A bit of common sense
A factor that should never be ignored or underestimated is how little common sense there is in the world. Of course common sense is like a key and we've all lost a key or two in our time – unfortunately for the trio this wasn't a house key or the car keys… this was the key to the medicine cabinet.
They were hungry you see and hunger can quickly move from an annoyance to a pressing need that shan't be ignored. So it was Hermoine's idea to gather mushrooms. Mushrooms can be edible after all. They can be – but alas only one out of every four she picked was safe for consumption. Of the other three were some that would only sicken an adult or cause mild hallucinations in even the smallest child. Then of course there were the couple – no more than five - that were entirely harmless… so long as you were nonmagical.
She didn't know. How could she? This wasn't something taught at Hogwarts after all. At least it hadn't been in years passed. Then again even if it had been there had been more important things to consider. Harry's safety, Ron's inattention, the dangers of that year's DADA teacher… Always something – and besides she had so many classes to attend! Real classes of course not like that foolish divination course.
So the mushrooms were gathered and cleaned (though not very well considering how little any of the, knew about them). There was no butter, there was no salt, there was no pepper nor shallots or chives or any bit of flavoring. They were however cooked and shared about, and if the boys were less than satisfied that was something they'd simply have to deal with.
And deal with it they did. Ron slept like the dead, not a word nor sound came from him. Harry sweated and groaned and grappled with in unseen pressure upon his chest. But Hermoine only shivered with cold and fear as a parade of obscenity marched through her sluggish mind. The night passed slowly, but it passed and eventually dawn staggered over the horizon.
Ron had had the decency to die in his sleep sometime the night before. It must have been fairly early because he was cold and already beginning to discolor. It was difficult moving him, because the magic wouldn't come and Harry was useless. It was hard, but the body couldn't stay in the tent and…it. He. He deserved the respect of a burial. Sadly he had to make due with a cairn. The ground was like iron and there wasn't anything to dig with and it was so cold and he was dead. There were no flies at least.
Harry only worsened. The magic refused to come, and every attempt led to vomiting. Every attempt led to dizziness and nausea and blackouts. Still she had to try, because he wouldn't shut up and his screams were terrible. He survived the attempt sure, but it didn't leave him unscarred. Funny. Laughing even as a small voice whispers alone in the back of her head. Diagnostic information in her mother's voice, a voice like liquid chocolate. The admonishment to get off her ass and do something in Ron's strangely compelling voice – like a splash of cold water or a brisk wind in November. He'll never speak to her again.
There is blood speckled on Harry's lips. The smell is awful, but she can't get up now and he has voided his bowels. She may have done so as well. Would it be possible to use Phineas to contact help? Would Krethcer listen if she called for help? Could she rouse Harry long enough to get him to call for Kreatcher? Draco tells her she should of thought of this before, and her father agrees bouncing the little boy on his lap. She has never known a four year old Draco, but she recalls the picture album from N12. Her parents will never remember her now.
"We wouldn't remember you either way." "You know what you've done lass." And of course… Harry is sobbing as he pleads not to go back. He doesn't want to go back. The spiders will eat him, and he doesn't want to touch the body. He promised to bring it back, but he doesn't want to. Poor Harry. The boy hero dying alone in the woods and his best friend is dead. His other friend is a murderer of her parents. "It was an accident dear girl. They happen after all. You only meant to protect Harry, but of course as bright as you are you know very little." She wiped it all away, and they didn't even know how to breathe.
Harry is dead. She had enough strength to cover his face. Her magic will not work and she has figured out why. Whatever it is that effects them – it targets magic and … Time has passed, but she doesn't know how much. It targets… the genetics of magick? Ron died first and he is - was a Pureblood. Harry suffered awfully, because his father was a Pureblood and his mother a Muggleborn. So he was more magical than not. Then of course the Muggleborn or Mudblood with two dead Muggle parents… magically talented, but impure enough to last this long.
Waking up to a white ceiling. Darkness. Arguments and the burning curse. Shouting. A slap. A white wall and the smell of antiseptic potions. Someone with a wand stands over her and "There will be lingering damage." A voice like the roar of the sea rushing toward land, like the progression of a storm cross the sky. Sobbing and she knows she should have done better. The magic will not come again.
Squib's vengeance is what they call it and of course it is native to the area about Dean. Of course it was mentioned here and there and everywhere. Of course she ignored it because it wasn't within the lines she had drawn. And now it doesn't matter, because the magic will never come again. The magic will never ever come again.