April 9th, 2003
Hermione worked methodically on the linens hanging on the line, the salty breeze blowing loose tendrils of her curls until they tickled her cheek. She paused, closing her eyes and breathed in deeply before returning to her folding. She'd read somewhere once that the cure for any ailment was salt water: tears, sweat or the sea.
Here in her peaceful corner, she found all three.
Fold in half, fold again, once more, and stack. She barely touched her wand anymore, not unless it was absolutely necessary.
Hermione bent, lifting the stack of fluffy towels and turned away from the cliffs. Humming to herself as she strolled back into the seaside cottage she now called home.
The house was painted in pale coastal pastels, stuffed with whitewashed furniture and hand painted seashells on every shelf. It sat perched on the cliffs and all day she could hear the waves crashing on the shore below.
Whenever possible, she avoided using magic but she did draw her wand often to Apparate down to the shore.
After the incident, Hermione had been taken out of the field, indefinitely. There had actually done a brief stint in the Psychiatric Ward at St. Mungos before being sent to a safe house in Surry. She quickly petitioned to leave.
The safe house was a halfway house of war. Different men and women would drift through, all reeking of blood and death – a sad story to share with her, safehouse's only long-term inhabitant. She was drowning there, and finally, after she had left, she came up gasping for air.
Lupin had found her this sanctuary, tucked away by the sea and she could not have been more grateful. There had been a long transition period as she got settled, house was far too quiet and it set her nerves on edge. Every crash of a wave or howl of the wind had sent her into a panic.
There was two kinds of quiet, the first was soothing, the second suffocating. She longed for company to break the isolation, but visitors were scarce. The rest of the Order was busy fighting in the war that she was running from. There was no spare time to sit and drink a cuppa with her after a long day of death and reassure her that her the wind wasn't trying to kill her.
She had, in the months that passed, found a since of peace that she never expected to find again.
Standing on the back porch, cradling a glass of cheap red wine to her chest, she watched with as the setting sun lit the clouds on fire.
There was a loud commotion, frantic voices and mumbled obscenties coming from the front lawn, and in a panic she whipped her head towards the noise.
Harry and Ron clambered up the short steps onto her porch, their eyes frantic and wild, shouldering Luna between them, her lithe body limp. Hermione paled at the sight of her blonde hair hanging, and she backed away from them slowly, shaking her head and feeling the space behind her for something to brace herself on.
"Hermione," Ron grunted, panting from exertion, "We need your help." All three were matted with dirt and caked with blood, and Hermione's mind went blank. She could hear the crashing of magic in her brain and the shouting of strangers even though there was no one there. Her eyes glazing with the memory of battle.
"HERMIONE! A bed! It's Luna, for Christ's sake," Harry yelled.
She blinked rapidly, her eyes focusing on her friends. "Yes, of course. Use my room. It's just over there; the only other rooms are upstairs." She stepped aside, letting her friends drag Luna through the threshold, the toes of her boots dragging behind her. "What's she been hit with?"
"Looks like a slashing spell. We need Dittany, and you'll need your wand. Hurry!" They set Luna on the white linens and Hermione watched in horror as Luna's blood seeped from her stomach and onto Hermione's white sheets.
Her brain was alive with adrenaline and panic, her hands fumbling with the potions cabinet in the kitchen, several of them rolling onto the counter before she found what she was looking for.
"Dittany...Dittany...Dittany…Ah yes! Dittany!" she grabbed it and sprinted towards her room, uncorking it as she went. Her instincts took over and chased away the trauma that was threatening to invade her psyche.
Luna was normally pale, but she was extraordinarily faint , her lips now a pale blue. Hermione's shaking hands lifted the hem of her shirt a few inches and exposed a giant gash across her belly button. Blood poured from her abdomen, and Hermione's tried to remember to breath through her mouth, the smell of iron making her stomach turn.
She squeezed a few drops of the Essence of Dittany onto the wound and slowly it started to stitch together again. Hermione grabbed her wand from the end table and hovered her hands over Luna again.
"Totem Corpus."
"Is she going to be alright?"
"Yes, I think so. She'll need rest; she's lost a lot of blood. There's not much I can do for that for now…there's blood replenishing potion, but I'll have to see if I have the ingredients." Hermione reached her hand down and wiped the matted blonde hair from Luna's forehead and shivered as she remembered a similar sight with another blonde not that long ago.
She shivered at the memory and waved her wand over Luna's face. "Tergeo."
"Tergeo?" Ron asked, his brows falling low over his blue eyes.
"Clears away the blood." Hermione muttered, silently wishing there was a way to clear their souls of it as well. Luna's skin bloomed, the dried blood clearing.
"Why'd you bring her here? St Mungos–" Hermione was caught off before she could finish.
"Is no longer an option." Ron bit out, cracking his neck in frustration. "It's now officially under control of the Ministry. Dean Thomas went after the last battle and was arrested on sight."
"Arrested?" Hermione gasped, turning with wide eyes to examine her ginger haired friend. "On what charges?"
"Anything they bloody want: treason, conspiracy, you name it."
"That's horrible," Hermione breathed. "Hospitals should be safe regardless of who you're supporting in this stupid war."
"Yea, well, they're not." Harry's voice carried a hard edge that she wouldn't have found there a few years ago. "They're working on setting up a safe house now that can take the injured. Can she stay tonight?"
"Of course."
"We've got briefing at Headquarters, they'll need to know about Luna. We will back tomorrow." Harry squeezed her shoulder in parting, and Ron leaned over, pressing his lips to her forehead, damp with sweat.
She didn't think much of it, though she wondered if she should. In the last few months, there had been irreparable damage and he seemed to understand that she wasn't in the place to explore a romantic relationship, that maybe she never would again. Whatever had begun last year had been snuffed out by the war and the carnage it brought with it.
She sat looking over Luna's lifeless body, the only thing giving away the Death Eater's failure was her shallow breath. Hermione sunk into the armchair in the corner of the room, curling her legs up under her.
The recovery, both physically and mentally, was going to be tough. Horrible, even. Hermione wasn't even healed after all these months, and she hadn't suffered by anyone's wand, not really.
Death would have been easier. Maybe not for those left behind, but certainly for her. She could have drifted away into the universe, nothing more than a memory. Instead, she woke up every day and was violently reminded of her pain.
Because of her hesitation, a girl had been raped and murdered while she lay there in silence. Hermione shared as much blame as Rookwood.
Rookwood had for a long while become an obsession; she would secretly plot his murder, imagining all the spells she would cast to end his life. For a week straight she studied the darkest magic texts she could get her hands on in the bookstore and practiced her wand work. He should pray he never met her in a dark alley.
The truth is though, the next time someone had brought up a mission, she froze. She couldn't even portkey out. She stood, carved in stone in the mausoleum of war. She had eventually curled into herself, a mess of tears, curls and anxiety, yanking at her scalp until she finally felt something again, even if it was physical pain.
Molly found her rocking herself back and forth and she insisted that Hermione be taken out of the field. She was in no shape for battle, to which Moody had replied that none of them were.
At the time of the incident it had been four years of heavy losses and casualties, hope was gone. There would be no winning, only an honorable death for them.
Shortly after Hermione's "retirement", there had been a shift. She wasn't sure what changed – that was privileged information these days – but something had changed the tides of war. They had even managed a few successful missions, and more and more Aurors and Order Members were returning alive and whole.
Luna stirred in her sleep, turning her head to give a weak cough. Hermione ran into the kitchen for a glass of water and brought it to Luna. She lifted it gently to her dry lips, and the girl unconsciously took a small sip of water that dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
Hermione felt helpless, a feeling that didn't settle well with her. There was an overwhelming need to help her friends even if just from her small corner of the world.
Once in the living room, she started pouring through her books on potions. She stood at the shelves, grabbing any that might be helpful and stacking them on the coffee table. Once she had a stack of ten, she sat down and flipped open the first one: Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage.
She reached for a blank pad of paper and a pen and began scribbling down potion ingredients. She worked through the chapter on healing potions and then grabbed the next book, Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger and repeated her earlier task.
After she had finished all ten books covering topics from potions to magical herbs and even Muggle essential oils, she reviewed her list, which spanned four pages.
Hermione may have found a way to assist the Order after all.
A/N: Endless beta love to Ravenslight. Run to her and shower her with favorites, kudos, gifts for her muse. She deserves it for I am nothing without her!