Day Six
It takes most of the day before he’s ready to go outside. And neither of them blames him for wanting to wait until the afternoon sun could warm the grass. Ron has to support him. His body is still weak and tired. When they get downstairs, he can feel all eyes on him, especially Molly’s. He stares at the ground, focusing on one foot in front of the other. Hermione takes his hands on the back steps, making sure he doesn’t trip.
For a moment, he just stands there, feeling the warm grass between his toes and the cool breeze on his face. He looks around the garden, and everything feels so normal like it’s simply a holiday, and they’ll return to Hogwarts for a few days. But then he remembers, and the weight of the last week comes crashing around his shoulders. His chest tightens, his knees buckle, and he cries.
“I got you, I got you,” Ron assures him, lowering him to the ground. Hermione settles on the grass beside him, holding him as he cries. He wishes he could make it stop, tired of crying, but it doesn’t.
And then there’s a third set of arms wrapping around him. Long ginger hair brushes across his vision and the scent of vanilla. Ginny.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just couldn’t stand it any longer,”
He lets her hold him because she needs it, and he lets her think he needs it too. And he should need her. He should be grateful that she’s holding onto him like a lifeline. But all he can think about is that Ron leans away, and Hermione lets go of his hand. All he can think about is how wrong it feels to smell vanilla instead of oranges and cinnamon.
They stay in the garden for a while. Ginny sits with them because Harry doesn’t have the heart to send her away. And when he can’t stand it anymore, he feigns exhaustion and lets Ron guide him back upstairs.
He takes a nap, nestled in between the two of them once more. There’s no potion this time, so he dreams, but only just, ghostly memories of the battle flitting across the corners of his sleep. At one point, he comes just to the point of waking, Hermione and Ron’s voices surrounding him.
“I take it back, ‘Mione,” he thinks he hears Ron say. “What I said about him getting better,”
“What do you mean?”
“We should give him the chance to figure it out,”
“Figure out what?”
And Harry is also wondering that, but sleep drags him back down before he can hear.
✦✦✦✦✦
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Hermione smiles at him when he’s finally pulled back to the waking world.
“Hi,” he frowns, remembering their words. He turns his head, but Ron isn’t there. “Where’s Ron?”
“On a walk,” she sighs. “He needed some space,”
Harry’s chest tightens, but he just nods. So, he had heard them correctly. Ron took it all back. He wanted Harry to figure out how to get better without so much help.
“Oh,” he says simply, pretending like everything’s fine. There’s a sadness in Hermione’s eyes, something deep and painful he can’t quite pin. Before he can think much more of it, she turns to her book, which takes him aback. Because until now, he’s only had her complete attention when he’s awake.
Maybe she thinks I need to figure it out, too.
His chest tightens again, and he becomes resolute. If they think it's time for him to be a big boy and get out of bed, then so be it. And he’ll prove it. “I think I should talk to everyone,” he sighs.
Hermione drops her book, the tome tumbling from her hands and onto the floor. “What? Harry, you can’t be serious,”
He frowns. Isn’t this what they want him to do?
“It’s been almost a week, don’t you think I should?”
“No!” she says fervently. “You couldn’t even look at Ginny today,”
His stomach drops. She had noticed. Of course, Hermione noticed.
“But I- you and Ron- I heard him say-” he stammers.
Her eyes widen. “What did you hear?”
“Ron said he took it all back,” Harry frowns. “That I needed to figure it out,”
“Shit,” she mutters, rubbing her hands in her face. “I knew we should’ve… never mind. Harry, we weren’t talking about you going downstairs,”
“You weren’t?” he asks. Her swearing makes him feel even more off guard. Hermione doesn’t swear. “Then what- what else could you have been-”
“We can’t talk about it right now,” she says pleadingly.
“No!” he growls, sitting up. “Don’t start keeping things from me, not now,”
“Harry, I’m not- that’s not what I’m- this is now how this is supposed to go,”
“Why?” he seethes.
“Not without Ron,” she insists. “And not until you’re better,”
“‘Mione, I swear to god,” he huffs, dropping his face into his hands. “If you two are tired of me or need space to figure out whatever happened between you, then just bloody tell me!”
“That’s not it!” she insists.
“Then what is it?” he asks desperately. She just shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes.
Harry starts to spiral, his chest tightening, his breathing labored. How could she? After all they’ve been through, they’re talking about him, and now she won’t talk to him?
“Harry, just try to breathe,” she says, reaching towards him. He leans away, and he knows it hurts her.
He tries to follow her advice, though, because he’s quickly heading downhill. The room is spinning, her voice is muffled, he can’t breathe… can’t breathe… can’t…
“Harry! HARRY!”
Ron is there, cupping his face and brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“Harry, you’ve got to come back to me,” Ron insists. He places a hand on Harry’s chest. “Come on, love, in and out, there you go. Hermione sit behind him,”
He feels cool fingers brush against his feverish skin and then something soft. He’s tucked against Hermione’s chest, Ron’s hands still gripping him tightly. Hermione’s soft fingers slip under his shirt, gently rubbing his skin to distract him.
“I’m- I’m-” he tries to choke out.
“You’re here,” Ron sighs in relief. “Okay, you’re here, just breathe,”
He sucks in a deep breath finally, and the hand gripping his lungs lets go. Ron pulls himself closer to them, Harry’s bad leg stretched out past his hip, the other tucked in his lap. He presses his forehead against Harry’s, his other hand reaching back to grasp Hermione. They sit like that for a long time, hearing each other breathe, feeling their pulses beat under the other’s fingers.
“What happened?” Ron growls. “I was gone for ten minutes. Did someone come up or-”
“It was my fault,” Hermione whispers solemnly.
“What?”
“He heard us talking earlier, Ron,” she explains. “I tried to- not say anything. We talked about not saying anything,”
“You can’t-” Harry sucks in a sharp breath. “I can’t handle any more secrets,”
“Did you tell him?” Ron murmurs. Harry can feel her shake her head. Ron lets out a shaky sigh, his grip on the both of them only lessening slightly. “Don’t blame her, Harry. I asked her not to,”
“But why?” he asks, tears pooling in his eyes.
“Because I’m not ready to talk about it,” Ron explains. “Because I can’t in good conscience have the conversation we need to have while you’re still like this,”
“What conversation?” he asks, huffing.
“You can’t be that oblivious, Harry,” Ron murmurs softly. “Please tell me he’s not that oblivious, Hermione,”
“I think he is, Ron,” she says gently.
“I’m not!”
Ron squeezes his eyes shut, thinking hard about whatever he’s about to say. “You’ve got to sort things out with Ginny,” he says in a rush. Then, as if he’s set off an explosive, he pulls away from them both.
“Ron!” Hermione exclaims.
‘It’s true!”
Harry feels sick. Not because he has to sort things out with Ginny but because he knows there’s nothing to be sorted out.
“We didn’t want to rush you,” Hermione says, her words precise. He turns to see her shooting daggers at Ron. “or Ginny,”
“I- I don’t think that-” he stammers out.
“Don’t say anything right now,” Ron insists. “It’s between the two of you. But seeing her earlier… I won’t push you, Harry, of course, I won’t, but she deserves something,”
Harry gulps, his mind racing. “You’re right. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, okay? I went outside today. I- I can talk to Ginny tomorrow,”
“Only if you’re sure Harry,” Hermione frowns.
“We’ll just talk,” Harry whispers, his heart dropping to his stomach.
Ron’s going to be so mad at him tomorrow.