Cut From the Sky

Chapter 11: Interludes Part 2 of 3

October 2004

Angelina's eyes were scandalised, dancing with mirth. "Let me get this straight, Harry" she said, hushed as to not wake Ron. "Your girlfriend is perfect but you're worried that her poetry has too many rhymes? And you're considering breaking up with her – because her poetry has too many rhymes?"

Harry screwed shut his eyes. There was a pounding in his head, a distant thud. It flared with every beat of his heart, pumping a river of bubbling silver potion through his body. He was in a narrow bed at Mungo's, in the wing with the good view, glimpsing the Thames in the distance. Ron was knocked out in a matching hospital bed by the window, a dense network of healing and stasis charms oscillating around his chest.

Just hours ago, Harry had awoken from a magical coma. He felt helplessly annoyed that the coma hadn't made for a more refreshing break – he'd be back in the field tomorrow, and he still felt entirely dreadful. Flexing his fingers, he willed the potion to pump through him quicker, to soothe the sharp ache crawling deep beneath his skin.

"Mione?" Harry felt hot and tired and very much frustrated. "That's not what I said at all! Or, ugh. It's not what I meant. Mione?"

Hermione uncrossed her legs, then pulled up one foot, folded it under her thigh. The battered Mungo's chair creaked with her movement. Absently thumbing the pages of Michelle's first collection of poetry, she regarded Harry shrewdly.

She cocked her head. "I don't think this is about the rhymes. I think Harry has a problem with Michelle's poems being about the war," she informed Angelina, her eyebrows lifting importantly.

"I'm just saying it's weird that almost all of her poems are about the war," Harry explained. "She wasn't even in the war. Plus, I just don't think every poem has to rhyme like that. Aren't there – you know, there's a lot of poetry that doesn't rhyme. Maybe I just happen to prefer that kind."

"Name one single poem you know." Angelina grinned and Harry would have kicked her if his legs weren't flattened to the bed with a set of unyielding stasis charms.

Hermione smiled at Angelina indulgently, bit her lip, then sent Harry another of her shrewd, disconcerting looks. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to date somebody who's was in the war, Harry. If that's what you feel you need."

Harry sighed. "That's not what I – I didn't say that."

Hermione mimicked his sigh. "I know, Harry," she said, rather impatiently, "You rarely do say what you really think."

"I just – is it good poetry, do you think?"

"I'd say if you can't judge that, her poetry maybe isn't a reason to break things off with her. Maybe it's not all that relevant to your relationship. You've been together for almost a year now, no? I thought it was going well?" Angelina offered.

"Michael Corner was in the war," Ron chimed in unhelpfully, his voice thin and cracked the way it always was at Mungo's. "Maybe you two could – "

"Ron, for Christ's sake. You've got to let that go," Hermione snapped but Harry was too relieved to see Ron's slow, tired smile to feel annoyed at him. He'd known Ron would wake up, of course he had. After all, Ron woke up every time.

Still Harry's relief was sharp and unsettling.

"Anyway," Hermione said, an air of finality to her tone. "Harry. If you want to break up with Michelle, that's fine. We all like her, you know that, and we thought you two were happy – but it's fine. You're allowed to break up with your partner any time if you feel like that's what you need to do." Harry shot a glimpse at Ron, who had stopped smiling. Hermione's hand settled on Angelina's thigh.