There is death everywhere. Mud, blood, despair. Each night a new nightmare comes to life. Each time a new supernatural creature that wants to maul them. Or kill them. Or take over the world.
Hermione is tired.
She watches the pale skin between Viktor's shoulder blades which stick out like spiked angel wings and how the water from the shower turns dirty brown from blood underneath him. He looks always beautiful, otherworldly, but there is something particularly gorgeous about him covered in blood and bruises. It paints him hungry and haunted, almost like Hermione feels.
Hermione blinks, the moment lost. She turns around and starts to scrub the dirt from her hands.
