Chapter Text
HERMIONE
2 May 1998
She woke up on the ground, head pounding and ears positively ringing. She could feel the cool dirt beneath her fingers, the smell of must and earth filling her nostrils.
The Forbidden Forest? No, she could tell she was inside… a basement, perhaps?
Hermione Granger began to flex her fingers, feeling for her wand and stretching her toes in her shoes, taking stock of which limbs were still working. Her right arm was heavy and stiff, like it didn’t want to cooperate with her mind. All of her muscles were sore, and opening her eyes felt as if it would take all of what little strength she had left in her battered body. As she attempted to sit up, pain shot through her, and strong hands braced either side of her face. She jerked away, willing her eyes open and attempting to focus on who was manhandling her as her brain started to process the dull noise of shouting all around her. As her vision cleared, she took in the scars and familiar tobacco smell of the wizard holding her gaze, his eyes roving over her face with abject terror flooding his pupils. She was doing her best to pull his name from the fog of her own mind as she tried to make out the words he was mouthing at her. The sound of his voice was a garbled mess, jumbled beyond comprehension as a thought floated to the surface of her consciousness.
Concussion... I must be concussed.
She shook her head side to side, as if she could dispel the cloudiness from between her ears, but the wizard pulled her against him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He pulled her face back, smoothing her hair as another face crouched down to join him. The shock of red hair and broad frame was familiar. She knew him... and as her hearing started to return, she could make out the deep rumble of his voice thrumming through her as he placed a hand on the side of her head. She flinched as he pulled her eyelid wide, gripping her chin with the other hand. Hermione felt the scarred wizard's arms attempt to shield her away. Suddenly, her hearing came crashing back, popping her ears with a clang.
“Bill, wait! She—”
“She’s got a concussion, Remus! Get her upstairs now in case we have anyone else land in the cellar!”
Remus... Remus is here...
“We don’t know if there is anyone else!”
“Exactly! Fucking hell if I know, so get her stable and I’ll wait for the rest. That arm looks a mess...”
Hermione felt herself being pulled from the floor, her legs refusing to bear her weight. She stumbled, like a baby deer attempting to walk for the first time, collapsing into Remus Lupin’s arms. He quickly scooped behind her knees, cradling her to his chest as a trio of bodies dropped into the cellar. Suddenly, it was a din of noise, and Hermione could make out the sound of a woman screaming. She forced her eyes open, focusing on the guttural cries and the familiar long black plait, matted with blood and mud. Padma Patil was howling and thrashing in the arms of Fred Weasley, with his twin clutching his injured side behind him.
“We need some help over here!” Fred dropped to the floor, resting Padma on the ground as he attempted to heal the wound oozing blood from her upper thigh. Hermione’s stomach rolled when she took in the serrated flesh as Fred clamped down on the witch’s leg with one hand, attempting to stem the bleeding. Before Fred had a chance to flick his wand, Bill Weasley was on him, wand raised.
“Oi, what the fuck, Bill! It’s us!”
“When you swore your oath, what did Moody tell you?”
“Bill, she’s fucking dying!”
“WHAT DID MOODY TELL YOU!”
“That as long as we’re alive, the Order doesn’t die!” The twins chorused. George Weasley collapsed to his knees beside his brother, waving a diagnostic spell over the witch before him. Padma’s eyes were fluttering, and only whimpers escaped her mouth now, in lieu of screams.
“Now fucking HELP US! Padma, love, it’s alright. Stay with me. You did so well...” George murmured as he clutched the witch's hand to his chest, thumb flush against her pulse.
“Follow Remus and take her upstairs. Poppy is there, bandaging up Charlie and a few of the younger lads. George, get yourself stitched up—Freddie, come back down! You’re with me while we see who else makes it ou—FUCKING HELL!”
Before he could get the words out, three more figures crashed to the ground, and the entire cellar fell into chaos. Fred and Bill drew wands as Hermione made out long, red hair, a shock of ice blonde, and short, brunette curls.
She watched as George scooped up Padma, straining slightly as her head lolled back against his shoulder. Hermione felt Remus clutch her closer as he moved, taking the stairs two at a time before they came crashing through a door into a dimly lit kitchen with George hot on their heels.
The upstairs was full of screams of familiar voices thrown into utter chaos. She thought she recognised a flash of red hair sprint by...
“Ron… Ron, are you—”
Her voice was drowned out by Remus’s shouts for Poppy Pomfrey as he laid her down on what she thought might be a couch.
“POPPY, I NEED YOU! NOW! Stay with me, Hermione... you’re going to be alright—POPPY!”
She’d started to become aware of the pain in her shoulder. It was throbbing, radiating down her arm, like someone was grinding a hot poker deep into the socket. She let out a strangled sob as the faces of Remus and Madame Pomfrey came into view above her.
“Thank Merlin, you got her out, Remus! Hold her still, this is going to hurt like hell...”
The Healer began to mutter and wave her wand above Hermione, but then stalled.
“Bollocks, I need to be able to get a better visual... I’m sorry, Miss Granger—Forgive me... Evanesco!”
Suddenly, Hermione felt cool air whip across her body, sending goosebumps rising along her skin. Madame Pomfrey had vanished her jumper and t-shirt, leaving Hermione in her cotton bra and Muggle denims.
Hermione could make out a strangled sound coming from her former professor, his grip tensing against her arm and abdomen. The Healer refocused her efforts, spelling Hermione’s shoulder, causing her vision to blur as tears streamed from her eyes down her temples. She could tell she was screaming, but the sound was once again muffled as hot tears began to pool in her ears.
“Sweet merciful Morgana, Remus, look at her arm!”
Hermione turned her head, wailing and struggling as her eyes met the anguished amber of her former professors’.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry...”
Her eyelids began to flutter, and then everything went black.
~
Hermione jolted awake, gasping for air, looking around wildly to see where she was, only to realise she had no earthly idea. She took in her surroundings, desperately trying to orient herself in the dark room. Someone had put a fresh long-sleeved shirt on her, replacing her dirty, vanished clothes, and pulled back her hair. She patted down her Muggle denims with her left hand, realising her right was set in a sling. As she searched for her wand, panic rose in her until she spotted it on a small end table just beside the couch. Next to the vinewood was a glass of water and a dozen blood-soaked bandages. She grabbed the water and poured it down her throat, immediately thankful for the cooling sensation on her raw vocal cords. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could see a half dozen other bodies lying out on various couches and transfigured cots. Her eyes found Padma on a settee just across from her, unconscious, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The witch had a bandage across her forehead, and her thigh was tightly wrapped in gauze that appeared to be smothered in some kind of purple jelly. Next to her, seated on the floor, leaning against the arm of the chaise, was George, eyes fixed off in a thousand-yard stare.
Hermione cast a quick Tempus and was shocked when the time read seven p.m. She’d been asleep for hours, her last memories of the battle taking place sometime before dawn. She swung her feet off the couch, leaning forward and testing her weight. Her movements caused George to stir, glancing in her direction. He drew a finger to his lips, signalling to her to keep quiet as he crouched before standing. Slowly, the wizard came over to her and offered an arm, sliding his hand around her waist and allowing her good arm to come to rest on his shoulder. Together, they moved through the crowded parlour back towards the kitchen. She let George lead the way, as he was clearly more familiar with the layout of whatever safehouse they were in. Passing through the kitchen, Hermione noticed empty potion bottles strewn across the counters along with soiled bandages and tins of half-used salves. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of blood wafted through the space. George led them on, through to another drawing room lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled to the brim, where they found Remus and the elder Weasley brothers deep in discussion. Remus had his head in his hands, looking decades older than the witch knew him to be, while Bill clutched a glass of firewhisky in his fingers like a desperate lifeline. Fred noticed the pair first, jumping up to meet them, pulling Hermione into a fierce hug.
“Bloody hell, ‘Mione. Thank Merlin...” She winced again, feeling her shoulder sear with pain. “Sorry, love, sorry!... Sit down, you shouldn’t be up.”
The twins supported her as she came to sit, Fred propping a pillow behind her back as she settled down, resting her sling-wrapped arm on the edge of the sofa. She turned to Remus in the chair next to her, his haunting gaze fixed on her bandaged left forearm. The memory of Bellatrix Lestrange’s maniacal laughter filled her ears, and Hermione flinched, screwing her eyes shut. She sucked in a deep breath, willing her anxiety to recede. Feeling a hand come to rest on top of hers, she opened her eyes to see Fred rubbing his thumb along the back of her knuckles, his eyes wide with worry. She gave him a slight nod before clearing her throat.
“Where are we? What's happened?” Her voice croaked as she forced herself to speak.
She watched as Remus and Bill exchanged glances, a silent war waging between the two. Neither spoke, so Hermione glanced at the twins, both of whom were staring toward their brother, seemingly waiting for direction. Bill gave Remus a hard look, eyebrows furrowed as the wizard ran his hands over his face. The werewolf stood and walked around the back of the wingback chair he’d been occupying, bracing his arms across the top ridge. Finally, he spoke.
“We’re at Howell Cottage, at the southwest tip of Wales, on the coast.”
Hermione’s mind swam.
What were they doing in Wales?
“Howell?”
“…My mother’s maiden name. It’s a safehouse for the Order, one we kept extremely well hidden. This place is... for emergencies only.”
Fred and George shifted beside her on the couch, each pair of eyes flitting toward Bill, who was standing, leaning against a shelf of books. He looked pained, and it was the first time Hermione could take in his blood-splattered clothes, singed in some places and torn in others. His hair was pulled back into a messy bun, pieces falling around his handsome, scarred face that was smudged with dirt and sweat. He looked haggard, and Hermione was sure he hadn’t slept in days.
“Why are we here? Where is everyone?”
Bill closed his eyes, rubbing his hand down his face.
“How much do you remember, Hermione?”
Hermione tried to wrack her brain, pulling at the fabric of her memories. She’d been duelling Antonin Dolohov with Ron beside her while Harry took on Voldemort. Neville had killed the snake, and they were trying to put an end to things. They should have been able to end things. Dolohov had sent a curse towards her that had slammed into her shoulder, and soon she’d been falling, sure she would crack her skull against the rubble. But instead, she’d woken up in the dank cellar, clutching a scarred man, screaming while she breathed in the scent of tobacco and ink.
“You—” She turned to Remus, locking eyes with him. “You Apparated me away. We were fighting Dolohov. He... he hit my shoulder and then—” Remus pushed off from the chair, turning his back on her as he looked into the fire. Bill came to sit down in the chair beside her, head in his hands.
“Remus, why did you—”
“You were my orders, Hermione.” Remus braced his hands against the fireplace, his head hanging low. “It was my job to get you out of there.”
“And mine...” Bill said quietly. “If Remus couldn’t get to you, Dumbledore told me to make sure you made it to a safehouse. Dumbledore… fucking hell. The old man had contingencies for everything. He… uh, he assigned pairs to each of you. If it looked like things might go sideways, we were to ensure you made it out alive.” His voice cracked as he tried to swallow down the growing lump in his throat. “Kingsley and Minerva were assigned to Harry. Tonks and Flitwick to Ron, and we were detailed to you.”
“But where are they? Where is everyone? I need to speak with Harry—we must have missed one... it has to be out there. We have to go back over it again. I need to speak with—” Hermione met Bill’s eyes, soft and pleading, tinged with overwhelming despair. Remus had not removed his grip on the mantle. In fact, Hermione could see his knuckles beginning to whiten, as if his hold was the only thing keeping him upright. Her vision began to blur as tears swam in her eyes.
“They’re... they… they didn’t make it out, did they?”
Before anyone had a chance to answer, a commotion could be heard coming from the cellar. Remus and Bill leapt forward, hurling themselves from the room and sprinting for the kitchen. The twins stood, forcing themselves in front of her, wands raised, but Hermione shot up, pushing past them, teeth clenched as she stuffed down the pain in her arm.
“Hermione, wait—” But she was already out of the room, turning the corner and pounding her feet down the staircase to the basement. As she hit the bottom step, she heard the familiar voice of Hestia Jones as she clutched a wilted Professor Sprout.
“What did you find when we escorted Harry from Privet Drive—”
“A bloody potato peeler, now help Pomona! I have to go back for the rest of them!”
With that, Hestia Apparated out with a crack, and Bill surged forward, catching the collapsing witch. George, crouched at the top of the steps, turned to run for Madame Pomfrey.
A moment later, Hestia was back, this time with Neville Longbottom on one arm and Parvati Patil on the other, both looking like they’d gone into shock. Parvati’s shirt and hands were covered in dried blood, while Neville just muttered to himself. Hermione moved forward, and Neville’s eyes shot up, locking in on hers.
“Nev...?”
“Good Godric, you’re alive,” Neville whispered as he slouched towards her, arms outstretched. But before he could make it, Fred stepped in front of her, wand raised.
“What sweet did we slip you during your fifth year?”
“A bloody canary cream, you twat.” Neville shoved the wizard, drawing Hermione into his arms as they both let out a sob.
“I got the snake, ‘Mione. I got the snake like he asked. I got the snake…”
The two held onto each other, sobbing fresh tears while the people around them broke off into whispered conversations. Fred stepped aside, rubbing the back of his neck before moving to check on Parvati, who had yet to move from where she landed, shaking violently in place.
“Is Dedalus here?” Hestia addressed Remus as Madame Pomfrey descended the stairs, followed closely by George. She pressed through the group, crouching down to assess the Herbology professor’s injuries while Bill stood to give her room to work.
“No, he’s not checked in—” Remus and Bill bowed their heads closer to the witch, and Hermione strained to hear them. “We were expecting you all hours ago...” The trio moved to the side as Poppy levitated Pomona up the stairs and out of the cellar. Fred and George followed closely behind with Parvati supported between the two.
“He’s dead, then. Along with, I’m sure, the Dursleys. If they weren't here by half twelve, then they didn’t make it.” Remus paled at her words, and Bill hung his head, loosing a long, slow breath. “I left when we got your Patronus, Remus. We agreed if I didn’t make it back before dawn, he’d move them to a safe house across the channel and meet me here at noon to regroup.” The witches' words caught in her throat as she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand.
“Where have you all been all this time?” Remus motioned them upstairs, glancing at Hermione as she leaned on Neville’s shoulder. The sudden burst of adrenaline she’d had when Hestia had arrived was rapidly leaving her body, and fatigue was once again setting in. She could feel herself growing weak and wrapped her arm around the wizard's waist, clutching his torn jumper between her fingers. Neville pulled her unslung arm around his shoulder as they followed the older Order member up the stairs.
“Hiding out in the Forbidden Forest. Pomona’s got some friends in the trees... we were able to stay hidden until the Apparition wards were lifted. Must have lost her portkey in the fray. She gave me the parchment for the Fidelus when she realised she didn’t have the strength to get us here...” At the top of the stairs, they stopped, joined once again by Fred, George and Charlie, who looked equally worse for wear. He was shirtless with his ribs carefully wrapped a dozen times in gauze and his left bicep smothered in an orange-looking paste that seemed to be soothing a rather aggressive burn. His eyes lit up when he saw Hermione, giving the witch a soft smile as relief washed over his face. She reached out, clasping his hand as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She felt Neville swaying beside her as they broke apart. He looked ghostly pale, and a sweaty sheen had formed across his face.
“Remus...” Her former professor followed her gaze, taking in his deteriorating student.
“Right, Neville, you need to go get checked out by Poppy. Can you walk?” Remus reached out, steadying Neville. “Never mind, Fred, can you get him into the living room? We’ll be in the library.”
Fred glanced at Hermione, who let go of Neville and braced herself against the kitchen counter. Every part of her body was exhausted and screaming for her to sit down, but she wanted answers more than she wanted to rest. Fred threw her another worried glance. She gave him a quick nod toward Neville, widening her eyes in surprise. The elder twin slung Neville’s arm across his shoulder and led him out of the kitchen to the parlour, where Madame Pomfrey could be heard tending to their wounded.
Circe, how many people do we have injured here? Who’s even alive?
Remus came beside, fixing her with a concerned, weary stare.
“I carried you earlier, Miss Granger. I can do it again if... erm...”
“It’s fine, Remus. Just your arm will do. And you’ve seen me shirtless with a slur carved into my skin. I think we are beyond ‘Miss Granger’, now, don’t you?” She bit out the response, anger simmering below the surface as she tried to swallow her pain.
“Alright… Hermione.” She clutched his offered arm, putting all her weight into his side as she willed her legs to keep her standing. She took a step, and her knee gave way, sending her crashing into his side.
“Right, sod that.” He scooped her up into his arms, giving her a slight grin. “Werewolf strength beats righteous indignation any day.” She huffed in response, rolling her eyes, but grateful she didn’t run the risk of fainting in the kitchen. He carried her through to the library, where Bill was pouring several glasses of firewhisky as Hestia and Charlie sat on the couch, eyes both closed.
Remus set Hermione down in the chair he’d been occupying earlier, conjuring a blanket that he lightly placed onto her lap before returning to his spot at the fireplace. Bill handed out glasses of firewhisky as the twins returned, floating one into Hermione’s hands already clasped in her lap. She took a sip, relishing the burn as the liquid slid down her throat, stinging where she’d screamed herself raw.
“So… Harry’s dead?”
All eyes in the room snapped to her. She nodded, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss permeate her entire being. Harry was dead. Her best friend. Her person. The boy she’d spent her whole childhood keeping alive, whom she’d risked life and limb for time and time again. He was gone. Her hands began to shake, so she clutched her glass tighter, tethering her to this moment. Hermione shoved everything welling up inside her deep down, walling it away.
Now is not the time…
“And Ron?”
She met Bill’s gaze as it flicked to Remus before settling back on her, full of anguish, despair and fury. She looked at the wizard slumped against the fireplace and knew that the youngest Weasley brother had died beside her as Remus had rescued her. The twins downed their whisky before summoning the bottle and pouring another round.
“You were who I saw...”
Charlie nodded, clutching his ribs, looking like it was taking everything in him to keep his breathing even. It took a moment for her to realise that her cheeks were wet with tears, that she’d been silently crying since sitting back down in the chair.
“Okay. Someone start at the beginning, please. Who’s alive? What are we doing here? How did people know even to come here? If we are here... the Dark Lord’s not dead, then...”
“No. The bastard’s still alive…” Bill gulped his whisky before setting his glass down on the coffee table. “Harry—he... he went to face him and their wands collided, and for a moment I thought he’d done it, but something... something backfired and suddenly Harry was lying on the ground and all hell broke loose. Duels broke out everywhere, and Kingsley was trying to get to Harry’s body, but Yaxley got there first. Kings... he went down, and that’s when we activated the retreat protocol.”
Bill took a steadying breath, taking another gulp from his glass.
“Dumbledore—he... before he died, a handful of us were keyed into his version of a failsafe. If it ever appeared like the tide had turned and we were outmanned, or if we lost Harry, we were to come to this safehouse to regroup.”
“We’ve kept Howell Cottage off the radar for over a decade. It’s been one of the Order’s closest-kept secrets. During the lull in tonight's battle, Bill and I went to each Order member and gave them the address along with a mini Portkey. Those of us who were detailed to one of the trio already knew where to go. I’m assuming you gave the address to Ginny, then?” Remus turned to Bill, meeting his gaze.
“Our parents were dead, Remus, of course, I gave her the bloody parchment and Portkey...”
“Well, she showed up with the children of two Death Eaters on her arms, half-dead, so forgive me for having a few questions!”
“I don’t know why the fuck she had them with her, but she’s safe, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for either of my brothers.”
“Safe is one thing, but Draco Malfoy is a marked Death Eater who could blow our entire cover here. We need Ginevra awake so we can find out what in Merlin’s name she was bloody thinking!”
“OI, DO NOT TALK ABOUT OUR SISTER LIKE THAT, LUPIN!” Fred and George were on their feet, wands clutched in their hands.
“ENOUGH! Absolutely not. Get it the fuck together, all of you!” Hestia sent up a shield charm between the men. “Lads, I’m sorry about Arthur and Molly… and your brothers. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. And we will mourn them. I swear it. But right now we have to figure out what in Merlin’s name we are doing. Remus, who all actually made it out?”
Hermione stared at the petite witch beside her. She’d never spent much time with Hestia before, seeing her pop in at Order meetings occasionally when they were at Grimmauld, but now, as she trained her fierce chocolate brown eyes on the men in the room, Hermione was grateful for her presence.
Remus ran a hand through his hair before speaking up.
“Poppy came here first with the Spinnet girl and brought a few of the DA members with them. Miss Lovegood—she’s resting but should be fine. Just deeply malnourished and frailer than I’ve ever seen her. Dean Thomas—he and Finnegan had been protecting the infirmary when I set the keys to go. They all landed here and began healing folks as they came in. Charlie and Minerva arrived next...”
“Professor McGonagall is here?!”
“She’s... Hermione—she was brutally wounded when we arrived. Madame Pomfrey’s done everything she can for her, but it's... It’s touch and go right now,” Charlie whispered from his corner of the couch. “I barely got her here with all the blood loss, and I love Minnie, but she’s no spring chicken.. It’s a miracle she made it through the Portkey trip alone...”
Hermione felt a fresh round of tears threatening at the corner of her eyes. Fred stood up, coming to crouch beside her chair. She swallowed the lump in her throat, looking from Bill to Remus, willing them to continue. Bill dropped her gaze, staring off into the fire, and Remus wrinkled his brow as Fred clasped her hand before he brought his eyes up to meet hers.
“Who else?”
“I dropped in with Angelina and Oliver in tow. We’d all been taking on the Carrows when the Portkey buzzed...”
Hermione met Bill’s gaze and realised that at no point throughout the evening had she seen or heard mention of Fleur. The strong, beautiful blonde hadn’t been in the living room when she awoke, and there’d been no mention of her since. Bill’s features flashed in recognition, and his eyes began to well. She watched as the cursebreaker schooled his face, refilling his whisky glass as he sat back in his seat. Fred gave her hand a squeeze of support as Remus piped up.
“And then I arrived with you.” She turned in her chair to face him. “Dolohov... I thought he’d killed you, Hermione. I watched the curse hit your shoulder, and as you crumbled, I just... I ran. I got to you before you hit the ground, and we made it here.” He swallowed hard as he held her gaze. The pain in his eyes made the green shine brightly in the light of the roaring fireplace. “You were coming in and out of consciousness, and I thought for sure you were dying in my arms... but we got you upstairs to Poppy, and she was able to reverse the curse in your shoulder and fix your concussion. The cut on your arm...”
“I tried, Hermione. I thought I’d gotten it all at Shell Cottage...” Bill wiped away the tears rolling down his face. “She got you with a cursed blade, and—it’s nasty work. Whatever Dolohov hit you with flared up not just your shoulder, but whatever Bellatrix used on you.. I’m so sorry. I don’t know that it will ever truly heal-” Tearing his gaze away, the eldest Weasley stood up, striding from the room.
“I don’t know how much you remember, but Fred and George arrived with Padma—she caught a Sectumsempra to the thigh, but Poppy thinks the boys were able to keep her stable long enough to get her fixed up.”
“Patil saved us. Knocked off Thorfin Rowle before he was able to Avada us both.” George’s hands were balled into fists at his side. “She’s a bloody hero.” Fred nodded solemnly as Charlie clapped his brother on the shoulder.
Remus pressed on. “Then Ginny arrived with Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott in tow, which, as we’ve discussed, was a bit of a shock.”
“Where are the baby Death Eaters now?” Hestia looked positively murderous at the mention of Malfoy and Nott.
“Currently resting in a separate bedroom upstairs that’s warded to the teeth. Their wands have been stowed away for safekeeping,” said Charlie.
“We waited the rest of the day for anyone else to arrive, but... nobody came. Not until Hestia arrived with Pomona, Neville and... I’m sorry, I don’t remember the other Patil twin's name...”
“Parvati. Poor girl.” Hestia let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling her shoulders back. “We had another girl with us, her friend—”
“Oh Gods... Lavender?” Hermione felt her blood run cold. She remembered seeing Lavender earlier in the battle, and she’d been caught in the clutches of Fenrir Greyback. Her stomach flipped, and bile rose in her throat. Hestia must have recognised Hermione’s queasiness because her eyes softened and she appeared to choose her words carefully.
“Lavender, yes. I did everything... everything I could for the girl. I found Parvati attempting to heal her with the Longbottom boy, and when it became clear we were losing, I grabbed them and ran for the Greenhouses. Pomona was there on the edge of the Forest, and we all made a break for it. She led us to a thicket of trees where she was sure we’d be safe, and the two of us tried to stabilise Lavender, but at that point her injuries… Greyback did a number on her. We made sure she was comfortable.” Hermione clocked Remus’ wince at the mention of Greyback, but she just sat, staring at Hestia. She’d spent six years sharing a room with Lavender, and now the only thing left of her was the blood soaked into Parvati’s robes. Her stomach did another flip.
“I... I think I’m going to be sick.” Remus and Fred lunged forward, but Hestia simply flicked her wand and transfigured Hermione’s tumbler into a bin. She felt herself heave, retching up a mix of bile, whisky and what little was in her stomach from when they left Shell Cottage two days before. She felt a slender hand move to the nape of her neck and knew the witch beside her was helping to hold back her hair. Her abdomen clenched again, causing her to dry heave. Her skin had broken out into a cold, clammy sweat, and Hermione raised her good arm to her forehead, willing herself to calm down. After a few uninterrupted minutes of breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, Hermione sat back in her chair. Hestia vanished the mess and cast a quick scourgify for good measure. She then conjured a glass of water for Hermione, and Hermione felt an odd cooling sensation spread throughout her mouth.
“Teeth cleansing charm,” The older witch whispered. “You alright, now?”
Hermione nodded, looking around to the concerned faces of the Weasley brothers and Remus, all of whom hadn’t moved an inch since she’d fallen ill.
“Right. I think that’s enough for right now.” Remus stood straighter, pulling himself from his slumped position by the fire.
“No, I’m fine—”
“He’s right, Hermione. We need to tend to more of our wounded, check our wards and get ourselves organised. This group can plan to talk more in the morning.” Hestia extended her hand to the witch, pulling her up out of her chair. “We have a lot to discuss. Get some rest, yeah?”
“I’ll walk you to your room, ‘Mione.” Fred reached over, extending an arm. Over his shoulder, Hermione saw Remus’s body tensed, his eyes flashing before he regained composure. She gave him a quizzical look as she took Fred’s outstretched hand. Her legs still felt weak, and she wasn’t confident she could make it walking all the way back across the house. Feeling her swaying, Fred dipped down and scooped her up behind the knees.
“I’ve got you, witch.” Hermione gratefully let her head rest against his shoulder, feeling her eyelids droop. She inhaled the scent of gunpowder mingled with sweat and treacle tart, letting the exhaustion settle in as she once again let the darkness take her.