23Saving Harry
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: I'm working on posting all my fanfics from different genres on this site, so they are all archived in one place. Most of my Harry Potter fanfics were written between 2003-2005 when there were only 5 books and 4 movies. A lot of them were posted on Portkey, and my HP pen name at that time was pottergirl786. Some of my stories are still archived there. I've made some minor edits here (mostly grammatical changes), but the content of the story is the same.
See further notes on boggarts and JKR's website at the very end of this story.
Part 1 – Hermione's Greatest Fear
Near the beginning of third year…
"You have a broken wrist," Madam Pomfrey told him. "I'm afraid you may miss supper, Mr. Potter."
Harry grimaced at her. After losing all the bones in his arm the previous year and having to spend the night in the hospital wing so they could grow back, this was nothing. Of course, it hadn't exactly been his own fault that he had lost his bones, but he did not have a git of a professor to blame in this case.
"Oh, it's all my fault!" wailed Hermione at his bedside.
"I'm the one who tripped," he told her through gritted teeth as Madam Pomfrey continued to administer to his wrist.
"If I hadn't left that pile of books where I did, none of this would have happened," she moaned.
"It's all right, Hermione," said Ron, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Though I did tell you taking that many subjects would be dangerous."
Hermione shot him a hard look, the one that was most frequently aimed in Ron's direction, while he rolled his eyes innocently away from her, the corners of his mouth quirking upward just slightly.
"Ron," Harry cut in, breaking the tension. "It's not Hermione's fault. If I'd been watching where I was walking properly—"
"If I hadn't distracted you with that fake bludger of Fred's—" inserted Ron guiltily.
"Enough with the what ifs," came a voice in the doorway.
It was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin.
"Now, if you're through blaming yourselves when it was clearly a simple accident, I'd like to talk to Madam Pomfrey for a moment or two."
She nodded, telling Harry, "You should be good as new in a few hours, Mr. Potter. What you need now is rest."
Ron and Hermione pretended they had not heard her stress the word "rest" in their direction, while Harry nodded and tried to smile at her. The pain in his arm had already lessened somewhat.
After Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lupin moved across the room to talk in whispers, Ron asked, "Wonder what he's doing here?"
"I don't know, but he could use something from Madam Pomfrey. He doesn't look any better now than he did on the train," Hermione commented in a low voice.
It was true. Professor Lupin looked extremely tired and ill, not to mention he was still attired in tatty, worn-out looking old robes.
"If you ask me, he just needs a good meal or two," said Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "All you ever think about is food."
"Speaking of which—" said Harry, cutting in again before the teasing between them turned to arguing.
"Do you want us to bring you something from dinner?" asked Hermione.
"Yes, that would be great. Thanks," said Harry gratefully.
"If Miss-Don't-You-Dare-Disturb-My-Patient lets us back in," Ron jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to where the two adults were chatting quietly.
"There's always the invisibility cloak," said Hermione.
Ron stared at her in mock surprise, as though shocked she would even suggest they break the rules.
"As long as Harry doesn't mind if we borrow it?" Hermione added quickly.
"If it saves me from starvation, you're welcome to it," he told them both.
Hermione turned concerned eyes to Harry, her face all seriousness now.
"I still feel like this is my fault, Harry," she said quietly. "You know my worst fear is something terrible happening to you, and not being able to—" she broke off suddenly, shaking her head. "Well, what do I do but put you in the hospital wing myself? As if you haven't spent enough time here already?"
Don't I know it? thought Harry, but he didn't say this aloud. He knew Hermione felt bad enough already.
"He forgives you, all right?" said Ron, exasperated. "Now, Harry, what do you want us to bring you? I think I still have a stash of Chocolate Frogs under my bed."
Later that evening, Hermione returned to the hospital wing alone.
Ron had had an unfortunate run-in with Peeves the Poltergeist and was now in Filch's office trying to explain that he was not responsible for toppling over a bust of Paracelsus onto the head of a second year. Filch, of course, had been more concerned about the cleanly status of the second-floor corridor than about the girl who had nearly been knocked out in the fray. Never mind that dropping statues of famous alchemists onto the heads of students was something Peeves was famous for!
As she crept past Madam Pomfrey's office, the invisibility cloak swirling lightly around her feet, Hermione noted that Professor Lupin was still in deep talk with the elderly witch. Though she found this a bit odd, Hermione's thoughts did not linger there as she quickly made her way over to Harry's bedside.
He was sleeping, leaning heavily against his left side, while his broken wrist was lying limply upon the sheets which had been pulled loosely around his waist.
Not wanting to disturb him—though she wondered how he could sleep through the storm that was waging its war outside the castle, complete with pelting rain and whip-crack bolts of lightning—she set the dinner she had brought for him on a nearby table and quietly turned to leave.
"Don't go," said Harry, and Hermione froze, barely catching his soft words above the booming thunder.
Harry caught the edge of the invisibility cloak and tugged on it gently. It slipped soundlessly from Hermione's head and pooled to the floor at her feet.
Hermione smoothed down her hair, trying to hide her surprise as she said, "How did you know it was me?"
Harry gave her a smile that was almost a smirk but didn't reply. Instead he shifted onto his back, cradling his wrist against his chest.
Hermione pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, reaching for Harry's glasses on the bedside table and handing them to him as he propped a pillow behind his shoulders.
"Thanks," he muttered, resting those familiar round lenses on the bridge of his nose.
"I didn't mean to wake you," said Hermione.
"You didn't," said Harry, glancing at the food parcel she had left on the table. "That smells really good. I'm so hungry I could—"
"Eat a hippogriff?"
"No, that's Ron," joked Harry, and they both laughed.
After explaining the absence of their mutual best friend, Hermione chattered in low tones about schoolwork and classes while Harry feasted on all the goodies she had scoffed from the supper table. They were certainly better than all the potions Madam Pomfrey had been feeding him. As it was the very beginning of term, the rest of the beds in the hospital wing were empty, and surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey did not come to check on Harry once while Hermione was there.
It was a few minutes after Harry had finished his slice of pumpkin pie that silence fell between them, and a couple more before Harry realized Hermione was staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at her curiously.
"Why are you looking at me as though I'm some essay you got a D on?" he asked, breaking the stillness at last.
The storm outside had lessened considerably. A light rain was pattering against the sides of the castle, tapping a tune as the drops hit the windowpanes in small splutters.
Hermione sighed deeply and shook her head, not knowing—for once—what she wanted to say to him.
Guessing at what was bothering her, Harry said, "You don't need to feel responsible for me, you know?"
She shook her head again.
"I can't help it," she replied quietly, her eyes falling away from his gaze.
She was twisting the invisibility cloak around her fingers as it lay across her lap. Harry's free hand fell on top of hers, stilling her restlessness with his touch.
"Would you mind not putting a hole in that?" asked Harry, amused.
Hermione raised her eyes to meet his and smiled apologetically, but Harry merely squeezed her hand lightly with his own. She knew in that instant, despite his teasing, that Harry understood why she had really come to see him that night.
"I think the rain is letting up," she said at last, squeezing his hand in return.
"I think you're right," agreed Harry, though his gaze did not turn once toward the windows.
In a darkened doorway a few feet away, hidden among the shadows so as not to intrude, there was someone else who made a similar realization—someone who saw, quite unintentionally, that it was a very long moment before Harry's hand withdrew from the girl at his side to rest once more on his bed.
Two days later, Hermione stood before Professor Lupin, who was sitting at his desk in his office.
"How's Harry?" he asked before she could speak. "He seemed well enough in class, but then boys don't often admit when something is bothering them, do they?"
He eyed her rather shrewdly, which startled her a bit, but Hermione merely smiled back at him, taking his question at face value.
"He's feeling much better. Thank you."
Lupin nodded in return, shuffling some papers around on his desk before asking her kindly, "So what can I help you with, Miss Granger?"
"Professor," she started slowly. "I was wondering why you didn't allow me to fight the boggart in class yesterday."
Lupin looked at her in surprise, clasping his hands in front of him before resting his chin on them.
"You had already participated earlier in class when you answered one of my questions," he said, but it was apparent before she spoke next that Hermione was not satisfied with this response.
"You allowed everyone else to tackle the boggart. Everyone but Harry and me. I think it's obvious why you didn't want Harry to do it. But my boggart wouldn't have been more frightening than anybody else's."
Lupin eyed her curiously. "You're a shrewd young lady, Miss Granger. However, do you know what shape your boggart would have taken on?"
Hermione thought about this for a moment.
"No, not really," she said honestly. "Ron joked that it would be an imperfect piece of homework."
Lupin laughed at this.
"From what I've heard, Miss Granger," he said, "that would be quite impossible."
She reddened considerably at that statement.
"I did not mean to exclude you," he assured her. "I did, however, feel that you might not be prepared to face your boggart."
"You didn't think I could do it?" she asked, fighting to control her voice.
Hermione was truly astonished, but she was not about to lose her calm with a teacher. Still, she was not used to being second-guessed. Not even Snape, though he was quick to belittle or even ignore her, had ever questioned whether she could perform a task properly or not.
Lupin raised both of his hands in a supplicating gesture.
"I did not say that. I merely felt you were not ready to face your fear," he explained.
Hermione shook her head at him, her bushy hair swishing over her shoulders rapidly.
"I don't understand, Professor," she said. "And I beg your pardon, but isn't it your job to prepare the students for defending themselves against such things? How can you know if I'm ready if you won't even let me try?"
"You're right, of course," said Lupin. "I can't know for sure. And it is my job to help you prepare for such things. I'm sorry if you disagreed with my decision. I made a judgment call. I had no idea you would be so offended by it. Next time, I will be more sensitive, Miss Granger."
She seemed satisfied with this and turned to go but stopped in the doorway.
"Professor?"
Lupin looked up from his pile of papers at her.
"Do you know what shape my boggart might have been?"
He sighed and didn't answer for a long moment.
"I want you to think hard on that question," he said finally, "and ask me again later."
Puzzled, Hermione simply nodded and left the office.
It was several weeks later when Professor Lupin asked to speak to Hermione after class one afternoon.
"What is it, Professor?" she asked anxiously. "If it's about that last essay, I swear next time it will be at least two scrolls longer. I just didn't have time to perfect it the way I normally—"
Lupin held up his hand to stop her rambling. "Your essay was fine, Miss Granger. Terrific work, as usual."
She beamed at him.
"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "You know I've been helping Harry with anti-dementor lessons? Of course, we don't have a real dementor to practice on. We have been using a boggart I captured in a suitcase. Did Harry tell you?"
She nodded, wondering what any of this had to do with her.
"Well, I thought, Miss Granger," Lupin continued, "if you wanted extra help with your boggart, now would be the perfect opportunity. I know you weren't particularly pleased with me about the whole thing last term. And now that I'm feeling better..."
She shot him a strange look, eyebrows raised.
"I have more time on my hands to devote to my students," he finished. "That is, if you're up to it?"
Hermione was never one to shirk away from a challenge.
"When do we start, Professor?"