Hermione was found, quite by chance, by Percy Weasley. Mrs Malfoy had seemed rather pleased to see the back of her, or, perhaps glad to hand her over if it meant seeing the back of a blood traitor. Mr Malfoy and Hydrus had been too preoccupied with their injuries - a blood nose and a fat lip, respectively - to do or say anything, and Draco had been quiet but for a perfunctory, "See you on the train."

Hermione wrapped the dressing gown Mrs Malfoy had loaned her - or, rather, given her, since Hermione doubted she'd want it back - more tightly around herself, and followed Percy away from the tent.

The campsite was a different sort of chaos than it had been earlier; the Death Eaters were gone, and there was significantly less spellfire, but there were also a lot more people out and about, either trying to pack up their ruined tents, or calling out for missing family members or friends. Hermione pressed herself a little closer to Percy.

"Are you all right?" Percy asked. Hermione nodded, eyes on a young girl who was crying and calling out for her parents, while a concerned-looking Auror trailed after her.

"Do you know where the others ended up?"

"St Mungo's," Percy said, the corners of his mouth turning down. Hermione's insides, which had been doing funny little flips for the last hour or so she'd spent in the tent with the Malfoys, froze. "I don't have details," Percy said, a little hoarsely. "I was sticking around to find you, and then was going to head over, but I can drop you home first, if you'd prefer…?"

"No," Hermione said, so quickly and forcefully that Percy's eyebrows shot up; she could only imagine what her parents would have to say if she showed up with a borrowed dressing gown over her torn, smoky clothes. Better they didn't find out. "I… um… want to see everyone."

Thankfully, Percy seemed to accept that. He led her through the campsite to where a group of Ministry witches and wizards had set up a portkey station.

"Quicker to portkey," he muttered, when she gave him a questioning look. "I imagine the normal entrance'll be overflowing this morning."

He'd no sooner said it than slumped sideways onto her shoulder. Hermione let out a cry of surprise and did her best to hold him up.

"St Mungo's?" one of the wizards on duty asked, waving them past.

"Please," Percy said hoarsely, dragging his feet along. A witch hurried over and pressed a hairbrush into Hermione's hand. Percy reached out weakly and pressed a finger to it, and then it flared blue and bore them away.

Hermione stumbled upon landing, and Percy - standing straight and healthy again - caught her arm to steady her. They were in a white-walled waiting room filled with muddy, anxious people wearing various Quidditch themed scarves and shirts and jumpers.

"This way," Percy said.

"Did you just pretend-"

"My family are here and I don't know what for," Percy said briskly. "I'm wasn't about to waste time trying to negotiate a portkey-"

"Excuse me!" A Healer in lime green robes materialised in front of them with her hands on her hips. "You'll have to wait-"

"Percy Weasley," Percy said. He drew himself up and looking down at the Healer as if he were still Head Boy and she were a student caught out of bed after hours. "My family are here." The Healer's eyes flickered to his hair, and she excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she was grim-faced, and Hermione's heart clenched.

"Spell Damage ward," she said. "Fourth floor." Percy gave her a stiff nod of thanks, and led Hermione to the lift.

They rode up in silence and stepped out into an corridor that was empty but for Harry and Marlene, who were talking in quiet, tense voices. Harry was already watching the lift - Hermione supposed he must have heard it - and closed his eyes briefly when he spotted them, some of his tension seeming to drain away. Hermione stumbled forward over the hem of her too-long dressing gown and flung her arms around him.

He hugged her back, and, Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes; she was safe, and Harry was here, and he was safe too. Percy murmured something Hermione didn't catch.

"... of course," Marlene said. "Let Bill and Arthur know they can stop looking and leave the campsite - Percy's found Hermione and she's here with us." There was a bright flash of silver.

"Draco?" Harry asked.

Hermione pulled back and wiped her eyes.

"Safe with his family," she said. Harry nodded. Behind him, Percy hurried off down the corridor, and Hermione's heart crawled into her throat and threatened to choke her.

"Who's…?"

"Ron, Fred, and Charlie," Harry said grimly. "They're all right." His eyes flicked to the door nearest to them, the one Marlene was standing beside, and his whole expression changed. "And Dora."

"Dora?" Hermione asked, feeling ill; Harry had not said she was all right, or that the baby was. "But- the baby?"

"Not-" He cleared his throat and looked away. "It's bad, I think."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione pulled him in for another hug, on her tiptoes this time so that they were closer to the same height and he could rest his head against her shoulder. He was shaking, his breaths rough and uneven, like he was trying not to fall apart. In all the years they'd known each other, she'd seen him angry and scared and stubborn and worried and in pain, but she didn't think she'd ever seen him like this. She felt like crying, but she knew Harry would feel like he ought to be comforting her if she did, so she kept herself under control.

"There's still a chance," Marlene said quietly, from behind them. She reached forward to brush her fingers through Harry's hair, and then they slid down to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. Her eyes were dark and tired, and she didn't sound all that hopeful.

Harry cleared his throat and stepped back, his eyes dry, but red.

"We should go and let the others know you're safe," he said. As Percy had just gone to join the others, Hermione was fairly sure they'd already know, but if Harry wanted an excuse to be somewhere else, then he could have it.

"Okay," she said. Harry looked at Marlene, who pulled him into a quick sideways hug.

"As soon as there's news," she said, answering whatever unspoken question had been in his look.

The Weasleys had commandeered an entire room. Ron was in the bed on the left looking pale, and Ginny and George sat on chairs in the space between him and Fred's bed - Ginny was fast asleep, and George didn't look far off it himself. Fred was propped up against his pillows and shirtless, with a nasty red and purple bruise covering most of his shoulder, and his arm in a sling. Percy had settled in a chair between George and Charlie's bed, and Charlie had a black eye, and a painful looking burn on his left cheek and neck. He was being fussed over by Mrs Weasley, at least until Mrs Weasley noticed Hermione and Harry.

"Hermione, dear," she said, and swept Hermione into a warm hug. "We were so worried…"

"I'm fine, really," Hermione said. Mrs Weasley patted her cheek, then dragged Harry in for a hug.

"Mrs Weasley, you've already seen me," he said, but Hermione didn't think he minded.

"You looked like you needed another one," she said, and Hermione could have sworn Harry's arms tightened around her.

Hermione turned away, eyes landing on Ron, and found herself tearing up again.

"I'm all right!" Ron said hastily. "A bit roughed up, but fine, really, Hermione. Don't cry…"

"We lost you," she said, sitting down on the end of his bed. "I was so worried..." Up close, she could see Ron was trembling ever so slightly, and she didn't think it was from emotion. She wiped her eyes. "What did they do to you?"

"'S nothing," he said. "You should see the other guy."

"Really?" Hermione asked, sniffing.

"Yeah. He was a puddle by the time Marlene and Dora finished with him." Hermione let out a shaky laugh and Ron looked pleased with himself, but a shadowy look had come into his eyes when he mentioned Dora's name. Hermione reached out and took his hand, as much to comfort him as to take comfort for herself. Ron squeezed her fingers.

"Draco's all right," she said.

"Good," Ron replied. "Although- er- Malfoy might be feeling a bit sorry for himself." Hermione, who'd seen Hydrus in the tent and knew for a fact that he was, just raised her eyebrows. "I might've punched him," Ron said. "Mouthy little git."

"Ron!"

"Like you can talk," he said, grinning, and Hermione laughed, a little sheepishly. Ron grinned again, then looked over her shoulder and grew serious. Just from the look on his face, Hermione could tell he was looking at Harry. "Any news about Dora?"

"Harry said it wasn't looking good." Ron's face fell. As if summoned by his name - and with his hearing, it was likely he had been - Harry wandered over and squeezed onto the bed beside Ron, Hermione shuffling aside to make room for his feet.

Bill and Mr Weasley entered the room then, both looking exhausted, and Hermione was equally guilty and grateful; they'd been at the campsite looking for her if Marlene's patronus was anything to go by. Mr Weasley came to pat her shoulder, and then sat on the end of Fred's bed to ask how he was feeling. Bill had gone to Charlie and the pair of them were having a quiet laugh at something Hermione couldn't hear.

They were warm and safe, and the Healers were surely doing everything they could for Dora and her baby. It had been an impossibly long day - it seemed like years ago that they'd caught the portkey with the Diggorys and arrived at the World Cup - and Hermione's eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

In the chair beside her, Ginny started to twitch and hiss in her sleep, and Hermione jerked awake again, disconcerted. George had glanced over at her too, frowning. Ginny's face scrunched up, and for a moment Hermione thought she might scream or cry, but then Harry leaned over and shook her awake.

Ginny rounded on him, hissing again, then blinked and looked around sleepily.

"Bad dream, Gin?" George asked.

She nodded, mumbling something that might have been an apology, and then settled back into her chair again, eyes tired but resolutely open. Then she mumbled something else - this time, Hermione had no idea what - but Harry nodded and she wondered if it had been directed at him.

Hermione thought she must have dozed off again, though she had no idea how long for, because the next thing she was aware of was that she was curled up on the end of Ron's bed, and that she could hear Mrs Weasley's voice:

"Anyone that's not a patient," Mrs Weasley said gently, but firmly, "ought to get home to bed." Bed sounded wonderful to Hermione, and she pushed herself up off her lumpy pillow - Ron's blanket covered legs - and sat up, yawning. Ron had fallen asleep on Harry's shoulder but Harry didn't look like he'd slept at all. Ginny stumbled to her feet, looking like she was awake only by sheer force of will.

"You too, George, dear," Mrs Weasley said, and George shot his mother a look that dared her to make him leave his twin. They stared - or in George's case glared - at each other until Mrs Weasley's expression softened and she made a gesture of surrender.

Hermione shuffled out into the corridor behind Ginny, Bill, and Percy, while Mrs Weasley called out a soft good night.


He was displeased, but he understood - that was all that had kept Wormtail alive. Polkov had been an annoyance, hadn't know his place, but he'd been useful, and to lose him would be another setback... Less of a setback than if he'd been taken alive and forced to reveal Lord Voldemort's location to the Ministry, but a setback nonetheless.

Lord Voldemort did not like setbacks, and he was not-

"Psst."

And just like that, he was Harry again, blinking tiredly and glancing toward the door and the source of the noise. He hadn't been asleep, but he'd been out of it enough that Voldemort's thoughts had crept in, and he'd been too busy listening to Voldemort rant and rage and Wormtail scream to hear Padfoot arrive; he was leaning in the doorway of the Weasleys' hospital room, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and fixed on Harry. Dread filled Harry at the sight of him, but then Harry noticed he didn't look any sadder than when Harry had last seen him, and relaxed a bit. Padfoot tilted his head in a come here sort of way, obviously not wanting to speak and wake the Weasleys.

Harry moved carefully off Ron's bed; when Hermione'd left, he'd claimed her spot at the foot of it. Ron barely stirred, and none of the other sleeping Weasleys did either. Harry padded out to join Padfoot in the corridor.

He smelled tired - which was probably a given since it was Merlin-knew-what-time in the morning - and drained and grim, and pulled Harry in for a hug when he reached him.

"Dora?" Harry mumbled into Padfoot's robes.

"Better - she's tough," Padfoot whispered. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief. Padfoot released Harry and put a hand on his shoulder to steer him down the corridor… away from Dora's room, though, not toward it.

"Where-?"

"I need tea and food," Padfoot said. "Figured you probably would as well." Harry was too tired to be hungry, but he trailed after his godfather anyway.

"How's the baby?" he asked. The corners of Padfoot's mouth turned down, but the aching pain in his scent was worse. Harry's stomach curled itself into a painfully tight little ball and plummeted.

"They're doing what they can," Padfoot said, but his voice was so bleak Harry couldn't find any comfort in the words.

They didn't speak again until they were in the tearoom. They were the only two in there, except for the cashier, but she'd merely taken their orders and gone back to the long letter she was penning behind the counter. Padfoot had a large cup of tea in front of him and was tearing an enormous blueberry muffin apart. Harry's own muffin sat untouched, and he had a sip of his weak tea, then pushed it away, thoughts on the baby. Padfoot watched the movement.

"I'm sorry," he said. Harry glanced at him. "Seems like every time something blows up, I'm too caught up in other things to make sure you're all right." He must have smelled Harry's confusion, because he added, "After the end of term, I wasn't in any state to be of much use to you, and tonight I've been in with Dora. We still haven't really talked about last term, but you've seemed all right so I haven't pushed it, but tonight I didn't want to leave you..."

"I'm fine," Harry said, still confused.

"You saw a man die."

"Voldemort wasn't happy," Harry said. Padfoot had a funny look on his face. "Not about me seeing it," Harry clarified, and under different circumstances might even have laughed at the notion that Voldemort would be displeased by Harry being exposed to any sort of horror, "but just about it happening at all."

"Frankly," Padfoot said, "I don't care much right now what Voldemort thinks about it. I care what you think, about if you're upset by what you saw-"

"I'm not," Harry said, and was fairly sure it was the truth. "I mean, it's not what I wanted to happen, because I was hoping we'd be able to get answers out of him, but… well, he's one less person we've got to go up against, one less person to help Voldemort, or hurt people on our side… or hurt anyone, really… I- I know it's not a good thing, but- well- it's not really a bad thing." Padfoot's expression was grim, and Harry, suddenly worried, added, "Is it?"

It was a genuine question, and one that hadn't occurred to Harry until that very moment.

"No," Padfoot said slowly. "No, it's not." Harry nodded, relieved. Padfoot studied him. "Why weren't you sure?" Harry shrugged, eyes on his muffin. Padfoot's foot found his under the table, and nudged it once, twice, and then a third time before Harry reluctantly looked up. Padfoot's eyes were gentle, but curious. Unable to meet them for long, Harry looked away again.

"Just… I dunno, maybe I should be more upset, or shaken, or something. Maybe I spend too much time dreaming I'm… him that I'm starting to think the way he would." He couldn't bring himself to look at Padfoot, worried he'd see him considering what Harry had just said, or worse, nodding his agreement.

"I can't say whether you should or shouldn't be more upset or shaken," Padfoot said, after a moment. "Only you can know how you really feel, and if you're okay, then I'm okay with that. As far as you thinking like Voldemort… I think you do, in some ways." Harry might have been sick if his stomach hadn't been so empty. The only thing that kept him from fleeing the table was that Padfoot didn't sound angry, or disgusted. "When you were talking to Polkov," Padfoot continued, "the things you were saying… you understand him, how he thinks. With things as they are at the moment, with us either at war or well on our way towards it… I don't think that's a bad thing."

Padfoot pushed a bit of muffin around his plate, then glanced up.

"In other ways, you're not like him at all. Voldemort wouldn't have stepped in front of one of his own the way you did with me tonight- or- last night." Padfoot pulled a face. "You know what I mean. And I guarantee he hasn't had a sleepless morning waiting to hear that his lot are all okay. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Speaking of me stepping between you and Polkov-" He glanced at Padfoot's face and was both surprised and relieved to see he looked curious, and not irritated or exasperated. Padfoot seemed to guess what he was thinking, because he smiled wryly. "-why'd you undo the Body-Bind on me instead of just dealing with him? He hadn't cursed you yet, you could have-"

Padfoot sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his cheeks and chin, and said, "He'd only have had to get a hand on you and it would've all been over." He shook his head. "I couldn't take that chance."

"But because you helped me, you got hit," Harry said. "If it had been a killing curse and not-"

"I know." Padfoot's face was grim, and his scent made it clear that any further discussion about the matter would be both unnecessary and unwelcome. Harry stirred his cold tea, trying and failing to not think about the what-ifs.

"I need to be better," Harry said eventually. Padfoot raised his eyebrows. "Last night, I- with Charlie, I was useless. I know spells, they're either too dangerous-" He thought of Snape's Sectumsempra, or the Incendios he'd got so good at as a kid. He'd seen with Charlie just how effective fire could be, but Harry didn't have the control, which hadn't mattered in the cave with the Inferi, but at a campsite where there were innocent people about... "-or they're not good for duelling, they're just- and against multiple people… The most helpful thing I could do was leave him so I wouldn't be a distraction, and try to lure a few of them away."

"I reckon Charlie must be uncommonly skilled," Padfoot said. "I mean, I've been trying to convince you to run away from this sort of thing for years…" Harry glowered. "Poor taste?"

"Just a bit," Harry muttered.

"I'm glad you didn't run tonight," Padfoot said after a pause. "The godfather in me's horrified, of course, but that's twice now that you being there's kept me alive."

"Twice?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I know about last term," Padfoot said. "Snape told me."

"Oh." Harry shifted uncomfortably. Padfoot hadn't ever brought it up, so Harry hadn't known what he'd known or remembered. And Harry - who'd gone against what he'd been told to run wandless, to Padfoot's defence, then used Padfoot's wand to cast a dark spell on Wormtail - hadn't been entirely unhappy with leaving things undiscussed.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the tearoom squealed open, and Harry and Padfoot both glanced up at the sound of familiar footsteps; Moony.

He looked terrible - worse than after any full moon Harry had seen - but there was a strange sort of intensity about him despite that, and he beelined straight for their table. The cashier, sucking on the end of her quill, didn't even look up.

Worried, Harry sniffed the air, but there was no grief in Moony's scent, just a strange determination.

"Marlene's about to head off to work if you want to catch her," Moony said. Padfoot watched him for a moment, then nodded and stood rubbing his eyes.

"I might go in with her," he said. "Merlin knows they'll need the staff this morning." He ruffled Harry's hair. "You can Floo home or get Kreacher to grab you, or just stay with Moony, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Moony lowered himself into the empty chair opposite Harry as Padfoot left.

"Muffin?" Harry offered, eyes on the door.

"Thank you." Moony pulled a chunk off and stuffed it into his mouth. "How are you faring?"

"Me?" Harry said, stunned. "Moony, don't worry about me, I'm fine - worry about you, and Dora, and your kid-" Moony's smile was faint but fond.

"I'm worried about Dora and both of my kids," Moony said, "but you're the only one I can do anything for at the moment, so here I am." Harry's throat was suddenly tight, not because he was touched by Moony's words - though he was - but because of the awful helplessness that had entered Moony's scent.

"I'm all right," Harry said. "Really."

"Sirius told me about Polkov, and Marlene said Ron, Fred, and Charlie were all hurt."

"They'll be all right," Harry said. "Polkov not so much, but…" He shrugged, and Moony seemed to understand.

"I'm glad." Moony studied him. "I worried you might be blaming yourself, and I had a whole speech planned out to get you to see sense if Sirius hadn't managed. It was going to be revenge for that night at-" Moony cleared his throat. "-at the camp."

Harry remembered it vividly; it had been the night he'd learned of Dora's pregnancy, and that Moony had run off, and he'd gone and shouted at him about it. He tried to smile, but didn't quite manage it. Moony rubbed a hand over his eyes, and Harry smelled salt.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, swallowing. "This shouldn't- it's not fair that-" He cleared his throat and looked down, then tried again. "The baby, it..." Words failed him again.

"She," Moony said hoarsely, into the silence that followed. Harry looked up. "A girl, if… if she…" He wiped his eyes again, and sniffed.

Harry, whose vision was also rather blurry, got up and dragged his seat around to the space beside Moony's.

And there they sat, side by side in the brightly lit St Mungo's tearoom, waiting, and hoping, until a teary Andromeda Tonks came looking for Remus.