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Hermione Full of Grace	By : AdamantEve Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 13377 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Summary: Hermione takes on life after Voldemort with renewed enthusiasm, only to discover that
unresolved issues of the heart can�t be forgotten. In her quest for a happier
future, she gains a suitor who raises the hackles of her dearest Harry and Ron.
NC-17 for LATER chapters.

SPECIAL
THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt!
Really, this entire fic would be a disjointed mess without him! And his true love for H+Hr
is inspirational indeed. ^_^

Standard
disclaimers apply.

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Prologue � Shifting of Dreams

In which nothing but her matters.

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Something shifted as they watched her sleep.

Harry could tell that it was as significant for Ron as it
was for him; how it rearranged thoughts, feelings and perceptions the way only
life-changing experiences could. Things
were not as easy as they once were, and unlike before, where life was about
having someone older, wiser, better
to turn to amidst the confusion, this was something
only he and Ron could possibly understand.

With Hermione laid out on the bed, unconscious above and
pillows and beneath the sheets, �stable� as the healers called it, the only two
people who fully appreciated the sacrifices she had made, and might have to
make�should the divinities be so cruel�were the two boys; or rather the two men
who sat praying for her to wake up.

There were no Mr. and Mrs. Granger to look after her
anymore. Hermione had lost her parents
to Deatheaters some time during the start of their
seventh year; that had been almost three years ago, so really, there were just
them; Harry and Ron: the only two people left in the world that could love her
as unconditionally as family would.

It was an Avada Kedavra variation, diluted by a powerful shielding
spell that would not have been effective if Harry and Ron hadn�t been there to
lend her their magic, but Harry couldn�t help but wonder whether he would have
been able to give her more; protect her more, if he had only been a bit sharper
at reading her thoughts when it mattered most, and perhaps he might have kept
her from doing it at all, even if it meant it would lose him his life.

Voldemort had been a powerful wizard;
perhaps too powerful even for the likes of Dumbledore who sought life in magic,
whereas Voldemort sought death. Harry, Ron and Hermione had recognized this
reality, and it was in this acknowledgement that they found a way to stop
him. The only magic that could destroy Voldemort was the love their friendship created.

Hermione had pointed out that Harry could separate Voldemort�s essence from himself, enabling them to kill Voldemort once and for all.
The separation spell required either one of two things: A collective
power fueled by righteousness and uniting love; or the death of another. It was light magic, because the death it
asked required the quality of self-sacrifice, but it was the most powerful
magic they could find, and they had to believe it would work.

The spell couldn�t be done in advance. It was something they had to do while they were in the presence of Voldemort, simply because coaxing Voldemort�s
soul from Harry�s body would only be possible if the soul knew it had someplace
else to go. The beginnings of the spell
afforded them protection in the form of wards; it would be enough to have the
most unforgivable curse bounce off their shield, but the last few seconds of
the spell would leave them completely vulnerable, and while Harry would have
amassed enough power by that time to battle Voldemort,
it was never good to be vulnerable in the presence of such an evil wizard. Timing was everything; there could be no
mistake. It was, therefore, unfortunate
that they realized too late where their mistake was: Voldemort
had found out Harry was a Horcrux, and therefore he was prepared with a spell of his
own. Granted, Voldemort�s
spell needed its own blood sacrifice, but Voldemort
was not troubled by the consequences of taking another life. All that was
important to him was that his spell would work, and he could very well go
through any of his Death Eaters like picking Mugworth
from a jar to complete a potion.

By the time Hermione, Harry and Ron had gathered their
bearings to finish their spell, Voldemort was building his
spell right with them. He had killed
Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy
without batting an eyelash and he had flung his curse at Harry, part Avada Kedavra and part something
else to extract his soul from Harry before the unforgivable curse can do him in
completely.

Hermione had�like the brilliant witch that she
was�realized what Voldemort was doing and promptly
acted on it herself, for lack of having someone else do it for her. In hindsight; while it wasn�t the smartest
thing she could have done, it was the only
thing she could have done, at least the way she saw it. Her books and cleverness had, as always,
served her well in theory, but her self-admitted weakness of being unable to
take the optimum course of action without careful planning in advance, or at
least with a few moments of thought, had put her in a very dangerous
position.

She cast the strangest spell ever, like she twisted reality, or at least the reality of their
triangle, so that she was up front and Harry and Ron flanked her. She kept the triangle tight as they rushed
headlong into the last steps of their separation spell. The protective shield dissolved unto itself,
just like the book said it would, to let the final stages of the enchantment
come to fruition.

It was at that moment she flung a decomposition charm,
breaking Voldemort�s hurtling spell down into the two
parts it was made of. Her spell caught Voldemort�s, and it did its work perfectly.

What happened to the extracting spell in Voldemort�s curse, they really didn�t know. Voldemort was
furious, but Harry didn�t care. An Avada Kedavra was
headed straight for Hermione and all Harry knew was that if she died that very
instant, his world would be one-third voided.

Ron�s protection spell enveloped her in blue, but Harry
knew it wouldn�t be enough. Nobody
survived an Avada Kedavra curse
by any simple means, especially one flung by one such as Voldemort
who was a cesspool of hate, so Harry used the one thing that might diffuse Voldemort�s curse: the magic of Voldemort
residing in Harry.

Harry ripped through himself to tap into the part of him
that was Voldemort�s power. Harry was a vessel after all; he was an
unwitting horcrux for Voldemort�s
soul, and he tapped into that very dark power to cast a protection spell over
Hermione: Beat Voldemort with his own magic.

It enveloped her in black, causing her to squeak in terror
and step back.

This all, of course, happened very
fast. Mere heartbeats, even if it felt like
hours.

The curse struck, noticeably struggling to fight through
the barrier of Ron and Harry�s spell. It
hovered for a split second, as if everything had gone in slow motion. For a moment, Harry believed it was going to work.
The curse looked like it was being dispelled by the dark shield, but to
Harry�s absolute horror, it seemed to have punched through, and it slammed
right into Hermione�s chest.

It was as if she stood in her corner of the triangle for a
full second before she was flung backwards in a lifeless heap, lifted by an
invisible hand and discarded just as quickly.

It was also that very moment the separation spell took
effect, dislodging Voldemort�s soul from Harry
forever.

Harry�s agony then was worse than any cruciatus
he had felt. His wand fell from his
hands as he crumpled to the ground, his knees grown weak from grief pain. The evil that left him only meant that
Hermione was dead. She had become a blood sacrifice.
She had provided the death to
make the spell work.

The horcrux found its owner so
quickly, and with such intensity, that even Voldemort
hadn�t expected it. He fell back, as if
something had hit him unexpectedly and he couldn�t take it standing up.

Ron�s wail of despair rivaled only that of Harry�s and he
scrambled to go to Hermione, demanding Harry to �destroy that fucking bastard!�

Harry swore that righteousness had never been so organic
for him. With swift determination fueled
by love and friendship, he destroyed Voldemort with a
wave of magic even Harry didn�t realize he possessed. The ritual of the triad had, no doubt, played
a part in magnifying the intensity of his power, but there were emotions and
forces at work that Harry could only explain as all-encompassing. Wandless, he
screamed the incantation Hermione had spent hours teaching him in combination
with their strengthening ritual: �Effligo pravus!�

The words themselves were simple, but it was no easy feat
to make the spell work. His practice
sessions with Hermione had resulted in no more than a fizzing hiss, but her
theory was sound and she was confident, even if he wasn�t, that he would be
able to cast it when the time came. She
was right, and at that moment, he hit on all the right inner enchantments to
make the incantation work. It had felt
as if he had thrown his entire being into the spell; like he had dispersed
himself into millions of tiny charged atoms that exploded on contact with the
Dark Lord. Harry could only describe it
as a fiery hurricane; a power so intense in its heat that it melted everything
it passed through. If Harry hadn�t seen,
with his own eyes, Voldemort combust and dissipate,
Harry might think he had merely disapparated, but the
silent scream from the look on Voldemort�s face was
evidence enough, and the grisly melting that
followed convinced him of the spell�s success.

The effort hadn�t been without its price.

Harry�s hands had erupted in flames, scorching them black
and raw. Ron had managed to put the
flames away before it could engulf Harry entirely, but by then, Harry had
passed out, and there was nothing left of the battlefield except the dead,
wounded and destroyed.

When Harry woke up in St. Mungo�s,
his first thought was that Hermione was dead, and that the hollow feeling in
his heart couldn�t possibly heal. No,
healing would be betraying her memory.
Healing would mean he didn�t grieve her death enough. He had such screaming pain inside him, but it
was his quiet sobs of despair that had alerted the healing staff to his
consciousness, and moments later, Ron was there beside his bed.

There was no shame in letting Ron hold him as he wept for
Hermione, and he was so lost in his grief that he hadn�t heard Ron telling him
that Hermione was alive.

When finally, it dawned on him that Ron wasn�t just
babbling words of comfort, he let the full meaning of the words seep into him.

Ron�s eyes were glassed over and it was because of the
pain in them that Harry couldn�t completely believe Ron�s words: �Mate, she�s not dead!�

Harry wondered how it was Ron could seem so troubled
telling him Hermione was alive. And what
an odd way to say it: She�s not dead.

She�s alive, thought Harry. He could have broken down in tears again, if
it hadn�t finally occurred to him that all his crying would mortify him when he
calmed down and regained his sense of equilibrium.

�Hermione�s alive?� Harry had whispered, as if speaking it
too loud would blow the dream away to nothing.

Ron looked to be fighting back tears himself, and holding
Harry�s gaze, he nodded. �Y-Yes, but
Harry, right now� the healers couldn�t be sure if she�ll make it. She�s�she�s fighting, but�nobody knows��

�She has to make it! She has to live! I have to see her�� muttered Harry, pushing
back the sheets of his bed and realizing, to his utter dismay, that the
bandages wrapped around his hands was making it all very difficult to
manage. Pain shot through his body when
he jerked to swing his legs to the side of his bed. It felt like a cruciatus
curse all over again, and his screams rang throughout the hospital before the
numbing darkness overcame him.

The next time he woke up, the knowledge of Hermione alive,
but in critical condition, checked his emotions, and in a clearer frame of
mind, he asked for anyone to please
tell him if Hermione Granger was still breathing.

It was Remus Lupin
who came to his bedside this time, and the tired werewolf replied that Ron was
with her everyday, because he didn�t want her waking up to an empty room, if
she ever woke up at all. There was still
no surety that Hermione was out of danger.

Harry was still suffering the after-effects of fighting Voldemort. They had
put a lethargy charm on him. It couldn�t
keep him asleep, but it would make his body very, very heavy, making it less
likely to aggravate his injuries. His
entire body had been damaged. His
insides needed healing and his bones were brittle. It would be at least another three days
before he could be restored to reasonable health, and that wasn�t counting his
charred hands. According to the doctors,
his hands would heal, and they would regain full function, but the scars of his
burns would stay forever, like a maze of melted flesh. It could be masked with a simple illusion
spell, or �glamour�, usually grounded with a magical object like a ring, or
pendant, but if he entered a secured facility like Hogwarts, where wards of
trespass were raised, the spell may be nullified while he was on its
grounds. McGonagall gave him the
pendant, but she said Flitwick made it, and that it
would last a lifetime.

He thanked her and owled Flitwick, but it was a minor issue to Harry at the
time. The only words he wanted to hear
was, �Hermione�s going to be fine.�

The words did not come as soon as he would want.

When Harry asked the healers how Hermione managed to make it, they had mixed theories. They said that something about the Avada Kedavra had
been diminished. Like it had tried to
kill her, succeeded for a few seconds, but was pushed back by a repelling
force. They could only assume that it
was something in the shield Ron and Harry put around her, or it could have been
a spell Hermione uttered before she was hit.
At any rate, when the curse caught her, it wasn�t the same Avada Kedavra that
left Voldemort�s wand.

Now she was in a coma because of it. Whatever it was, she was still fighting the
curse.

When Harry was pronounced well enough to walk the
hospital, he joined Ron�s vigil.

She looked so pale amidst her spill of shiny brown
hair. For a while, it horrified Harry to
see her like that. However kind the look
of peace was on her features, she seemed so much like a corpse prepared for
viewing. How can she look so perfectly
well groomed and look so dead?

Softly, he had voiced his concerns to Ron, and Ron nodded,
understanding completely.

�McGonagall came over yesterday,� said Ron. �Washed her hair and all� cleaned her
up. I think I�d rather she looked
bedraggled, you know? At least she�d
seem like she was tossing in her sleep, or something.�

That was about as far as he and Ron spoke of it. After that, they had just sat around her bed,
talking about other things when they felt the need to speak. Sometimes, they
talked about their dorm mates Seamus, Dean and Neville; sometimes it was about
Fred and George Weasley; sometimes it was about the
publicity they were getting as destroyers of Voldemort;
a lot of times it was Quidditch.

They didn�t need to tell each other that the flowers
Victor Krum kept sending to the hospital didn�t have to be talked about. Ol� Vicky was a
topic too close to their Hermione.
Talking about her might tip the delicate balance that was her life. In funerals, people talked about the dead, so
Hermione would not be talked about as
if she were lying in state. She might
still make it. She might.

It didn�t mean they didn�t speak to her, though.

Harry spoke to her when Ron was out fixing 12 Grimmauld
Place; their place. Harry could only assume that Ron did the same
thing when it was Harry�s turn to run the errands.

They took turns in the hospital now, mainly because they
agreed that when �all was right again�, they�d want Grimmauld
place to be livable and ready. It didn�t
need to be said that they wanted it livable and ready for her. After all, they weren�t
particular about living conditions; she was.

What a relief that old Mrs. Black�s painting had been
destroyed long before; stripped from its frame and burnt to cinders. Harry didn�t think he�d be able to maintain
his sanity if he heard the painting yelling �No mudbloods!
Filth! A stain upon this house! Soiled!
Disgraced!� while the life of Hermione hung so
fragile. He thought maybe he�d
have hauled the painting out himself, ripped it savagely from its canvas and
watched it burn while he laughed maniacally.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, someone else had had the pleasure of
getting rid of her long before he even considered destroying the portrait.

The Old Mistress, it seemed, was far noisier, and more
malicious than any of them had expected.
The lady had, for quite some time, delivered tidbits of information from
the Order to the Deatheaters in another canvas. It seemed just to take her down forever when
they found her out. No one felt bad for
her, except maybe for Kreacher, who eventually wasted
away in his grief.

So their turns fixing Grimmauld
Place was a good diversion from the worry of Hermione in the hospital, but
whenever Harry was alone in the room with her; no Ron to listen and possibly
make fun of him later, Harry would lean over her and speak ever so softly.

�You know you have to wake up, don�t you Hermione?� he
would ask. �There are three of us. Always has been. What are Ron and I going to do if we lose our
third? You�re simply going to have to
make it and nag us to our dying days, Hermione.
Please, please wake up.�

And when he wasn�t pleading for her to open her eyes, he
was speaking to her of everyday things; things she would listen to and laugh
about, or scold him about. �A bunch of
get-well greetings have been sent to Grimmauld Place for you, Mione. I think Ron�s been hankering to eat the
Chocolate Frogs and Jellybeans in the pile, but he�s been pretty grown up about
not touching them. Krum keeps sending
floral arrangements; as if you need anymore flowers. There are too many of them crowding up this
room already. I don�t think the bloke
got the message when you told him you only like him as a friend. You did
tell him that, didn�t you? Seems too needy for a Quidditch superstar, I think. I swear, Professor Sprout�ll hold classes here some time soon if Krum doesn�t
stop sending foliage. Lots of professors
have dropped in. You know how all of �em love you. You�re
their star pupil, after all. So maybe
it�s not so much a stretch of the imagination that Snape
came by. Could you believe that? I half-expected him to call you a
know-it-all, but he acted decent enough.
He left a few potions he said would help you gain back your health, told
me I should let you work out the dosage because you were the only one with half
a brain to get it right. Bloody git. I still can�t bring myself to trust him, even
with Mad-Eye vouching for his spying for the Order��

Sometimes, he felt the need to talk about himself a bit,
just because he knew that if she were awake, she would be concerned about him
as well. �Ginny came by the other day,
you know. Pretty awkward, I admit, even
if it has been almost three years since we broke it off. I think she wants me to ask her to go out
again, but I�m a little too preoccupied right now to think about things like
that. Your condition is delicate, you
see, and I don�t know if you�re of a mind to make it. That worries me, you understand, because I
want you to get better. I really do,
Hermione.�

And when Harry wasn�t with her or Ron, when he couldn�t
see the rise and fall of her chest or Ron�s sullen, pouting face, he couldn�t
help but contemplate the reality that she could die. As much as he tried to fight those thoughts
away, there was no shutting them out.
This wasn�t something he could fight with Occlumency;
it was something he had to come to grips with by himself. It angered him that he thought about her
death. He didn�t know if avoiding such
thoughts gave Hermione a better chance in the fight to stay alive, but he knew,
at least, that thinking she would make it meant he believed in her, that his
loyalty would get her through, like hers did him.

So he didn�t like to be away from the company of either
Hermione or Ron for very long.

He was glad to be sitting with Ron now, waiting in
supportive silence for Hermione to wake up.

The sun was low in the sky; probably five in the
afternoon.

Ron was on one side of the room; Harry in the other. They each occupied a chair that didn�t belong
in that room; brought in from one hallway or another. Ron had his long legs sprawled out in front
of him as he tipped his chair back, his gaze sweeping over Wizard London and Muggle London alike.

�I think she�ll like her room in Grimmauld
Place, Harry,� said Ron distantly. �All beige and organized and with little hints of color. I never thought pink would work for her. Mum and Ginny don�t know her at all.�

Slumped in his seat and his gaze on Hermione still, Harry
nodded. �No, they don�t.�

He pulled at the chain of the illusion pendant around his
neck. It cast the most
uncanny glamour. He couldn�t even
feel his scars through the spell, but at night, when he took off the chain to
check his burns, there were his scars plain as day. He was mostly healed; its
been a month, after all.

One long month, he thought grimly. But I�ll
wait as long as I have to.

There was a sound, and it wasn�t the deep, grunting growl
of Ron. It was soft, and it pierced the
quiet of the room.

It jolted Harry out of his stupor, and Ron practically
fell over in his surprise.

�Hermione!� they cried in unison, rushing to both sides of
her.

She was stirring.

She�s waking up, thought Harry with desperate
anticipation, his gaze on her face. She�s waking up! Oh, Merlin, please
let her recognize us. Please� her mind�
let her be alright!

He placed his hand on her head, rubbing his thumb gently
on her temple. �H-Hermione?�

Ron clutched her hand in both of his, watching her face
for a sign that she was waking from her slumber, and that she was on her way to
getting better.

Her eyelids twitched before cracking open. Her eyelashes fluttered slowly before lifting
completely.

Harry had never thought her eyes so beautiful until
then. �Hermione?
Can you hear us?� Can you recognize us? Can you
even remember? Please remember!

Ron whispered her name.

She stared at them, swallowing as she let something sink
in. Her gaze rapidly shifted between
Harry and Ron, and then suddenly, she began to cry, and Harry had to hold her,
unsure why she had tears at all, partly afraid that something was terribly wrong.

After several minutes, she spoke through her sobs. �You�re alive� you�re both alive!�

Her tears were of relief, then, and it was so ironic that
she was shedding those kinds of tears for them, as if she were the one who had
been keeping vigil all this time.

�Why of course we�re alive, Hermione,� said Ron. �Did you think for a second we�d go and die
on you? Like we were
that easy to get rid of!�

She laughed and cried and held on to them as tightly as
her weakened grip could manage. �I
could�I could hear both your voices, but I was too afraid it was all just a
dream! But it wasn�t a dream. It was real, wasn�t it? Oh, Merlin!� She began to sob again, pulling them both
into her embrace.

The relief Harry felt was beyond explanation. He breathed.
He had been holding it since he found out she was alive. His eyes stung suspiciously, but he held his
emotions back.

Moments later, she pulled away. �D-Did�� she croaked. �Did we get him?�

Harry choked on a laugh.
That�s right; she didn�t know yet!

Ron made a similar sound.
�Oh, Merlin! She gets right down to it, don�t
she?�

Harry smiled; really smiled, for the first time in a
month. And then he was putting lips to
her forehead, holding his end of Hermione gently as Ron held his.

�We got him,� said Harry softly, meeting her gaze as he
smoothed back her hair. �He�s gone,
Hermione.�

She laughed through her tears and Harry gently wiped them
away.

They had a few minutes to themselves before the healer,
magically alerted of her rousing, came to check her vitals. Nurses poured into the room, ushering Ron and
Harry out. Neither of them wanted to
leave, but the healer and nurses spoke to them in gentle, reasonable voices.

�You may see her after we�ve examined her. Please give us room.�

Harry was of a mind to tell them all that they were crowding her, but Ron pulled
him out of the room to wait.

When Harry allowed himself to drop in one of the hallway
benches, he buried his face in his hands and finally, for a first time in months, allowed himself to really grieve
for the dead.

His parents, Sirius Black, Albus
Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Cedric Diggory, Hagrid� oh Hagrid! His first friend;
felled in the final battle by his own kind; trampled by giants who rallied by Voldemort. Grawp, too, died defending his brother.

There are many more, really, whose names he couldn�t
remember at this time. But Hermione
Granger was not among them, and while the death of the others were no less
tragic than anyone else�s, Hermione�s death would have taken him with her,
maybe not physically, but it would have wounded him so deeply in his tired
heart that he would have been the Boy Who Lived, But Didn�t.

Ron slumped beside him, elbows to his knees with his gaze
set on nothing in particular as Harry let tears leak from his eyes. �She�s going to get better, Harry. She�s going to be alright.�

It was the only comfort Ron offered, and Harry appreciated
it. Harry didn�t think he could take it
if Ron embraced him or something like that.
Too humiliating.

Harry nodded, lifting his glasses and wiping his eyes on
the long sleeve of his shirt. �I don�t
know if I could�ve gotten over losing her, Ron.
I think maybe I�d have gone nutters if she
died.�

Ron sighed, leaning back against the wall. �She�ll deck you for thinking that. You know this, don�t you?� He mimicked Hermione�s posture. �Harry
Potter! What do you mean you�ll go nutters if I die? Under no circumstance should you let my
death get in the way of your happiness.
Now, if I was expelled��

Harry smiled wanly, chuckling. �She�ll
deck you for that.�

�Looking forward to it!�

He let Ron laugh it all up for a bit. It was always Ron�s way. If he wasn�t wrestling his demons down he was
laughing at it.

But Harry did wait for what Ron really had to say.

Now they could talk, Harry
supposed. Though the healers haven�t
said so, Harry saw the life rushing back into Hermione�s eyes and he knew she
would make it. She would be alive and well
from that day onward, and they would settle her in Grimmauld Place where they would live in utter
felicity.

Ron flashed half a smile, his eyes clouding over. �I don�t know what I�d have done if she died,
Harry. Probably live the rest of my life
blaming you and myself for it.�

Harry chuckled.
Typical Ron response, and Harry knew there was
more depth to it than Ron would ever let on.
Ron loved Hermione just as Harry did.
They�d have both lost a very important part of themselves if they lost her.

And that was the whole of it, he supposed. No matter what they lost, gained or kept,
Harry, Ron and Hermione were one-third of each other�s lives. They were a trio bound by fire, blood, sweat,
tears and love. They were the best of
friends; heart, mind and soul.

To Harry, that meant a world of new promises; new
futures. He could live his life with
them, and they would be his family.

Something had shifted
when they were watching her sleep, and now that she was awake, things were
actually shifting still.

He would look out for Hermione with extra care. Her parents were gone, and while the Weasleys loved her, most of them�as Ron said�didn�t know
her. Only he and Ron really knew her
well enough to give her the care and protection she needed. Harry knew he can depend on Ron for
that.

It was going to be lovely, living in Grimmauld Place together. They would look after each other, and ask
about each other�s day; share in each other�s triumphs and commiserate in their
failures.

It was a new Wizarding World for
Harry Potter, and he thanked Merlin he and Ron had Hermione back to share it
with them.
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Hermione Full of Grace