Chapter 10

With awareness came pain. Blinding, all-encompassing pain that radiated from within her while, at the same time, pushed at her on all sides from without. She was at once weightless, yet so heavy she could barely move her limbs. It was the oddest sensation. Like being crushed by a thousand ton weight, but still somehow…floating. As soon as the thought sparked to life in her mind, she realized it was true. Someone was levitating her.

The pain continued to build within her, dulling her wits and making it difficult to discern the various sights and sounds bombarding her senses. For one thing, it was much too bright. It looked as though someone cast a lumos maxima charm right in her face, making it impossible to ascertain her surroundings.

Wherever she was, the noise was incredible. Earth-shattering screams echoed all around her, filling the empty spaces in her body, acting as a perfect counterpoint to the rapidly escalating pain. It was a full moment before comprehension dawned and she became aware that the screams were issuing from her own voice.

The small portion of her brain still capable of thought made an idle attempt to catalogue the pain and determine its origin. It wasn't the stabbing or burning pain she'd come to associate with the cruciatus curse, which was unfortunate, as that might've also explained the levitation. Nor was it the stinging pain of an open wound or the throbbing pain of infection. Whatever was causing it; it was a pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was nearly unendurable and growing exponentially with each passing second.

The agony of simply being in her body was incredible. She wondered vaguely if she would die from it, though there were no emotions tied to the thought. She was utterly incapable of anything as nuanced as having preferences at that moment. Even the desire for self-preservation was beyond her grasp. Pain was the only tangible part of her existence, and she clung to it desperately, lest it consume her.

Then something inside of her broke. She was blasted apart and pieces of her flew away, soaring off in every direction. The pain bubble burst, breaking the levitation spell, and sending her sprawling to the floor. Her screams broke off abruptly upon impact, and suddenly she remembered. It all came flooding back, who she was and what she was supposed to be doing. A distant voice in her head whispered, fight. You must keep fighting.

She hastened to obey. Instantly, a dozen smaller, more familiar aches blossomed within her, but they were nothing by comparison. Blocking out these lesser pains was easy. She closed her eyes and scanned her body, assessing the damage. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she greedily sucked air into her lungs, which burned with each inhalation. A couple of her ribs were likely cracked. Nothing she couldn't handle.

She felt extremely sluggish and movement of any sort did not come easily. She was able to wiggle her fingers a bit, and was relieved to discover she hadn't been petrified. Her limbs felt heavy and numb, as if she'd been drugged. This triggered something in the deepest recesses of her mind and her survival instincts flared to life.

Hermione opened her eyes and struggled to push herself up, but her body wouldn't cooperate. She could barely lift her head to get a look around. The cool linoleum tiles beneath her served as evidence that she was no longer in the Great Hall. In fact, from what she could see, this room didn't look like it belonged anywhere inside Hogwarts. Where on earth was she?

Her anxiety grew with each unsuccessful attempt to hold herself up. At one point she managed to reach up and grab onto one of the curtains hanging from a nearby window. With an almighty tug, she lifted her unwilling body for a moment before crashing back to the floor. The gauzy fabric fluttered down after her, dropping onto her head and covering her face. It was then she noticed she was crying. The tears blurring her already obscured vision increased her panic and frustration tenfold.

An unexpected voice off to her left caused her to flinch in surprise. The voice was female, unfamiliar, and had spoken her name. Hermione responded instinctively, screaming as loudly as possible, as that was the only method of defense currently available to her. It appeared to work. The speaker went quiet again, but didn't leave the room.

How many others were there? Were they Death Eaters? She doubted very much that a fully-fledged Death Eater would be so easily deterred by an unarmed witch, but she didn't want to take any chances.

Drawing upon the last of her strength, Hermione gave one final push. Her muscles trembled and burned. She couldn't understand why she was suddenly so weak. Her efforts were rewarded when, inch by torturous inch, she was able to lift her torso and get a decent look at her surroundings. She was in a hospital, presumably St. Mungo's. The stark lighting, metal bed frame and antiseptic smell were a dead giveaway.

That's when she saw it. A wand. It was on the floor only a few short feet away. In her amazement, her arms gave out and she dropped back down to the floor, but she didn't care. Stretching her quaking arms, she groped frantically in the direction of the wand. She attempted a silent summoning spell, but nothing happened. Awkwardly, she scrabbled and clawed her way toward the wand, dragging her useless legs behind her, until she clutched the wooden miracle tightly in her hand.

It wasn't her wand, but at that moment she could've kissed the witch or wizard who'd dropped it. Without pausing to think, she began firing every curse she could think of in the direction of the voice. She heard a satisfying yelp and she hoped one of her curses connected. At the very least, it seemed to frighten her captor away, as she heard a door open and slam shut again.

When she was reasonably certain she was alone, her mind kicked into high gear and she began assessing her options and planning her escape. She'd obviously been wounded in the battle. But how had she gotten here? Where were Harry and Ron? Had they been injured as well…or worse? What else would keep them from being at her bedside? For though she was a natural optimist, in situations such as these, Hermione thought it was safest to assume the worst.

The first step was to figure out why her legs didn't seem to work. Turning the wand on the lower half of her body, she cast a simple finite hoping to counteract whatever curse Bellatrix may have used on her. Best to start with the basics after all. Nothing happened. In fact, she felt no magical energy coming from the wand at all.

"Lumos!" she cried.

Glancing at the wand's tip, she saw no light. Not even the briefest flicker.

"Lumos!" she shouted again, but still there was nothing.

"Accio wand!" she tried, in the vain hope that her own wand was somewhere nearby.

It was not.

A cold dread came upon her. Why wasn't the wand working? She'd used another witch's wand before – Bellatrix Lestranges' no less – and though it hadn't responded to her as well as her own, she'd been able to cast nearly every spell she'd wanted with it. This was more than a little disconcerting.

She needed to get out of there. Hermione tried once again to force her legs to move, but they stubbornly refused to oblige. She'd apparently used up the last of her strength obtaining the wand, and so she lay there on the floor, panting and fretting.

Unbidden, visions of the battle came flooding back, clouding her thoughts: the cries of the wounded, the flashing of curses, and the sharp smell of blood. Tonks and Lupin laid out on the stone floor, cold and lifeless as Ginny arranged their hands so they might stay connected in death; a grief-stricken George weeping over the body of his dead twin; and the scores of other bodies, friend and foe alike, strewn about the castle, never to rise again.

Hermione began to hyperventilate. She broke out in a cold sweat, her eyes brimming with tears. The adrenaline previously coursing through her veins vanished, leaving her limp and exhausted. The numbness seemed to be wearing off as well, and the pain she'd been ignoring returned in full force.

The combined fear and pain hit her like a tidal wave, overwhelming her senses and knocking out the last of her resolve. Her nerves were frayed and raw and she began to tremble uncontrollably. Hermione cried in earnest then. Wishing for the earth to swallow her up so she wouldn't have to feel anymore. But it didn't. So she sobbed. Howling uncontrollably, completely at a loss for what else to do.

oooOOOooo

Then he was there. That voice who'd been her only companion in the darkness - that lone point of light punctuating her otherwise endless night. He was calling her name. But something wasn't right. His voice, though familiar, sounded wrong without the shroud of darkness surrounding it.

Instinctively flinching away from the sound, she tensed and readied herself for battle once more. Gripping the wand in one white-knuckled hand, she cast curse after ineffectual curse. There was no burst of magic. She felt nothing except mounting exhaustion. She was so tired. Even the simple act of lifting her head became too daunting a task to attempt.

The voice was speaking to her again, but none of it made any sense. She must be confusing him with someone else. Someone who's face she couldn't recall, but whose presence she thought she could identify by a clean, masculine scent and a soothing tone of voice.

She felt the tingle of a spell ghost across her skin and the floating sensation caught her off guard. She tensed, half expecting her earlier pain to return, but mercifully, it did not and she landed gently upon the bed.

Hermione peered around the room briefly and, sensing no immediate threat, burst forth with a dozen questions. But rather than explaining her predicament, each new piece of information seemed to lead to more questions and few answers.

Harry and Ron were alive. That much she knew. That was the one life raft she could cling to. Wherever they were, they were alive, and for the time being, that was enough.

She looked at the speaker, then. Really looked at him. There was something in his expression she recognized. She thought for a moment…but no, he wasn't a healer. That was ridiculous. There was obviously sort of curse that was meddling with her cognitive functioning. That, or she'd hit her head during the battle and the wires in her brain had been crossed somehow because, while she understood all of his words individually, they got all jumbled when she tried to put them together. All but two words, that is.

Twelve years.

Those two little words were like interlocking puzzle pieces sliding into place in her brain, connecting the remaining dots and filling in the formerly incomplete picture. It was too much, much too much for her to comprehend. So she let go. But just before the doors of her conscious mind slammed shut, she locked eyes with him. And in that moment, she knew.

Then everything went dark once more.

oooOOOooo

Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness. The lines between sleep and wakefulness were too blurry for her to discern. Sometimes when she thought she was sleeping, she'd idly notice that her eyes were open, but she was too weak to do anything about it. So she didn't. Her poor, battered psyche had been through too much in the last… She didn't care to think how long. As a matter of fact, she didn't care to think at all. So she didn't.

Though she had a vague awareness of where she was, her mind had vacated the premises. She felt distinctly separate and apart from her body; incorporeal, insubstantial, and wholly incapable of engaging with the physical world. Her body meant pain, so she'd abandoned it, luxuriating in the blissful disconnection. And now that her mind was no longer a safe place, she'd forsaken it, too.

Instead of thinking, she sang. Not out loud, for the use of her vocal cords was well beyond her reach, but in her head she sang the Hogwarts school song, over and over again on an endless loop…

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling,

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best,

We'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Occasionally something would break through the defenses she'd unwittingly built up around her conscious mind, interrupting the verse. And it took all of her remaining concentration to keep the pieces of the song together.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please…

"Ms. Granger? Can you hear me?"

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees…

"I suspect she's in shock."

Our heads could do with filling,

With some interesting stuff…

"Hermione? Hermione, love, wake up. We're all here with you. Everything's going to be all right."

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff…

"You stupid git! This is all your fault! You just couldn't leave well enough alone..."

So teach us things worth knowing…

"Rest now, Mione. We'll be back tomorrow."

Bring back what we've forgot…

"Why don't you come round to ours for dinner tomorrow night…Penny's doing a roast."

Just do your best…

"You have to face it eventually… Believe me, I know."

We'll do the rest…

"Wake the fuck up and get on with it already."

And learn until our brains all rot.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

Hogwarts, Hogwarts…

Twelve years…

Bring back what we've forgot…

I'm sorry…

Twelve years…

Just do your best…

I'm so sorry…

Too soon the song unraveled completely. Consciousness came rushing back to her like a speeding comet, careening headlong into the walls separating mind from body; sleep from wakefulness. Hermione woke with a start. She took an experimental breath and found the pain in her ribs was gone. Her limbs still felt stiff and heavy with weakness, but they didn't hurt nearly as much anymore.

The room was in semi darkness, bathed in the warm orange glow of a muggle street lamp shining through the diaphanous fabric of the recently repaired curtains. All was quiet, apart from a soft, rhythmic sound somewhere off to Hermione's left. It sounded like breathing. She thought for a moment that she must be connected to a respirator, but that wasn't right. They didn't use muggle machinery at St. Mungo's. They had spells for that sort of thing.

Turning her head in the direction of the sound and winching at the stiffness in her neck, she looked over and saw Draco Malfoy sleeping peacefully in the chair by her bedside. His slow, steady breaths the only movement in the otherwise still room.

She hadn't recognized him when she first woke. His face, while familiar, looked so much older. Which, Hermione reasoned, wasn't terribly surprising after twelve years. There were fine lines around his eyes and a crease in his brow, even in sleep. He had the same pointed nose and patrician features that she remembered, but his hair was much shaggier now and a darker shade of blonde. He no longer wore it slicked back and several pieces fell into his eyes, framing his face and softening his features. The look suited him. He'd filled out as well, particularly around the middle where he'd developed a bit of a paunch, which was mitigated somewhat by his tall frame and broad shoulders.

At first his presence had confirmed her worst fears, and she indulged in a brief panic, assuming Voldemort had won and the Death Eaters were holding her captive. Performing experiments on her all these years, trying to determine the source of her magic. Turning her back into a muggle. Perhaps that's why she hadn't been able to perform any spells. Wouldn't that be a fitting punishment from a Malfoy?

But she'd gleaned enough information while in her state of quasi consciousness to surmise that wasn't the case. Harry and Ron were alive. She'd heard their voices, and she was reasonably certain it hadn't been a dream. They were shouting at Malfoy, which seemed likely enough, knowing them as she did. A tiny, nagging voice in her head whispered, used to. It's been twelve years after all. You may not know them at all anymore… She shook her head in an attempt to block those troubling thoughts, and the muscles in her neck protested violently at the movement.

Now she was alone in a dark room with Draco Malfoy. And he was a fully trained healer, if his robes were any indication. Presumably he was her healer. Talk about irony…

As if he could hear her thoughts, her former schoolmate began to stir. She was tempted to turn away, pretending to revert to her former state of oblivion, if only to prolong the inevitable, but it was too late. His eyes snapped open and locked onto hers, seemingly unsure of what he was seeing.

Mustering what was left of her Gryffindor courage, Hermione took a deep breath and, in voice so hoarse she barely recognized it as her own, she broke the silence.

"Hello there, Healer Malfoy. Care to explain?"

A/N: Thanks again Aidenk77! #bestbetaever