead.

She was a lie.

Hermione sank to her knees, the simple truth flowing over her. She had lived a lie. Gathering her legs to her chest she dropped her face between her knees, holding her head in place with the sides of them. She closed her eyes and breathed, slowly through her mouth. Breathed. Breathed.

Then his arms where there, lifting her, wrapping her in a blanket of warmth. He carried her to the bed on the floor, bare but for the blanket she had been swallowed by. They said nothing but clung; to each other, to life, to the lie.

When he kissed her, she could do nothing but respond. It was an impossibility. Dead people couldn’t kiss the love of their lives. But still, he lied back to her, took her lips and body, felt into every region, every dip and curve and scar. She didn’t know when he’d become as she, likes of when they entered this world, but his skin rubbed against her own and she could feel the pulse of his life. Here was life, here was living. Here was the reason.

They shared his life; it was enough for the both of them. They shared it in silence, no words, soft sounds. When he filled her, he filled her whole being: her soul, her body, her heart. His hands griped hers as he moved, creating the life that she needed for her dead body. He was anchoring her to reality. She was stealing what was not given to her, a common thief. But he loved her anyways, if not in words then in actions. She felt it, she knew it. But she wasn’t allowed. She was stealing what wasn’t hers.

So though she reveled in the joy that his body gave her, humbled in the love his heart lent her, she knew the truth. It was not hers for the taking. When they floated together on that cloud of bliss, she had one second of sheer, mind-numbing happiness. She could be a thief, be a liar. This was what she got in return. So though she would spend eternity in purgatory, it didn’t matter. This small slice of unwarranted delight was enough to see her through.

He held her afterward, her body cradled in his. She should tell him. Tell him that they only had minutes, seconds maybe. They would come.

But she didn’t. And in doing so, submitted him to the hell that wasn’t his to bear.

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XOXO

RynStar15