2. Snow white

With a gasp, Hermione woke up from her sleep. Looking for orientation, she looked around frightened. She hastily rubbed her mouth and swallowed hard. She had actually fallen asleep. The seat on which she sat down to rest was painful. It was one of the hospital wing's visitor chairs.

Hermione gave a small moan as she stretched, her limbs cracking in disgust. Dusty rays of sunshine shone through the tall windows into the hospital wing. The sun had just risen. Hermione guessed it was no later than seven.

To wake up, she rubbed her dry face. She also unconsciously excoriated a small wound above her forehead, which started to hurt again when she touched it. Hermione grimaced sourly.

Two days had passed since the final battle. Two days since Voldemort had last shown his hideous face in this world. Two days that ended with Hermione in constant struggle. After she had been able to save Professor McGonagall from the fall, she had brought the older woman on a stretcher to Poppy Pomfrey, who had just been busy saving others from death. But when Poppy had identified her colleague, she ran up to her and only after she had made sure that Professor McGonagall was doing well under the circumstances, she had taken care of her other patients.

Hermione had immediately offered to help when she saw how overwhelmed Poppy Pomfrey was with all the injured. So she grabbed her Transfiguration professor and carried her to the hospital wing. There, in a small adjoining room, the elderly lady had been lying for two days now and had not yet regained consciousness.

After a thorough examination, Poppy was able to determine that the professor had a deep wound in her cleavage. The curse that hit her had penetrated her flesh and than her lungs and had also caused damage in the back, which was why McGonagall had collapsed again. Hermione had checked on her over and over again and given her the medicine.

During the months of her escape, she too had worked out a small arsenal of healingspells that had saved her for the last few hours. So she could help Poppy with minor injuries and see to it that the hospital wing was not overpopulated. Wounds, abrasions and fractures were no problem for her. Curse scars and wounds were far more difficult to treat and she also had to leave internal injuries to Poppy.

It had been already ten o'clock the previous evening when the last injured were relocated to St. Mungo's. But Professor McGonagall had not been able to be stably transported due to her internal injuries. That's why Poppy had decided to leave her at Hogwarts, even if the castle lay in ruins. At least the hospital wing had been spared to some extent. Except for a few broken windows and doors that had been ripped off their hinges, there had been no major damage.

Hermione sighed softly at the many memories of the past few days and carefully got up from her chair.

"How could I even sleep ... on that torture stool?" She wondered softly into the silence. The patient beds were all empty, so why hadn't she used one of them? Oh yes, she remembered. She had wanted to check on Professor McGonagall yesterday, but Poppy had still been with her and examined her. Hermione had't wanted to disturb, so she sat down in the chair while she waited. But she seemed to have fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Only now did the young woman notice the fluffy blanket lying on the floor. It must have slipped off her body when she got up. Would Poppy have covered her up? Carefully she bent down for it, smoothed it out, folded it and hung it over her arm.

She then carefully approached the adjoining room where her head of house was lying. The room was right next to Poppy's office (which was orphaned) and was only separated from the actual main room by a pane, wooden door. Hermione carefully turned the door handle.

The door creaked open and the young witch stepped softly into the room. Hermione had to wrinkle her nose slightly. The air was stale and spent. But there was no handle to open the windows. Her thoughts about the air quality quickly evaporated though when she approached the older witch's bed.

Minerva McGonagall looked lost in the white-covered hospital bed. Her dark, ebony-colored hair - only interrupted by a few gray strands - lay around her like a waterfall, so that her face looked unnaturally white. Only her lips protruded from her face, pink and unharmed. Hermione carefully sat down in the visitor chair next to her teacher's bed and had to chuckle when it occurred to her which person Professor McGonagall looked alike.

"Like Snow white" the young witch thought - well, an older version of her.

She giggled softly into the dusty air. Minerva McGonagall was a very attractive woman for her age!

She paused at that strangely absurd thought and quickly got up from her seat. She swiftly cast a diagnostic spell over her teacher's body and found that all measurements were within the acceptable normal range. She could wake up at any minute now. The potions and tinctures seemed to have worked well.

The images that now swept from her memory into her field of vision made Hermione flinch for a moment. Professor McGonagall had looked awful when she had seen her at the pillar. She had been pale as a sheet and for a brief moment Hermione must have expected that she had died in the fight. Shivering, Hermione inhaled the stale air.

No! She said to herself vehemently. She was alive, lying here in bed in front of her, and would soon wake up.

Everything would be fine!

After all, Hermione hadn't taken her NEWTs yet and she would be damned if she couldn't do that under Professor McGonagall watchful eyes. So she gathered up her bitter thoughts and stifled the nascent memories.

"It will get better," the brunette witch whispered into the morning air. "It has to be…"

After Hermione had made sure that everything was in order in the hospital wing and Poppy had relieved her there, she made her way to the kitchens. They had been also spared during the fight, which was why a kind of command center had been set up there. Ministry employees went in and out of the large fireplace. Experts, reporters, aurors and parents came and went to pick up their children. The mood was busy.

Hermione slipped through the picture after tickling the pear and looked around searchingly. But she didn't have to look long. In the far corner by the tall side windows she recognized some redheads from the Weasley family and Harry. The young woman came up to them and wished them softly a good morning. General nods, sad and dreary, got through to her. There were Harry, Ginny, Ron and Charlie and Kingsley Shacklebolt had just joined them. Everyone had a bowl of porridge in front of them and black tea was steaming in cracked cups.

Hermione also ordered the same from Winky, who just walked up to the young woman, beaming.

"Miss Hermione survived the war ... how nice," she squeaked happily.

She smiled back, but her smile looked fake and false. She thanked the elf when breakfast appeared in front of her and sat down next to Ron on a small bench.

When she lifted the spoon and put some porridge into her mouth, she only than noticed how long she hadn't eaten. It must have been well over twenty hours. Her stomach growled and she took another large spoon of her breakfast.

"What's next?" She heard Harry ask. He was sitting across from her; Kingsley was seated at the head of the table to her right.

"Well," he began to speak in his deep, melodious voice, "the corpses were already completely recovered yesterday and given to undertakers or to families."

A dark cloud moved in front of the sun and darkened the room. Just like the weather outside, everyone at the table looked sad. Everyone thought of Fred, who had also been picked up yesterday. Tonks and Remus, Lavender, Professor Snape and many more had been among the dead.

Kingsley cleared his throat cautiously. "We ended the school year and sent all students home - as far as possible. In the coming days I will be commissioning experienced witches and wizards who are good at restoring buildings. And next Friday, May 8th, the funerals of those whose families have decided to have their relatives buried at Hogwarts will take place…" his voice slowly faded into the bustle of the kitchens.

"Mister Shacklebolt ..." a Ministry employee called from the fireplace and Kingsley said goodbye to the group that was still sitting at the table.

"Where are Arthur and Molly?" Hermione asked softly into the emerging silence. Charlie lifted his gaze from the bowl of porridge and muttered, "They apparated home. Mum had a mental breakdown last night and then Dad took her away. Georg, Bill and Fleur are with them. The undertaker will come sometime today ..." his voice was lost in the room.

Hermione felt a stab in her heart and gently squeezed Ron's hand, who was crying silent tears. He grabbed her fingers as tightly as if he were grabbing a lifebuoy. Ginny's eyes shimmered dangerously too, so Harry put his arms tightly around her and she let herself sink against him. He gently stroked her back while turning his gaze to Hermione.

"How is McGonagall?" His words were fragile, but he seemed relatively solid overall.

Hermione took a sip of her tea, then mumbled, "Unchanged. She's not regained consciousness."

Ron next to her sniffed audibly through his nose and turned to the young witch, before he asked quietly: "That means you can come to the Burrow, doesn't it? The sick ones are all taken away and Poppy can take care of McGonagall."

Hermione paused. Well, basically there was nothing to say against going into the burrow. She looked gloomily into her breakfast porridge. There was no other home she could go to either.

"I ...", she began hesitantly, "Yes, well ...of course I'll come with you. But first I have to get my things." Ron frowned. "But you carry your bag with you." The young witch felt her cheeks turning pink.

"Yes… that's true," she got up from the bench, "but I forgot something in Poppy's office. I'll just get it and come back, alright?"

But she didn't wait for an answer and ran back towards the hospital wing as fast as she could, knowing full well that none of her belongings were in Poppy's office.