Chapter 66: After Rescue
It had been two weeks. Charlus Potter sat by his daughter's bedside, his face in his hands. He was a haggard mess, but they all were, including his beloved Dorea. She was pale, and dark circles stood out under her haunted eyes. The medi-witches and healers weren't holding out a lot of hope. She'd been tortured with more rounds of the Cruciatus curse than most people could take before being driven mad. They weren't willing to give a definitive answer, but they weren't holding out much hope.
"Let's wait and see what happens."
Every single one of them hated that phrase with a passion. Every time the healers said it James and Sirius' faces grew dark and angry and they had to go outside and punch the building. Or at least, that's what he assumed had happened to make both boy's knuckles raw and red. Crookshanks purred at him from his position on Hermione's feet. He kept reappearing in her room, no matter how many times the healers threw him out, and they had finally given up. Lily had insisted that he had every right to be with Hermione, and refused to let anyone touch him. She also brought him dainty little morsels so that he wouldn't go hungry. The boys refused to elaborate on why his daughter's familiar had 'every right' to be with her in hospital, but they seemed to wholeheartedly agree with Lily's assessment.
For their entire lives, James and Hermione had been precious to their parents. The Potters been married for decades, and had suffered through a number of miscarriages—and one beautiful, perfect little girl they had named Atalanta who had died from a wizarding illness at the age of two. Every pureblood family had stories similar to theirs so they'd never let it get to them, never let their lack of children affect their relationship. And then, Dorea was pregnant again and Charlus couldn't help but hope that this time, it would live and thrive. When she had given him twins, his heart had been so full he thought it was impossible to be this happy. A son and a daughter, what more could a wizard ask for? How much more could a family be blessed? Charlus and Dorea had never taken their children for granted. They had showered the twins with love and affection, and the children had thrived. They had blossomed and grown into the kind of people that made Charlus proud to know them.
Now, his daughter, his princess, was lying unmoving in her hospital bed, as she had been for two weeks. Her face was pale, and her limbs twitched involuntarily—aftereffects of her torture. Charlus laid his head back in his hands and cried. He should have been there to protect her, to save her. His daughter should never have known what some wizards were capable of. He was supposed to shelter her and protect her, and then hand her over to Sirius who was supposed to continue to keep her safe. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he knew it was Dorea. He always knew her touch. He turned and buried his head in her dress, and she stroked his hair with light, gentle fingers.
"Someone hurt our baby, Charlus," Dorea said softly. Her fingers continued to stroke his hair. "It's a pity that whoever it was neglected to take my maiden name into account."
"Dorea," Charlus pulled back and looked at his wife's face. Her lovely hazel eyes were hard and cold.
"They're going to pay, Charlus," she said softly. He nodded.
"Whatever you need, my love, you shall have it," he whispered. She smiled and patted his cheek.
"I know," she said lightly and kissed him softly. "That's one of the many reasons why I love you."
"Any change, Dad?" James asked from the doorway. They turned to their son.
"No," Charlus said in a husky voice. James nodded numbly.
"I'll sit with her for a bit, if that's okay," James said softly. His parents rose.
"Of course, James," his mother said softly. "Your father and I need to go make some arrangements…for later. Call us if anything changes. Send one of Lily's messengers if you can't find us."
Okay, mum," James mumbled as he sank down in the chair next to his sister.
HP/HG/HP
It was midnight. Sirius wasn't sure when he'd begun to think of it as 'their time', but it had become so. Every night at midnight he would sit by her bed, and hold her hand, and speak to her. His voice was mostly steady, but there was no one else to hear if it wobbled a bit in places. Tonight, he was feeling morosely romantic.
"I know you love poetry, Hermione, so what of this? It captures how I feel, I guess:
Nerine Hermione, thymo mihi dulcior Hyblae,
candidior cycnis, hedera formosior alba,
cum primum pasti repetent praesepia tauri,
si qua tui Sirius habet te cura, uenito.
[Sea-Nymph Hermione, sweeter to me than thyme of Hybla,
whiter than the swan, lovelier than pale ivy,
as soon as the pastured bulls seek the yard again,
if you care at all for thy Sirius, come!]
Please come back to me, Hermione. I need you," Sirius whispered in her ear, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "I know you think I hate you, but I don't. I don't think I ever could."
He had been angry and hurt, true, but after the anger and the hurt had had a chance to die down he had to admit that he still loved her. She hadn't done anything to purposefully hurt or deceive him. Everything she'd done, she'd done to save them all. Sirius wasn't quite sure how he would react if he had dreams of Hermione dying night after night. He doubted that he would handle it well. Hell, he knew he wouldn't handle it well. It was hard enough when he had nightmares of finding her in the cave. Some nights she was dead. Other nights he was watching her be tortured. Other nights Pettigrew raped her in front of him and there was nothing he could do but look into her huge hazel eyes and watch the tears fall down her cheeks. He would wake up crying out, and reach out for her, only to touch cold sheets. If she had dreams like that…about him…then he could see why she was so driven to succeed. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it gently.
"I miss you," he whispered to her, and pressed her cool hand to his cheek.
Her fingers seemed to tighten slightly on his hand and he looked up at her face, daring to hope that her beautiful eyes would be watching him. She lay there just as still, just as silent as she had been since they'd brought her here. It was probably her muscles spasmodically twitching. With the sheer amount of torture she'd been put to, the healers warned that she would suffer the aftereffects for months. Sirius let out the breath that he'd been holding and he straightened her blankets carefully. Then he started to sing to her. He did most nights, when the mood struck him. The ballad he was singing was an old lay about a witch named Eglantine who lived in a tower, and a wizard named Horatio who wanted her. It was perhaps a bit naughty to be singing to a young, innocent witch who was currently laying in torture-induced coma, but maybe he'd shock her into waking up.
When dawn was nigh, Sirius stood reluctantly and looked down at her sleeping form. The healers would be here soon, and they would make him leave the room. He glared jealously at Crookshanks who was never forced to leave the room.
"I have to go now, kitten," his breath puffed against her ear, "but I'll be back tomorrow night."
He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to hers, as he did every night. The lips beneath his moved slightly and suddenly his kiss was being returned. He pulled back in surprise, and the most beautiful hazel eyes in the world blinked up at him.
"Kitten?" He whispered in shock, his knuckles brushing the silken skin of her cheek.
"Sirius," she sighed at him, her fingers moving up and capturing the hand that was touching her cheek. "We're safe?"
"Yes," he said softly, barely trusting his voice. "We're safe. You're safe. Crookshanks saved you."
"I'm sure you helped," she whispered. He shook his head.
"No, Crookshanks killed and, er, ate Wormtail. We just did the spells he used to bind you."
"I see," she whispered. "I hope he didn't get indigestion, but I'm glad that it wasn't one of you. Murder destroys your soul, Sirius. I'm glad you weren't forced to do anything like that. Crookshanks wasn't capable of releasing me from the spells, so if you hadn't come, Wormtail would be dead, but I'd be starving to death in a cave. So really, Sirius, you did too save me."
He gathered her up in his arms and kissed every part of her that he could reach. She laid in his arms and let him, occasionally kissing anything that came close enough to her. She was too weak to move much, and everything seemed to hurt. Sirius was brushing her hair back from her face and he kissed her deeply. She could feel a soft glow start in her chest. A glow that made the pain recede, that bathed her in warmth. She wanted this feeling to go on forever, and she returned his kiss eagerly, her arms winding around his neck and holding him in place carefully. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his broad chest.
"Mr. Black! You were given strict instructions to alert us when she woke up! How long has she been awake? Does she have any concerning symptoms?"
"Mr. Black, I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. We're going to need to run diagnostic tests, and you'll only be in the way."
"I'll be back," Sirius told her firmly and he brought her fingertips to his lips for a chaste kiss.
"Don't go!" Hermione's eyes wouldn't leave his face.
"I have to," he explained gently. "We'll let them do their thing. It only takes fifteen minutes. I'll be right back."
"Do you swear?" She begged.
"I swear, kitten. As soon as they're done, I'll be back," Sirius promised. She nodded once, and relaxed slightly, turning to the healers.
"Let's hurry this up then," Hermione said with a look of irritation for the people who were separating her from Sirius.
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