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Harry stepped out from behind the statue as Filtch disappeared around the far corner. Checking his feet were still covered by the cloak, he continued silently towards the Hospital Wing. He turned Ron’s words over in his mind again. There’s no point Harry, you heard what Pomfrey said, petrified people don’t know what’s going on around them. Be that as it may, it didn’t sit right with Harry to leave Hermione up there, so he’d dropped Ron off at the Fat Lady’s portrait and turned back along the empty halls.
Harry eased the door open and slipped inside, careful not to let it swing closed. The frozen forms of petrified students gave the place a decidedly eerie quality, but he was here for Hermione. He made his way over to her bedside and, checking Madam Pomfrey’s office door was closed tight, slipped off the cloak.
“Hi, uh, it’s me.” he whispered, a little unsure. “Oh, erm-“ Harry stood up and leant over into her eye-line. Her eyes remained glassy, fixed on the ceiling above them, but he figured that if she was aware of her surroundings then she would appreciate being able to see who was talking.
“Sorry it’s so late, I would have come sooner but me and Ron went down to Hagrid’s. Figured he might know something about the Chamber, you know, because of last time? But he didn’t. And he got arrested. And Dumbledore got suspended.”
Harry let out a sigh and sat down, placing his hand over Hermione’s closed fist so that she would still know he was there. He leant forwards, pressing his forehead against their clasped hands.
“I’m so, so sorry Hermione. This is all wrong. Everything has gone so wrong.” His eyes stung as he blinked back tears. “Why does this keep happening? I know I didn’t attack those people but what about the voices? Why am I the only one who can hear them? What if I’m causing it somehow?”
Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, sat by her bed, taking comfort from the small contact between them.
“I should get back,” he said, standing up, “but I’ll be here again tomorrow night, and every night until you wake up.” He squeezed her hand, threw the cloak back over himself, and slipped from the room.
“Hey.” Harry leant over Hermione and gave her a weak smile, the same way he had every night for the last few weeks.
“I’m a bit late tonight, sorry if I worried you. I actually just came from the forest with Ron. We’re both fine, before you ask. We thought we might have tracked down the beast but- well I won’t go into the whole thing but it was a dead end.”
He rubbed his face and let out a low breath. He wasn’t sure how to tell Hermione that they’d made no progress, that things were so bleak with no cure and no Dumbledore, that everything was dull and grey without her.
“Ron reckons the girl who- well, the attack the last time the Chamber was opened, that it was Moaning Myrtle, so we’re going to try and talk to her soon.”
Harry ran his palm up and down her forearm while he thought.
“I’ve been wondering whether Voldemort could be behind this. I know you’ll say he fled last year, but I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but it can’t just be a coincidence, can it?”
He reached into his bag on the floor and pulled out three books, placing them on the mattress next to Hermione. One at a time, he lifted them in front of her face to show her the covers.
Modern Magical History
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts
Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century
“I got these out of the library. Do you remember? When we met for the first time on the Hogwarts Express you said you’d read all about me in these. I figured I should try to learn more about him.”
He shrugged and returned the books to his bag.
“I need to get back. Remind me tomorrow to tell you what Neville managed to do to Hannah Abbot in charms.”
With one last look into Hermione’s vacant eyes, he departed.
Harry dropped into the chair beside her bed. He didn’t greet her in his usual way, but placed a hand on her arm. He seemed unsure how to begin.
“Hermione, I’m not what you think I am.” He looked down at the floor, unable to face her.
“Those books. I can’t-“ he faltered, then tried again.
“I’m no hero. I’m no saviour. There’s nothing special about me. I just sat there while he killed my parents. And then-“ he paused again. He’d never admitted the truth to anyone before.
“At the Dursleys, it was difficult for me. Still is. They’re not nice people, Hermione. They like things a certain way and when it isn’t that way… you know about it. And they hate magic. They hate me for it! Did you know for ten years I thought my parents were drunks who died in a car accident!”
Harry realised he was getting heated and took a second to calm himself lest he wake Madam Pomfrey.
“The point is, I did nothing. I’m not what those books say I am. I got lucky, and Voldemort knows, and now everyone around me suffers for it.”
He leant closer to her and wrapped her hand in his own.
“I’m sure it’s him, Hermione. The more I read about him the more sure I am that all this, the Chamber, is exactly the kind of thing he would do. He almost killed me again last year and now this? It follows me around; I can’t get away from it!”
His voice dropped to a whisper, his head resting on her pillow.
“I can’t drag everyone down with me Hermione. I can’t let this happen to you.”
Harry took a shaky breath and slowly lifted his head from her bed. With a rustle of silvery fabric, he was gone.
“Hey, Hermione.” He leant over her again, closer than usual, one hand cupping her cheek while the other brushed stray hair off her forehead. There was a sadness in his eyes.
“Ginny has been taken.”
He steeled himself and continued.
“Ron, Fred, George, and Percy aren’t doing so well, but I overheard the Professors saying Lockhart is going down after her. I- I’m going to find him and tell him what we know, maybe it’ll help. And then, well, I’m leaving Hogwarts, Hermione.”
Harry’s eyes swam as he looked at her for the last time.
“I wish I’d been able to see you cured, but at the same time I don’t know if I could have said this with you awake. It could have been you! Or Ron, or anyone, and now Ginny might die. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.”
He leant down and pressed his lips to her forehead, before turning away and leaving the room.
Hermione felt his lips against her skin, saw him step back from her bed, heard the door close behind him.
She had felt everything, seen everything, heard everything. Harry had kept her sane these long weeks, his visits were the only good during the darkest days she had known. She had also had a front row seat to his descent into guilt and isolation, pouring every fibre of her being into just twitching a finger to let him know she was there, but to no avail.
Hermione wanted to scream, to cry, to thrash and rage but could do nothing, trapped as she was in the prison of her mind. The small scrap of paper, her revelation, remained hidden in her closed fist. The danger they all faced, what was waiting for them in the Chamber, unread upon it.