AN: This is literally my first fic in about 5 years or so. Once I started publishing my own books, I stopped writing fanfics. Lately, I've been stuck on my original books and so I decided to return to my roots. (If you're interested in my original works, check out my profile for the link.) Harmony has always been my OTP, so it seemed only fitting that I return with a Harmony story. I still don't own Harry Potter, despite how obsessed I still am and how much I wish I did, thus the characters in this story are not my own. Maybe someday... /sigh/

The Letter

Hermione stared at the letter in her hands. It had come by muggle post, not owl. There were far too many postage stamps on the front and her name and address were scribbled in small, neat letters near the bottom corner. The postman had delivered it to her in person, confused by the postage. Hermione laughed it off and said her nephew must have been overzealous with the stamps. The postman laughed and returned to his duties without another word, but as soon as Hermione closed her door, she felt the dread wash over her. She had left that world behind when the trauma of the war became too much for her. She left magic behind.

True, it wasn't in her nature to simply give up and walk away from her friends and the wonderful world of magic she'd been introduced to. It took months of waking up screaming every night, months of trying every dreamless sleep draught she could get her hands on, months of therapy and self-reflection and internal battles between toughing it out and admitting to herself that she needed to step away. She promised everyone that it would be temporary. She told them that it would be six months, a year tops, and she'd come back.

That was almost five years ago.

The nightmares didn't go away at first. Hermione struggled with them for a few months before the normalcy of her life quietly calmed her terrors. Soon, the nightmares stopped completely and she was able to sleep fitfully at night. She threw herself a party the first night she slept without waking up in a cold sweat. She rewarded herself again when she went a whole week. Then a whole month. Then six months. Then a year. The little things were what mattered most to her now.

Her hand trembled as she opened the letter. The parchment was thick. She remembered the first time she'd encountered parchment paper. The memories flooded her mind. The first year at Hogwarts had been a magical and terrifying experience. Her whole life in the magical world had been that way. One moment, she was in awe of the magic around her. The next, she was running for her life in terror as that magic was used against her.

The ink shimmered in the sunlight from the window. Hermione sat down on the window seat and unfolded the parchment.

Hermione,

I bet you didn't expect to hear from any of us again, especially not through muggle post. I know we've all but given up all hope of ever hearing from you again. I want you to know that I struggled with writing this letter. I've actually crumpled it up eight times already. I'm not sure you want to hear from us. I'm not sure reaching out to you is actually a good thing, but you're literally the only person I can think to contact.

Things aren't going so well, at least not for Harry. We've tried everything, but he's sick. They're pretty sure he's dying and that he doesn't have long. He's been calling out for you in his fever, Hermione. He needs you. I don't know if he needs to say goodbye or if he thinks you can help him, but please? Please come?

Teardrops smeared the ink. Hermione's heart ached and her own tears burned at her eyes. She took a deep breath to hold them back before she continued to read.

If you decide to come, he's at Grimmauld Place. He refused to let them lock him up at St. Mungo's. He said if he's going to die, he's going to die in his place and on his terms. Please come. This is probably your only chance to say goodbye.

Ginny Weasley

Hermione wiped her tears away before she stood. She knew the letter wouldn't be good news. She knew it would drag her back to them.

Hermione stood up and walked to her bedroom. She opened the door of her closet and turned on the light. At the back of the closet, beneath boxes and other things, was a trunk she hadn't opened in years. She cleared it off and dragged it into her bedroom. She took a deep breath before she unlatched it and pushed it open.

The first thing she saw was a photograph. The figures captured in the photo were happy, smiling, hugging each other and waving. Her younger self stood between Harry and Ron. She picked it up with a shaking hand and brushed a tear from her eyes before she set it aside. Under the picture was a long, thin, wooden box. Hermione took that out next and brushed the dust away before she opened it. Inside was her wand. She took in a deep breath to steady her nerves before she reached for it. The moment she held her wand in her hand again, she was filled with the warmth and promise of what magic could be. Sparks flew from the tip of her wand as if it was happy to be in her hand once more. It had been so long since Hermione cast any spells that she wasn't sure how good she was at it anymore, but to get to Harry, she'd have to Apparate. To Apparate, she needed her wand.

She closed the trunk and shoved it back in her closet. She needed to test her magic before she considered Apparating that far. She didn't want to splinch herself.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. She dropped it onto the floor, letting it shatter. She took another deep breath and pointed her wand at the broken glass. "Reparo," she said.

The glass pieced itself back together on the floor. Hermione reached down and picked it up, inspecting it for any missing pieces or cracks. The glass was flawless. Hermione chuckled and supposed that casting spells was like riding a bicycle. Once you knew how, you never really forgot.

With that, Hermione held her wand firm and Disapparated.

She appeared in front of Grimmauld Place. Heart racing, she reached out and knocked on the door. A moment later it opened and Hermione saw Ginny standing on the other side.

Her brown eyes went wide as she gasped and threw the door open. "Hermione?" she whispered as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

Hermione nodded. "I got your letter," she said.

Ginny reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her inside before hugging her tight. "I've missed you so much," she whispered. When she pulled away, she had tears in her eyes.

Hermione smiled at the woman she once called her best friend. "I've missed you too, Ginny," she said. She looked around. Sirius's mother's portrait had finally been taken down. So had the wall, so it didn't take much for Hermione to figure out how they managed that. The doorway was now open to the sitting room, which made the entry feel much lighter than it ever had before.

"So you want to see Harry, right?" Ginny asked.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked instead.

Ginny sighed. "No one knows," she replied. "He was fine after the war. He started working as an Auror after you left. He seemed okay. One winter, he came down with a cough and never got better. They've tried every potion and spell they have to cure him, but he kept getting worse. They think he only has a few months left at this point."

The news hit Hermione in the gut and she had to sit down. She walked up to the staircase and sat heavily. She stared at the world in front of her without seeing any of it. She remembered Harry's smiling face. She remembered his stunning green eyes and bravery and determination. He couldn't possibly be dying. She wouldn't allow it.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Ginny pointed down the hallway. "The old study," she said. "We had to convert it into a room for him when he wasn't able to get up the stairs anymore."

Hermione nodded. "I'll go see him," she said.

"I'll be in the kitchen when you're done," Ginny said. "I'll put tea on."

Hermione nodded, but wasn't sure she would want to stay for tea. She made her way towards the rear of the house where the study used to be. The door was already cracked open. Hermione looked in through the crack and saw Harry sleeping on a bed. She pushed it open and stepped inside, her stomach threatening to forcefully evict everything she'd eaten in the last week.

He was pale. The last time she saw him that pale was the first time she saw him on the train to Hogwarts. He was a scrawny boy back then. His clothes were too big. He was all skin and bones from being so underfed for so many years. He reminded her of that boy again. His black hair was still unruly. Even on his death bed, it refused to lay flat.

Hermione put one foot in front of the other. Her quiet steps carried her to his bed and she sat down next to him, reaching for his hand. "Harry?" she whispered. She wasn't sure he'd be able to hear her. "Harry?" she asked again.

He didn't respond. Hermione sighed before she held his hand up to her chest and hugged it. "Harry, I'm sorry I left you," she whispered. "I'm sorry that I disappeared. I shouldn't have. I should have come back sooner. I promised you I'd come back and now it's too late." She cupped his cheek in her hands as tears fell from her eyes. "Merlin, Harry, I'd give my life if it would save yours."

She pressed her forehead against his, leaning over him. Her tears fell onto his face. "I never stopped loving you, Harry," she whispered. "I just didn't know how to survive here when I was battling my own demons. I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered.

When Hermione surfaced from Harry's room, she made her way to the kitchen where Ginny sat with a pot of tea. She sat down across from Ginny and noticed that there were three cups set out, one of which already had tea in it.

She looked at the doorway in time to see Ron step into the kitchen. He froze and stared at her for a moment. "You know, when Ginny said she wrote you, I told her it was a waste of time. When she said you were here, I didn't believe her. But there you are. I should have known that you'd show up for Harry. You always did."

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said. "How are you?"

Ron sighed. "My best friend is dying," he said. "I've been better."

Hermione brushed a tear away. "I imagine so," she whispered. "When did all of this start?" she asked.

Ron walked over to the table and sat down. He picked up his tea and took a sip. "About two years after you left," he said. "He started coughing one day and it never went away. Eventually it got worse. He became too weak to work, too weak to get up the stairs, to use the bathroom, bathe, and all the other fun stuff. Potions are keeping him alive right now, but we're not sure how long they'll last."

"I wish I'd known," Hermione whispered.

"Why?" Ron asked. "You decided that you didn't want anything to do with us and you left. You walked away. You haven't spoken to him in almost five years. Why would we tell you?"

"Maybe I could have helped, Ron!" Hermione argued. "I could have researched his symptoms and maybe I could have found something!"

"You think you could have done what the best healers in the world haven't been able to?" Ron scoffed. "You were a brilliant witch, Hermione, but you weren't that good."

"You don't know that."

Ron's glare hardened. "And you don't know what the nights are like when he's thrashing around in that bed," he said. "You don't know how many times we've found him lying in a puddle of his own ilk because he tried to get out of bed and couldn't get back into it. You don't know how we've all put our lives on hold to be here in shifts to take care of him."

Hermione bit back a scathing remark about how she would have known if they'd contacted her sooner. Before anyone could say another word, a young girl waked into the kitchen with curly red hair. "Papa?" she asked.

Hermione stared at her as Ron stood up and walked to the doorway. "Violet?" Ron asked. "Where's your mum?" He picked her up and stepped into the hallway. "Lavender?" he called out.

"They got back together?" Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded. "After you left, they reconnected. Lavender's a werewolf now, but she survived the war. They're very careful to keep Violet safe. Ron's even an expert at brewing the Wolfsbane Potion now."

"Wow," Hermione whispered. She looked at Ginny. There was no wedding ring on her hands as she held her tea. "What about you?" she asked. "Anyone?"

Ginny shook her head. "I was holding out for Harry to come back around," she said. "Now my days are consumed with taking care of him when I'm not working, so I don't exactly have time for love. You?" she asked. "How is life in the muggle world?"

"Dreadfully boring," Hermione sighed. "But I work in a library, so at least I'm surrounded by books all day."

"No one special?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she whispered and didn't offer any more information. The truth was that there was a man who held her heart in his hands, but he was in the other room wasting away into nothingness.

"'Mione…"

Hermione looked toward the doorway before turning back to Ginny. "Was that?" she whispered.

Ginny nodded. "I told you, he's been calling out your name."

Hermione stood and walked back down the hallway. She pushed open the door to Harry's room and looked inside. His eyes were open. He was looking around for something. "'Mione?" he weakly whispered.

Hermione rushed over to him and sat down. She gathered his hand in hers. "Harry?" she asked. "Harry, I'm right here."

His eyes searched for her. He thrashed around in his bed until she reached out and cupped his face with her hand. "Harry," she said again.

His eyes settled on her. "Hermione?" he whispered. "Is… you?"

Hermione nodded, blinking as tears burned her eyes. "I'm right here, Harry," she whispered.

He gaped at her. "You're here," he whispered.

"I'm here," she said, tears streaming from her eyes. "Harry, I'm here."

He pushed himself up before he wrapped his arm around her. Hermione hugged him and felt how frail he was in her arms. She helped him lay back down and he held her face in his hands. He stared at her as if he couldn't believe she was in front of him. "How?" he whispered.

"Ginny wrote me," Hermione explained. "She told me you were sick."

Harry sighed. "I wish you'd come back sooner," he said. "Being on my deathbed makes what I want to say cliché."

Hermione nodded. "It makes just about everything I have to say cliché too," she agreed. "We can skip that part, if you want."

Harry shook his head. "It's cliché, but I've waited a long time to say it to you," he said. He gave her a smile. "I promised myself that if I ever saw you again, I wouldn't let you walk away without telling you how much I loved you." Hermione's tears started falling again. "I wanted to find you. I wanted to tell you. But I got sick and I couldn't. I kept hoping you'd come back to me, but you didn't. Now you're here and it's too late."

"It's not too late, Harry," Hermione whispered. "You're just going to have to hold on for me, okay? You're going to have to hang in there. I'm going to find out what's wrong with you and I'm going to cure you and then we're going to have a life together, okay?" she whispered. "You've got to promise me, Harry. Promise me you're going to hold on?"

Harry gave her a weak smile. "I promise I'll try," he said.

"Then I won't leave your side," Hermione vowed. "I can't lose you like this, Harry. I won't."

He smiled before he pulled her close enough to kiss her. "I hope you don't," he whispered.

Over the course of the next week, Hermione studied every book she could get her hands on about magical and muggle diseases. She stayed in Harry's room with him, reading until she fell asleep on top of her books. Whoever was at the house to take care of Harry that day had the new added task of making sure Hermione took breaks to eat and had enough light to read by. Scrolls upon scrolls piled up around her as the days ticked by. She wouldn't stop looking for answers until she found them. She owed Harry that much.

Then, suddenly, it seemed she found a breakthrough. She compiled a list of ingredients she'd need for a potion and sent someone out to get them for her. By the time they returned, she had a cauldron set up in Harry's room with a magical flame underneath it. She carefully added each ingredient until the only thing left to do was wait. It was a race against time. Either the potion would finish brewing in time to save Harry, or he would die before she could test it.

Harry held on for as long as he possibly could. Hermione knew the moment the potion was ready because it changed from red to blue. She ladled some into a cup and propped Harry up as she poured it down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but she hoped he drank enough for it to help him. After that, the only thing left to do was wait to see if it helped.

Harry stared at Hermione with tears in his eyes. "Thank you for trying," he whispered to her. He didn't feel any different. He didn't want her to know that, though. He didn't want to break her heart.

He could see in her eyes that she knew it hadn't worked. She knew it wasn't the miracle cure she'd hoped it would be. Tears fell from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I tried. I tried everything."

Harry nodded. "I know you did," he whispered, squeezing her fingers. Hermione leaned over him and pressed her forehead against his. She kissed him as he wrapped his arm around her. "I wish we could have been together," she said. "I should have been here for you. I should have been here with you."

"We are together," Harry said. "Keep me in your heart and I'll always be with you."

"That's not enough," Hermione sobbed. Her shoulders shook and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Harry wrapped his arm around her as she cried. "I love you," he whispered before his arms went limp and fell away from her and the breath left his lungs.

Hermione sat up and stared at him. "Harry?" she whispered. She held his face in her hands. "Harry?" she asked again. She gave him a gentile shake. "Harry!" she cried. "NO!" she wailed as she gathered him into her arms and cradled him as she sobbed. "HARRY! NO!"

The door opened. Ginny stood at the threshold with tears falling from her eyes. Ron stepped up behind her. Hermione sobbed as she clutched Harry to her chest, and they watched with tears streaming from their eyes.

Ginny turned to Ron for comfort and they hugged each other. Hermione's sobs echoed the sounds of their own hearts breaking. They didn't want it to be true. They didn't want Harry to be dead. They fought for so long against this unknown disease that it wasn't fair that the disease had finally won.

Then, miraculously, Harry gasped for breath. He started coughing and gagging and gasping and Hermione stared at him in utter disbelief before she helped him sit up properly so that he could breathe. "Harry?" she whispered as Ron and Ginny gaped at the scene.

Harry looked at Hermione. He reached out and cupped her face in his hands. "I was dead," he whispered. "I was back at King's Cross. Dumbledore was there again. He said I could come back to you if I still wasn't ready to go on. He said I could have one more chance."

"But… are you still sick?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Your potion… it worked."

Hermione let out a laugh of surprise before she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed with relief.

After being sick for so many years, getting better took months. Hermione moved all of her things in to Grimmauld Place and left her muggle life behind to nurse him back to health. She threw him a party when he was able to get out of bed the first time and walk around the room. She threw him another party when he was able to get to the kitchen. When he could climb the stairs again. When he gained back fifty of the pounds he'd lost.

A year after Harry died, they invited all of the Weasleys over for a celebratory dinner. Harry was officially medically cleared and healthy again. They still didn't know what made him sick, but no one could deny that Hermione had done what the best healers in the world couldn't. She cured the Boy Who Lived.