Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Lost
Just as he had feared, Harry found her packing the same brown bag she used for these trips.
"Hermione-"
Without even bothering to look up, she retorted sharply before he had even begun "Don't even dare, Harry."
"I'm tired," he pleaded, running his hand through his hair frustratedly. "You are not doing this, Hermione. Not again," he declared, quiet but firm.
He expected her to snap around, eyes in slits, fury radiating off her. He wasn't wrong. Harry closed his eyes momentarily and braced himself for the tirade of arguments he had learnt by heart. In the few seconds that Hermione took to reach him, he tried imagining Ron's smiling face, tried thinking what Ron would have told her. But as expected, he failed. His best mate wouldn't have to deal with this; if he was still around, Harry and Hermione wouldn't be in this situation at all.
"If you can't help, keep out of it!" she hissed as she approached him, and this time, Harry tried imagining Hermione before she had changed, tried really hard to picture her smiling. He failed yet again, miserably.
Harry Potter was not a stranger to loss. He had stopped counting his losses years ago, made peace with fate. However, at some point, his seventeen-year-old foolish self had imagined that if he defeated Voldemort and survived, he might be able to tip the scales in his favour. Perhaps Lady Destiny had laughed at his foolishness. The war had come to an end, but on that very night, he had lost two of his most prized possessions- his best friends. Death had snatched one away and grief had taken the other.
He inhaled deeply but it did not fill the empty space in his chest, so he grabbed her hand in his. "Stop looking for him, Hermione. You can't bring him back," he pleaded yet again.
"I can," she retorted adamantly, her voice soft but fierce.
"No, you can't," he tried yet again like he had so many times before, forty-seven to be exact, in the last couple of years.
"I know I'll find him this time!" she pleaded, "Come with me, Harry, I know this -"
"Stop. Please! For Merlin's sake, stop, Hermione!" he snapped, fighting back his tears.
"I know I'll find him this time, Harry!" she repeated, " I know it! How can you forget him? Ron is your best friend, isn't he? We have to find him!"
Harry looked at her eyes, hoping to find a trace of the girl he knew, hoping to see a teardrop. He found none of those. It was like looking into the eyes of a ghost- blank and hazy- lost in an era gone by. And in a way, she was just that- the feeble imprint of a friend he once had.
"I know where he is."
"You do?" she gasped happily, and the smile broke his heart more than her anger did.
"Yeah. He's been there for the past couple of years- almost-, and you've never visited him once."
Hermione's smile paled and she met his eyes with more fury than he had ever seen in anyone's features before. She turned away and after throwing the last few items inside her bag, zipped it roughly.
"You are hurting everyone, Hermione!" he begged again, "Molly, Arthur, Ginny- the whole family. We can't see you this way. Please-" he managed, choking on his words.
"Everyone will be okay when I bring him back," she declared determined. And despite the Healer's orders, despite knowing that he shouldn't, Harry paced forward and turning her around by the elbow, shook her vigorously. He was exhausted and broken too. "FOR FUCK SAKE, STOP THIS MADNESS, HERMIONE!" he yelled at last, ignoring the tears of frustration and pain that escaped, "Ron's gone. He died-"
The sound of her her palm hitting his cheek resounded in the small flat, and then she was gone-Disapparated again to Merlin knew where. This time Harry collapsed on the floor and sobbed, hating Ron for dying and for taking away a part of Hermione with him too- but most of all- for leaving him behind to deal with his losses all alone.
…
"I don't think I've seen this bloke in these parts, miss," the elderly gentleman looked up from the fading picture to meet her eyes.
"He's older now," she insisted, "Around twenty?"
The man gave her a sad smile, "I've lived here all my life, never seen him before. Are you sure, your information is correct?"
She gulped down, pushing away the tiny ray of light that had driven her to these wild and sparsely habited parts of Ireland. "I had hoped so."
The old muggle looked at her for a few long minutes before he handed the photograph back. "Could I get you some tea? Seems you need it."
She nodded, glancing once at the picture in her hand before she placed it carefully inside her diary, "No, thank you. I'd- I'd rather be off."
"It's getting cold, tea will do you good. Come sit," he gestured at one of the tables at the cafe and went inside.
Hermione stood to wait until he disappeared inside the cottage and then turned around to leave. But her tired legs dragged her to where the man had indicated and she slumped down on the chair, dropping her bag on the floor and the frayed diary on the table. Slowly, she pulled out her pencil, flipped open a page and struck off the writing, breathing slowly. She knew that she ought to feel something- hopeless, angry and frustrated, perhaps? But she had long lost touch with emotions-twenty two months- to be precise. She rarely felt anything apart from anger, and once in a while, something she vaguely recognised as hope. Mostly she felt nothing at all as if a quiet cloud of dark emptiness encompassed and separated her from the world.
Hermione flipped open the diary till she reached the page where the old photograph was tucked in and ran her fingers lovingly over it. The sixteen-year-old boy in it did not move, simply looked back at her with his lopsided grin, a fringe of orange hair fell over his forehead. Quietly, she closed the diary once more and put it inside her bag. She'd find him, she assured herself, she just needed to search harder.
…..
The night came suddenly; Hermione had hoped to reach the next village before dusk.
As she walked alone through the wilderness, hoping to ask the people she met on the way- not that she met any, but Hermione couldn't take the chance.
The magical way had proved ineffective, but unwilling to give up, she had begun her quest the muggle way. It was exhausting, but she had written to each and every postal office in England, Ireland and Scotland, along with a picture and an urgent message. If anyone had any information, they were to call her, write to her or meet her. The mails were few and far in-between but she visited each place and travelled around- who knew, he could be anywhere.
Her boss at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries knew her clause, and although Hermione assumed Senior Healer Mary Pickett wasn't in favour of these missions, the elderly witch allowed her to leave for these impromptu trips. Hermione was exceptional in her work and the research wing of the hospital needed her.
The rocky ground crunched under her boots and she thought of nothing specific as walked along the narrow path that led from one village to the next. Her wand was shoved inside her jeans and she looked around just to ensure she had missed not a single soul, but as the temperature dipped she stalled only to pull out an old, maroon jumper. It was much too big on her frail form but fit snugly once she pulled it over her clothes. Hermione ran her fingers over the golden 'R' on it, and zipping her bag back, flung it on her shoulders and resumed walking, once again keeping an eye out for someone who might have seen him.
As the visibility reduced, she pulled out a muggle torch and cast the beam in front of her. According to her map, the next hamlet wasn't far and couldn't take her longer than half-an-hour at the most. And perhaps she could find accommodation for the night? She did have a tent with her too, but she hated wasting time. Staying with a family meant she could use the time to chat with the locals and be completely sure that she'd checked with everyone about him. Search orderly and meticulously, she reminded herself.
She must have walked for barely ten minutes before the torch flickered and died. Groaning, she patted it against her palm. She could always use her wand but preferred not to; she had to blend in with the Muggles after all. The torch came back after a few pats and satisfied, she cast the light around her, noticing that she had reached the woods that preceded the brook before the hamlet.
Almost, she told herself and turned her torch beam to the left when suddenly the torch died again. Furious, she banged the torch on her palm again, not bothering to break step, when unexpectedly her feet fell on a stray boulder and she slipped. But her attempt to get up was foiled as she missed her footing again, and this time, she rolled down the sloping edges of the path, deep inside the woods. She tried hard to grasp onto something, tree trunks or branches but the soil was wet and slippery with a layer of mushy leaves, and her flailing arms could do nothing to arrest her fall.
And then suddenly, she crashed against something solid - and the darkness in her mind engulfed her whole.
….
She woke up with a severe headache. The cacophony of birds was deafening and she groaned, covering her ears with her palms. The light was blinding, hurting her eyes even as she tried opening them a smidge. She seemed to have sprained her leg for the pain was unbearable, and her entire back ached. Slowly and with much difficulty, Hermione opened her eyes, realisation slowly trickling in that she was not lying on the forest floor.
"Hey."
She opened her eyes hurriedly at the sound, all senses alert suddenly, and pushed herself off whatever she was lying on even as a maddening spell of dizziness hit her at that instant.
But even at that moment as small as a heartbeat, she had seen what she needed to.
"Ron?!" she cried.
….