Author's Note: This is just a short blip into the world my mind has created for these characters. It's very likely chapters will get longer, and more in depth. However, this is just a taste.
It's an extremely AU story: the last two books are almost completely disregarded, save some things. The plot, as I have it now, doesn't reveal all changes or any until the story is complete. If you do have questions, feel free to PM me them. If I can answer, I will, but I shan't give away anything to the story ;) Enjoy!
*Posting will be irregular. I've got a busy schedule, and I sometimes lose my inspiration for writing. No worries, though. It will not be discarded or abandoned, ever. :)*
A dull candle flickered gloomily in the wall sconce, casting shadows over the metal framed beds and the few nightstands. It sputtered every few seconds, the light dancing over the single filled bed, curtained off from the rest. Old tomes lay scattered across it, some half open, some with quills marking their place. On top of one battered book lay a scrap of parchment, hasty words scrawled over it in deep black ink.
Coming from the office in the back was a muffled sound, as if two people were talking. Shortly after, the door creaked open, revealing a trim lady, dressed in typical hospital robes. Behind her was a small, bushy haired girl, who was frowning thoughtfully.
"Poppy, wouldn't the cast go before the spell, to make sure it's in the right place?"
"No, pet, the cast isn't needed at all. Muggle medicine is a bit different from our own, and with our skills we've rendered casts and molds near useless, though there are exceptions to every rule."
The brown haired woman nodded and hastened over to the crowded cot, dumping a small parcel of papers onto the mess that it was.
"You know, pet, you should get that into your room. Safer that way," the older nurse called softly, relighting a few burned out candles with a flick of her wand. The level of light rose, the dark blotches that resided on the younger girl's face disappearing.
Hermione began to carefully stack the books, first by subject, then by author within that subject, into a pile, slipping relevant notes into the cover pages of the ancient novels. Ink smeared onto her fingers, which were already bruised from trying to organize the back room. She sighed; it was lonely here, and she wished the boys were back.
A few hours into the deepest part of the night, Hermione was woken from her fitful slumber by the piercing sound of a man in pain, his shrieks echoing even in her reclusive chamber. She rolls out of bed, glad she slept with her robes still on, and grabs her wand off the nightstand, dislodging a book in the process. It falls to the ground with a thud, but she pays it no mind, already racing out of the room to see who was hurt.
Hermione paused at the entrance to her hiding space, murmuring a spell to unlock it. Madam Pompfrey had warned her against it, but the screams of anguish were too great for her to ignore. The mirage of stone faded, revealing the simple wooden door that she burst through. A flick of her wand cast a hasty spell to seal it up again.
"Granger! Get back in there, Death Eater's might be tailing after him." Poppy hissed.
It's a him? Please, don't let it be Ron, or Harry., Hermione thought fervently. She ignored the warning, knowing full well what danger she was putting herself in as she slipped out into the light.
Neville Longbottom and Fred Weasley were carrying in between them a stretcher, upon which was a huddled mass. Each misstep sent the thing bucking, and the occupant moaned as what must have been several broken bones jarred and shifted. As they lay him on the bed, he screamed, a blood curdling sound that vibrated deep within Hermione's bones. She gave no more thought to danger, to evil; her only concern had become helping the man.
Poppy flicked her wand, conjuring more candles that began to float in the air, their combined light already allowing her more sight. Hermione quickly summoned the basic remedy kit; after the diagnostic spells and some minor treatment, they would know if there was anything special that needed to be done. Once this was all done, they set their sights down to the man.
His face was covered in dry blood, his jaw clenched with the effort of not letting loose another cry of pain. The rest of his body was covered by a thin blanket, used to shield the ruined man from the drizzle of rain outside. Hermione paused, hands lingering just over the top of it. His chest rose and fell, making the coarse fabric brush her fingertips lightly, then pull away. She almost couldn't do it: How could she hurt him more, how could she stand the blood? The next time it touched, she gave no hesitation, yanking the blanket completely off his body before, hopefully, he could feel anything.
The man's hiss of pain said otherwise. His body convulsed slightly, fingers jerking and his head turning to the side. The movement only caused him to yelp as his more severe injuries twinged. Hermione winced. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"Never apologize for helping, just do it. I'll begin on the gashes on his legs; you clear up his face so we can know who the chap is, yes? Poor bloke. How he managed to end up right at the gates is beyond me…"
Hermione stopped in her tracks, hands just above a small bowl of water. How in the world would he end up there, when he can barely move for pain? She thought, curious over the puzzle presented to her. But another moan of pain jerked her back into reality, and with a now damp rag, she began to dab off the caked blood.
Underneath was no better than the mask, though he looked a least somewhat human. Bruises laced his cheek; lips were split from what must have been many punches; his nose most definitely broken, judging from the odd angle of it. The blood now mostly gone, Hermione healed his nose with a murmured spell, then began to heal the rest of the minor injuries. In an instant, with his face now practically normal, she recognized him.
"Oliver?"
The patient cracked open an eye, the corner of his lip twitching into the ghost of a smile. "Hermione." He passed out the next moment, face going completely blank.
Poppy jabbed Hermione lightly in the side with her wand. "Well?"
The bushy haired woman just stared for a moment. Oliver had had a meeting with the Ministry this morning, had been safe. What had transpired in so short a time to reduce him to this? He was almost dead; his life was still in peril. Cleaning up his face wasn't going to change that much.
"His name is Oliver Wood."
A quiet sigh came from the nurse. She would know, in that single sentence, just about everything. They were constantly getting injured Order members, and this one was no different from the others, save his history. Their history.
"Well, no use wasting time. Let's see if we can save him, yeah?"
The next few hours were maddening, a rush of energy and worry. Oliver's condition deteriorated fast, his body being overcome by a horrid fever. Most of his bones were broken. Too much blood had been lost for him to function properly.
Poppy and Hermione had depleted most of the stores in previous attempts to save people, so while Poppy kept redoing simple charms in order to keep him stable, Hermione dashed down to the dungeons to get more Blood Replenishing potion from Slughorn.
The plump man was wearing a slightly tattered dressing gown when he opened the door. Greying eyebrows shot upwards. "Miss Granger, what are you doing out here? It's not safe, my girl, go back to the infirmary."
Hermione refused to relent. In a breathy, emotionless tone, she begged him to go look for more of the needed potion. "We're out, and he's so broken... Please, Professor, there's no time to brew any up." She gave him a pleading look, tipping her head down in order to meet his eyes.
Slughorn sighed and nodded his assent. Turning around, he beckoned her in with a murmured, "Get out of the light and stay to the side, you're still in danger."
Hermione nipped inside the narrow door frame and pressed her back against the curtains framing the door. Slughorn's room was lavishly furnished, an amazing feat for someone on a teacher's salary. A plush armchair sat before the fireplace and around it were assortments of poufs- much like the ones in Professor' Trelawney's classroom- and little tables, upon which were a couple closed boxes. She took it all in with a caution, keeping as far from the light as she could. She'd used secret passages to get there, and had used a Disillusionment charm when she had to step into the light. With Madam Pomfrey, she could take a few risks and not hide as often, but anywhere else..
The Potions master puffed back into view, shutting the door of a cupboard behind his girth. A small, leather pouch was in his hand, and as he neared her, he held it out with an expression of concern and pity. "Don't worry about how much, just save the man, will you?"
Granger dipped her head in thanks, murmuring a soft, "Thank you." She tucked the tiny satchel into the pocket of her cloak before pulling out her wand. Slughorn sighed softly.
"Be safe, Granger."
A murmured spell later, Hermione felt herself begin to meld with the curtains in color and texture. She reached for the door's latch and twisted it, opening the heavy wooden door as she slipped back into the hall. It shut with a click behind her.
Skidding around a statue, Hermione pushed aside a tapestry and stole away into the dark tunnel behind it. It gradually sloped into stairs, and she took them with nimble steps, rushing to get back to Oliver.
She didn't hesitate at opening the door at the end of the passage, and it was a grave mistake. The heavy oak door knocked into a person, who gave a loud yelp of surprise and most likely pain. Hermione nearly shrieked, but carried on swiftly, not bothering to look behind her and see who she had knocked into. Most students did not know she was here; she was only allowed to help the ones who could be trusted. Only some staff knew she hid out here, and that because they were part of the Order or an old friend of Dumbledore, who would clearly be trusted. Hermione yanked open the door to the infirmary and shut it with a snap behind her, striding quickly to the bed next to Oliver's and dumping the satchel onto it.
"Good, you got them. Two potions into him, please, straight away. We've got to get his fever down, and blood loss is the cause. Once that is done, we can set his legs in splints. I'm too worried for his body's health to heal them straight away, especially with so many breaks..." Poppy paused, looking over to the frozen girl. Hermione was just staring at Oliver, shock and fear written on her face. But Madam Pomfrey had no time to wonder why, she had a patient to save. "Hurry, Granger, we need to get this going! Timing is critical here!"
Unstopping two vials, Hermione poured the opaque liquid into Oliver's slack jaw, setting them down as soon as she was done. She then began to massage his throat gently, to make sure that he didn't choke on it. After a few moments, when she could feel him swallowing, she reached for a pain potion, a bright yellow color, like a daisy's center. The bushy haired girl repeated the same procedure with that next potion, a sleeping one, and turned to face her mentor. "Done, Poppy."
The nurse nodded, looking a bit less flustered now. "All right, all right. Help me set his legs, then his arms, and we'll leave him be for a couple hours. His fever has to break before we can do anything."
Hermione nodded her assent and began to help the woman brace together Oliver's broken limbs with conjured splints and bandages.
Up in the hallway, a young boy, clearly a student, scowled. What had knocked into him? The Slytherin pondered over that, then slowly peeked into the still open door, following down its path until he reached the same tapestry that was used as an entrance. He pushed it aside and stepped into the hall, looking around. The Potions corridor? The seventeen year old thought curiously. He strode down the hall a few steps and knocked on the Professor's door. Slughorn opened it in a heartbeat, saying, "Good Merlin, Granger, back for more-" The plump professor paused, looking into the face of the boy, so clearly not who he had expected. "Get back to bed!" He cried sharply and shut the door in the next second.
The boy scowled, muttered a dark curse under his breath at the man, and turned to head back in the direction he had come. He halted suddenly as something occurred to him. Granger?
With a smirk, the Slytherin boy rushed off to the Owlery, a plan formulating in his mind.
A pale haired man stood at the window of a lounge he used as an office, hand pressed against the wood work bordering the clear paned glass. Thin fingers, pianist fingers, thrummed against it impatiently. "You have news, I trust, Zabini?"
The dark skinned man in the doorway paused; he had arrived noiselessly, made no movement, but still his presence was recognized. Straightening out his shoulder, he strode forward, an air of arrogance obvious about him like a perfume.
"I do." Was his simple response. The blond stopped his incessant drumming, turning to observe his ally with clouded grey eyes. A contemptuous smirk played at his lips. "Do tell."
Blaise Zabini was not a timid man; he was self confident, intelligent, charming and quite cunning. But even he hesitated at the news he bore. It was not going to be received well.
"The lackeys deposited his body at the gates. He was broken, bloody, and for good measure, Scabior himself cast a memory charm, just in case he remembered anything that had happened. The fool was to have died before anyone got alerted to his presence-" Blaise paused, lips pursed.
"Then it was successful," his companion mused. The Malfoy smirk grew in prominence, the flickers of true emotion illuminated in his eyes.
"It has come to attention that-" Blaise hissed out the rest of his words in a rush- "he was taken to the castle and treated. His condition is unstable, but it cannot be denied. Oliver Wood is still alive."