Remedy

A Different Sort of Magic

The room was different from the one Harry saw the Healer Purvis in at Hogwarts, more professional, with clinical bright white walls, and less comfortable chairs.

Harry's eyes burned, but he didn't think he could cry. His throat was tight, and it felt like a rock was on his chest. Usually, this meant that the desperate clutch of grief had him in its tight claws, ripping at him for could haves, would haves, and should haves.

It was different in this session, though. Instead, it was rage that choked Harry, burning his insides. The emotion was familiar, too. Harry knew he had a temper. He had struggled with it many times as he grew up.

But never, no matter how angry he had gotten, had he wanted to hurt anyone innocent. Even thinking the thoughts made him slightly nauseous with how the feeling seemed to stab at his insides. Harry had truly deeply wanted to hurt Hermione's parents. The swift intensity of the rage that flared up as he watched her cry while they screamed at her had left Harry shaken. The closest parallel had been when his reaction when he spotted Malfoy in the bathroom at the beginning of term. But Malfoy was far from innocent.

Harry hadn't really had any expectations on how the Grangers would react. He had never met them priorly and all he really knew was that they were dentists and always seemed accepting of Hermione's magic— or maybe that was the impression Hermione gave him. So many things had happened in Hogwarts that looking back at it now, it was hard to sort out the memories clearly.

Harry's voice was hoarse as he continued to tell the healer what had happened after they found Hermione's parents. "She begged them for forgiveness and they asked her to leave."

"They have a right to be angry."

He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair and his magic slipped his control lashing out, and an ominous crack appeared on the wall behind Harry. "They had no right to make her cry!"

The healer didn't react, watching him, and for some reason, that made Harry angrier. "Everything she did! Everything she sacrificed! For me! For them! They have no fucking right!"

Harry bent forward in the chair, trying not to jump up and rage like an idiot around the room and break every single item it contained. His hands trembled as he shoved them through his hair, messing it up further. "Everything was going fine. Even when I got the message from Shacklebolt I thought, well, good, you know? Hermione missed her parents. She felt so guilty for how she protected them. And now—now I wish we had never found them. Let them rot in Australia!"

"What does Miss Granger think should happen?"

"I—I—" Harry stopped. He realized he didn't know. Fuck! How could he not know what she wanted? She wanted her parents' forgiveness obviously — but what did that mean? Did she want them home from Australia? Considering how she behaved even while they had screamed at her – probably. Likely. What the hell did he know about people's feelings toward their parents? All he had was bloody gravestones. "She wants them not to be mad at her but other than that I don't know," Harry admitted finally. "I just wanted to get her away from them."

"Communication will always be key in these situations. Even if that communication means asking for time to process your own emotions or allowing her to process her own. Talking through events, and knowing what your partner wants in a relationship is pivotal to maintaining a healthy relationship."

"How does that matter? How would it have made anything better?"

"Let's imagine the scene differently for a moment. As you traveled with Miss Granger you asked her what she thought her parents would say once she gave them back their memories. She might have told you how worried she was they would be angry with her."