The Anti-Heroine || A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter LXIX

A/N: I'm not making excuses, but I'm going through a lot of shit in my life right now. I'm sorry it's taken forever to update, but I hope you enjoy and thank you to everyone whose been so supportive– your beautiful comments mean the world to me <3

CHAPTER LXIX:

Hermione's POV:

If she was in a mood to be glib about it, Hermione would have called the past several days something along the lines of her 'not good very bad week'. Harry was unconscious in the hospital wing with no visitors allowed, Tom was MIA and not even responding to the ouroboros Mark he'd given her, and neither he or Voldemort had replied to a single one of her several dozen owls.

Fear constantly pulled at her like an ever-tightening noose around her neck while panic sunk its vicious fangs into her heart, dripping a poison that pumped through her bloodstream. After the first two days of taking it out on just about everyone she managed to rip her teeth into, the population of Hogwarts had made the wise decision to leave her alone. Only Snape acted any differently and he was in just as foul a mood as she was, stalking around the castle to take out his anger on rule-breaking students.

Harry had been unconscious for seven days and she was near her breaking point when she finally received a letter at breakfast, delivered by a swift-winged, nondescript brown owl that she recognised:

Harry & Hermione,
I will visit you as soon as I am able. I cannot predict when, but it is my sincere promise that to see you both and explain is my priority.
~T 

Then (and she doubted it was a coincidence) an hour later Snape approached her with the news that Harry had finally woken up.

And suddenly she could breathe again.

Rushing into the hospital wing to see Harry sitting upright in the cot had her feeling like Atlas being removed of his burden. Her eyes were suspiciously wet as she carefully wrapped her arms around him, hugging him and burying her face in the crook of his neck just to feel the steady beat of his pulse against her lips.

When she pulled back, she quickly wiped her eyes dry and drank in the sight of Harry like she was dying of thirst. He looked wan and a bit thin, but his cheeks still had colour and his hands were steady.

His expression, however...

"I don't know if I should be more relieved that you're awake and upright or terrified of the look on your face right now," she told him. Which was a lie– relieved, definitely– but Harry had a particularly impressive air of grim decisiveness about him that was surprising to see. 

"I," he told her, with the air of someone giving a grand announcement, "am so fucking sick of Tom and Thaddeusalways avoiding or deflecting questions about what the fuck Tom is and the Ring and the Diadem– and this fucking link between us!"

Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry would have been shouting if they weren't in a public space.

"I am sick of it," he repeated, voice slightly calmer but no less absolute, "and one way or another, I'm going to get my answers."

"We," she corrected him, reaching out to tangle their fingers together then lift their entwined hands to lightly press her lips against his knuckles. "I'm right beside you, remember."

"I've got a pretty stupid idea," Harry admitted to her, his pale cheeks dusted a light pink and his green eyes warm in response to her reminder. "But Thaddeusis staying quiet and if Tom refuses to say shit, then I'm going to the only other 'person' I know who might be willing to answer."