She groaned and rolled over. Or rather, she tried to roll over. Her sides felt like they had been crushed and ground to powder. Gingerly, she forced her aching arm to touch her ribs. The lightest touch had her gasping. Definitely broken.

As she grew more conscious and aware of her surroundings, she also became more aware of the immense pain she was in. Wincing with every motion, she struggled to find her wand. Surely it hadn't landed too far from her. Her fingers brushed against the thick base of what could be a wand. She stretched as far as she could, biting her bottom lip so as to not make a sound. Finally, she was able to reach it. She slowly drew her arm back down to her side.

Ever since she realized there would be a war, she had memorized almost every book on magical healing. She had bothered the school nurse by logically pleading her case every chance she had until the woman finally gave in and taught her the complicated spells and potions that could not be found in any library.

She knew she would need the knowledge, knew she would need the experience. She was grateful now that she had pursued both and worked as hard as she had. She raised her hand and performed a few slight wrist movements.

The diagnostics test showed her every single spot that was injured. Ribs, broken. Left leg, shattered from the knee down. Left arm, severely burned. Right hip, cracked. Internal bleeding. Concussion. Smashed cheekbones and a wrenched jaw. Spine misaligned. And a grand total of one hundred sixty-three cuts and gashes of varying depths and lengths.

She quickly repaired her ribs and internal organs, those being the most serious. Next she cast a spell to alleviate some of the intense pain that her battle rattled body was beginning to register. As her insides literally knit themselves back together, she looked around once more.

Woods. Tall, thick, moss-covered trees surrounded her. Bits of sunshine speckled through the dense foliage above her. Giant thorn bushes tangled themselves up between the trees. Vines of some strange kind dangled from the tree tops. Ferns grew everywhere. From where she lay on the dark ground, there didn't seem to be a pathway of any kind. The scene before her was picturesque. Beautiful even.

Something felt off though. Her head pounding so sharply, and her body's lack of responses, made it very difficult for her to pinpoint what was bothering her.

She sighed in relief as she could now breathe without having to fight for every breath. Slowly, she dragged the tip of her wand over several of the larger cuts. The longest one started at her left collar bone and stretched all the way down her abdomen to her right hip and down her leg to her calf. Once she wasn't in danger of bleeding to death, she healed her concussion. She knew she would need a few days in bed even with the magical recovery.

She repaired her arm, hip, face, and spine with ease. She was going to be sore for a while, but luckily so far there would be no lasting damage. She eyed her leg. She would definitely be needing the bone regrowth potion if she ever wanted to walk normally again.

Her injuries tended to, she felt her adrenalin aided strength beginning to drain from her. She cast a protection shield around her and set wards to warn her if anyone approached. Finally, she allowed her eyes to droop shut. Just as she was about to slip into blessed unconsciousness, she realized what felt odd about the forest.

The woods were completely silent.

. . . .

When she awoke, the sun had set and a bone-chilling cold had set in. Silently she cast a warming charm around herself. She listened closely. The woods were silent, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was as though the entire forest was still. Nothing moved.

She shrugged. As long as it was still and quiet, she knew no one was trying to kill her. She hugged her knee to her chest and dozed. In the morning, she would look for clues to what happened to her.

. . . .

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione, wake up, love. Please wake up. Hermione. Open your eyes."

Unexpectedly, when she woke once more, it was to someone's hand shaking her gently. Blearily, she cracked her exhausted eyes open. A tanned, freckled arm was reaching towards her shoulders. Her unfocused gaze followed the arm up to a worried mess of bright golden red hair. Slowly her eyes came into focus. She reached up and brushed the hair away from the face looming above her.

"Fred," she murmured. "Please be real."

"Hermione!" Fred grabbed her up into a giant hug. "Thank Merlin you're alive."

She tiredly leaned into him, relief coursing through her. "Do you know what happened or where we are?"

Fred released her and straightened up. He sat back on his heels and looked around. "We were in the middle of fighting a group of Death Eaters when Harry killed Voldemort. They were running away when one of them threw some kind of curse at me. You shoved me out of the way and the curse hit the wall behind us. It collapsed on us, and that's all I remember." He looked back to her. "I have no idea where we are or how we got here though." His eyes narrowed. "You okay?"

She gave a slight, dry laugh. She would never be okay. She couldn't tell him that though. "I had some pretty serious wounds, but I'm mostly okay now. My left leg is going to be a problem until I can get a few potions in me." She glanced over him. She could see several new scars, still pink from healing. Other than that he appeared to be in one piece. "Are you alright?"

He snorted. "Mostly surface wounds. I had a lovely set of cracked ribs though. Give me a few days, and I'll be fine." Hermione believed him. If it had been anyone other than him, she would have forced him let her cast her spells to see the damage done.

But Fred Weasley did not lie to Hermione Granger.

Hermione crossed her legs and played with a fallen fern as she thought. She could vaguely recall shoving Fred. She looked up and around her. A thought hit her. "Fred," she said slowly. He met her eyes curiously. "Does none of this look familiar to you? Because it looks awfully familiar to me."

He surveyed the woods once more. "Hermione, I've never seen these woods before in my life," he told her cautiously.

"Help me stand," she said. To his eye, she seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. Knowing her like he did, he knew she wouldn't say anything until she was certain. He bent down and slung her left arm around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around her waist. It took her a moment to reorient herself as all the blood rushed to her head.

"Where are we going?" he asked. She pointed to their left.

"If I'm right," she said as they slowly made their way up towards a small hilled clearing, "we should be able to get our bearings from there."

Neither said anything else as they reached the top of the hill. Fred stared out. All he could see were more trees. "Hermione…" he started, but she was looking behind them.

"Turn around, Fred."

Hogwarts stood in the distance. Not how he last saw it, all broken and dark and gray. No, this was Hogwarts as it was meant to be. This was the school he remembered. The first sun streaks of the day glinting off the giant windows of the towers. The very stones of the building inviting one in.

He could almost hear the ghosts of laughter and happiness radiating from it. He could almost see George and Lee waiting for him by the secret passage ways. He could almost picture Hermione, Harry and Ron arguing with Malfoy. He could almost taste the pumpkin juice. He could almost feel the air rushing around him as he zoomed around the Quidditch pitch.

He felt at peace. This was how Hogwarts was supposed to look. Whole. Complete. Not a battlefield. Not a prison for students. Not a giant cemetery for friends and family and friends that were closer than family.

Eyes wide, he whispered to Harper. "How…."

He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"I don't know," she said as she shrugged. She too kept her eyes locked on the school. She took a deep breath. "We need to go there though. I can feel it."

If Hermione was trusting in a feeling, Fred would too. "Do you feel like you can apparate without splinching yourself?"

"No. You're going to have to apparate us."

"Hold tight." He pulled her close and turned.

. . . .

Fred had been aiming for the main entrance but the wounds he had suffered caused him to miscalculate. They landed right in the middle of the Great Hall.

There appeared to be the beginnings of a feast going on. Hermione and Fred froze as they glanced around at the sudden silence that met their arrival. The first thing they noticed was the sheer amount of students. The tables were packed. They exchanged an alarmed look as they both realized they didn't know any of the students present.

"Excuse me," said a rather happy voice behind them. "I'm Headmaster Dumbledore. Are you alright?" They turned to see an older wizard with waist-length gray beard, bright, sharp eyes, and a bizarre party hat on his head. But that was impossible. Dumbledore was killed a year ago.

"That's impossible," Fred said flatly. Dumbledore watched him for a moment and understanding dawned on him. "You're supposed to be dead," he whispered.

Hermione went completely white and fainted.

Waking up in a strange forest, healing himself, finding Hermione, seeing Hogwarts whole again, apparating, and discovering his beloved principal alive was just too much strain on poor Fred's nerves. He caught Hermione just as he himself fainted. He was grateful when the darkness closed in on him.

In the dark, there were no surprises.

. . . .

The four boys had been anticipating the Hogwarts welcome feast since they settled in their train compartment. They had not, however, anticipated the excitement the feast this year would bring.

Outside of a few well executed pranks here and there and Quidditch, their Hogwarts years had been peaceful. And if they were being honest, rather boring. They were entering their seventh year and the most exciting thing they had going on was trying to get the Head Girl to notice one of them.

They were in the midst of plotting Operation Get the Girl, when out of nowhere two battered people appeared. A boy who looked a few years older than them and a girl they guessed was their age. It was hard to tell though. Their faces were covered in grime, and their clothes had all manner of brush and dirt on them. Upon closer inspection, their clothes were also shredded - and was that blood?

They looked as though they had travelled through hell and back. Both of them had obviously been recently healed, and the girl looked as though she could use a few good potions. Despite how frail and worn and broken they appeared, they held their wands ready and their eyes were constantly on guard. They held themselves as if they were prepared to fight at a moment's notice.

Neither paid any attention to the fierce whispers circulating the hall. When the headmaster approached them and spoke quietly to them, their faces went dead white. And then they just collapsed. Luckily the professor was quick with his spellwork and was able to get out a cushioning charm before they hit the hard stone floor.

Dumbledore called for Madame Pomfrey and the two of them hurried their unconscious and unannounced guests to the infirmary.

As soon as they were gone, the four boys' heads were bent together forming plans to sneak into the infirmary later that night.