Chapter 23

It's going to get worse before it gets better.

No truer words had been spoken. Harry returned to the infirmary after his meeting with the Headmistress and noted that he wasn't followed by her, or a silver cat, and, for that, he was thankful. When he returned, he strolled down the center of the room and took up his jacket from the floor. When confidence arose to address Madame Pomfrey, he asked if he could have the opportunity to utilize her office to pen a few owls. Her gratitude showed in the way she graciously allowed him to use her personal study, taking that brief break from her work to guide him further into her adjoined personal quarters. She thanked him for intervening between herself and Minerva that morning, she told him that she knew the Headmistress meant well but she had always been rather protective of her prized students. It was to be expected. Harry thought she didn't know the half of it, but accepted the thanks.

Writing to his wife was difficult. It was hard to find the words to convey exactly what had happened, why it happened, and where they were going to go from there. So, after writing a few failed drafts, he simply asked her to take their children to her parents and come down to Hogwarts at her earliest convenience. The will to leave Hermione there alone, despite her being in the best care, diminished at the thought of guilt. The easiest owls to write were to those of his own personal staff. Although Kingsley had his many shortcomings to tend with, he had always given Harry far more leeway than he should have by providing him with the most adequate of assistants. He told them to find anything, everything, on these cases. Though these were the two most major instances of abuse of power, there had to be more. He knew these people could be trusted to do as he willed them to, especially considering how they were often very 'by the book' sort of people. They were to report to him with their findings and keep it under lock and key due to the nature of his request and the grave importance of it all. He was lucky to have been provided staff with particular skills, skills that would ensure the utmost secrecy.

Then, as was accustomed to him now, he had to wait. He left Poppy's rooms and returned to his chair only to find that a gray tabby was curled on the empty bed beside it. He paused a short distance away and looked at the curled feline with a raised brow and it raised its head and stared back at him. So long as she behaved, he thought. They passed a look of mutual acceptance and the cat laid down its head on crossed paws.

Lowering himself down in his chair, Pomfrey withdrew from Hermione's side and brought him a blanket. She eyed Minerva suspiciously but the cat didn't move or make a sound. Together, they sat and they waited, only getting up to leave when they were required by bodily function or to pace and stretch their legs.

Ginny came the next morning after having received Harry's letter, her brother hot on her heels when they arrived. Both Ron and Ginny immediately went to check in on their friend but Harry stopped them. He explained her situation, even he had found it hard to witness, and he was sure that she wouldn't want that image seared into their minds. Minerva listened from her sleeping position on the bed, her ears twitching. She did find that in that moment, a bit of respect returned for her previous student. He was managing the situation as best he could, keeping Hermione's wishes regardless of how much it may have pained him. For that, Hermione was sure to be thankful.

The Weasley's visited for a short while and asked many a question, they stayed with them until late afternoon before they decided it would be best to not let themselves get in the way. Harry asked his wife to spare details from Molly and Arthur for now, and the kids, just until Hermione was well enough to receive company properly. He was sure that Molly would want to arrive in an instant and now wasn't the time. Ginny agreed. As much as she would have usually asked her husband to come home, she understood him. He would stay exactly where he was until Hermione was out of the woods. Then, when he was ready, he would come home.

_~*HGMM*~_

It wasn't until the fourth day of the second week that Poppy emerged from the privacy of Hermione's makeshift room and cleared her throat. By then, Minerva was seated on the edge of the bed with Harry across from her, a table set up between them with a slow game of wizard chess underway. Upon hearing the sound, both witch and wizard turned their heads to view her. She looked between them both, her hands folding in front of her.

"I've done everything I can for her now, the rest is up to her," She told them solemnly. "You may see her if you want to but be prepared that she is still mending." Minerva and Harry looked at one another. The Headmistress felt her heart begin beating faster than it had those moments ago. She rose to stand and Harry remained seated, appraising the woman. He would give her the time after having kept her away for nearly two weeks, longer before that since Hermione had left. She walked tentatively toward Poppy and gave a short nod of the head, thank you playing upon her lips but left unsaid. Madam Pomfrey's hand lingered on Minerva's elbow for a moment before she let the woman pass.

Parting the thin veil of the privacy curtain, the ebony haired woman cast her gaze at the floor, turning with the closing of the fabric to take a moment to steal herself. She let out a breath and straightened stiffly. Once prepared, she turned around and looked at the woman laying, unaware, on the bed.

Black and blue, hues of green and yellow, splashed across inches of bare skin. One leg lay bandaged outside the covers, arms at her sides, tank top revealing a bit of chest, neck… Her face. Her beautiful face… Finally, tears welled and rolled over high cheekbones. Her nose and her lips, scratched, but healing. Heavy, dark bruises still clouded beneath the skin. Minerva crept forward, her fingertips barely grazing Hermione's arm as she came to stand beside the bed. She was peaceful, serene looking, still clearly beneath the hold of charms and spells to keep her induced. If this image was after a week and a half of Poppy working to rectify the harm done, Minerva didn't want to imagine what she might have looked like when she had arrived.

Magic always had its limits. Even in this circumstance. There were ways to speed up general things - broken bones, nerves, reduce swelling and blood loss - but, even still, so much was damage control. All they could really do was make the injured comfortable, give them potion to take away the pain, cause sleep to be forced, and allow for the healing to take its course.

Fingertips reached and brushed hair from forehead, the woman leaned in and pressed her lips softly to Hermione's brow and paused there. If she had known now what she had known when the woman had left, it would have taken a great power for her to allow this woman to leave. There would have been no way. A quiet clearing of the throat alerted her to the presence of another and she straightened, her head turning slightly to watch as Harry ventured forth and approach the other side of the bed. His eyes scoured the woman laying there between them, his gaze speaking volumes but not in a language easily read by the elder witch. At long last, he looked from Hermione to Minerva and the corner of his mouth curled slightly upward.

"She does look much better." Lightly, his hand fell upon that laying at Hermione's other side and he tucked his fingers in against her palm, his thumb rubbing gently the hand that lay motionless.

"Much better? This is much better?" Minerva questioned, sincerely, her stomach twisted in knots. Harry gave a brief nod and averted his gaze to Hermione's tranquil face. Although her nose had been adequately fixed, bruising still plumped her cheeks and under her eyes. Typical of someone who'd suffered a severe broken nose.

"I can't even describe what she looked like when we found her, I've never been so scared before in my life than the moment I saw this woman like that," Minerva listened to the man, following his sight downward. "I thought we lost her." The woman found herself giving a short shake of the head, willing that very thought to vacate as quickly as it had popped. She wouldn't imagine it, couldn't imagine such a thing.

Giving the two who remained there an amount of time to visit with their fallen friend, Poppy did eventually make her presence known to administer a few potions to the witch, extending her dreamless sleep so that the young witch had the opportunity to properly mend itself. Sleep was the best medicine in many cases, it gave the body the opportunity to do the healing that it wouldn't have the opportunity to do if the woman was awake. And, knowing Hermione, she would want to move. Minerva asked the medi-witch what she had been able to do and if there had been any unforeseen issues. A question that Harry had intended to mirror if he had the opportunity, rather he, also, focused his attention on the woman at the end of the bed. Poppy seemed apprehensive. Pursing her lips, Madam Pomfrey folded her hands in front of her apron, a signature if about to inform of uncomfortable news.

She explained to them the extent that her one leg had been traumatized. Even though the team prior had done their best to straighten those bones before arrival, it had been clear that those bones had broken skin and the connective tissues had been entirely disrupted. The way Hermione had been taken down, clearly was a recipe for disaster. It was difficult to speculate what had caused her femur, tibia, and fibula to shatter in the ways that it had. Perhaps, her weight had been on one leg at the time of impact, and rather than shooting up through hip, she had been knocked to her side. Regardless of how it happened, it caused extensive damage. Poppy chose to try and save the leg. It would be difficult to try and maintain, she explained to the two clinging to her diagnosis, Hermione may forever have been dependent on aid like potions, or she may choose to forego all of that and have it be removed. The choice was hers. Poppy couldn't make that decision as, in reality, she could have managed it just fine.

As much as Harry hated to think of it in such a way, it was the best possible outcome. If that was all they truly had to worry about, then that was the lesser evil, and Hermione could work through anything with the support she had in place. Minerva, on the other hand, felt her stomach drop.

Before the opportunity to really consider these options could be had, Poppy stated that it would be best to return Hermione to her rooms, a more comfortable bed, and a place that would be more familiar. After what she had been through, waking up in the infirmary might cause more undue shock than was necessary, and Poppy planned to lift charms and, ultimately, end dosing with dreamless sleep potion over the course of the upcoming week. She would give Hermione some more time, but only just. Eventually, she would need to wake so that they could assess and ensure she was functioning as best as she could.

Harry and Minerva agreed with a glance, it would be best.

_~*HGMM*~_

It was a covert operation to bring Hermione back to her rooms. They waited until students were in the Great Hall for dinner and took a few lesser known passages. No one questioning why the Headmistress's chair had been rather vacant lately. She was an important woman who had no need to inform if she had business outside of school to tend to. The only person to question the recent disappearance was Rolanda. Still, nothing could be done.

That night, as Hermione was finally settled, Minerva did appear at dinner, at long last, if only to keep up appearances. She joined her fellow faculty as Poppy and Harry worked alone. Although dinner was nearly done, she chose to address a member of staff personally and quietly asked Rolanda to take her leave of the table and join her. The circumstance was no ones business but their own, but Rolanda had carved a place in Hermione's life, she had become dear company for the young woman, and it was best to, at the very least, inform. Minerva imagined that when Hermione wanted little to do with her, she would seek out Rolanda. As that had been the ways of working in their prior months. Even if the situation had changed and their mutual feeling had been revealed, they hadn't the opportunity to talk about such things. Or what the future held. As of now, Hermione required all the support she could possibly receive.

At once, Rolanda pardoned herself and took to Minerva's side as they left the Great Hall through the staff door behind the faculty table. Golden eyes scanned the side of Minerva's face, questioningly. The woman looked exhausted, even more so than usual. She imagined it had something to do with why she was rarely seen over the past few weeks which had been uncommon. Most usually, Minerva was at the center of the school and the goings on, she worked hard on making herself available in a way that Dumbledore rarely had, so it had been an unusual shift among the staff. The students… They didn't notice such things. They were busy enough.

Away from the others, steps falling more briskly, Rolanda was led through the castle and down twisting corridors. She knew the direction, as she'd taken this path many times since the summer months, still, the feeling was strange. When they arrived at Hermione's door, Minerva turned to her and paused. Rolanda said nothing, but the look of pure curiosity written across the Flying Instructors face was enough in and of itself.

"Hermione has taken few friends while being here, above the topical… You are her most favored." Rolanda eyed Minerva, her suspicions rising.

"Is this anything to do with what happened in the lounge a few weeks ago…" Finding her voice, Rolanda questioned the Headmistress only to receive a vague nod of the head. Concern replaced confusion in those moments of silence and the silver haired witch found herself raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"You have seen and worked with many strong athletes who have had accidents playing Quidditch, you've helped nurse them, show them how to rebuild themselves and get stronger… I'm hoping that this will be no different for you," Minerva led into the question with a glassy gaze. "Will you look at her?" Her hand fell upon the doorknob of the door but didn't twist until Rolanda sighed heavily and gave a nod, her own hand falling to her side. The women passed a final glance between them, then Minerva entered into the young professor's private chambers with the silver haired witch close behind. Securing the door shut, Poppy and Harry stood waiting in the living area, discussing quietly among themselves the topic of the day until they noticed the pair enter in.

"Madam Hooch," Harry greeted, walking forward immediately to take her hand and give it a shake, he always had a softness for the woman who gave him the opportunity to fly for the first time. "Thank you for your help."

Yellow eyes scanned his exhausted face and bounced to view her fellow member of staff. Poppy could only muster a small smile.

"We'll have to see if I can do something… But I have no idea what I'm to do anything about." Remarked the woman, noting Hermione wasn't to be seen. Sensing the inquiry, Harry withdrew his hand and gestured to the bedroom.

"She's still resting, she hasn't been awake yet." Interjected the medi-witch, beckoning the yellow eyed women to follow her into the bedroom. It struck Rolanda as odd that she would be invited into the personal quarters of her friend while her friend wasn't entirely the one inviting her in, it was odd that Harry, Poppy, and Minerva were all together there as well. It was unusual only because Rolanda didn't know what had transpired, and so she assumed Hermione had, indeed, returned but was somewhat fine. It wasn't until she entered into the bedroom and saw the woman laying on the bed, utterly battered and unconscious, that she understood all the fuss. Her eyes widened whilst taking in the sight.

"Good fucking Merlin's tits... " Awestruck in the most terrible fashion, the Flying instructor took little time to reach Hermione's side. Her inspection was thorough, not hesitating to reach out and feel across the woman's arms and neck, looking for affected areas. But, the one limb she didn't dare prod due to bandaged covering, was the leg. "She's a right mess, how was this managed?"

"It's a long story, but Poppy has been trying her best," Harry managed to say, seating himself in a chair in the corner while laying a few shirts the young professor had tossed there in the past over his knee. "It's been quite a bit of time now, but when Hermione was over for breakfast at the beginning of the school year she told us that you both had taken to being good friends, that you ran together occasionally?"

Rolanda appraised him. A spark of surprise lit the depths of her eyes. Although behind school walls, of course, they had become fast, good friends. It was surprising that beyond that Hermione regarded her enough to describe their friendship, considering the guarded nature of the woman and that her feelings weren't freely given. Rolanda eventually nodded.

"Yes, we've become close, she's a hell of a running enthusiast… It's a miracle I can keep up." Minerva stood in the doorway, allowing the three to have their time to discuss potential plan. "Can I see the leg? I can tell you right now if it's anything like I'm imagining, the road back to kicking my arse up and down the Quidditch pitch will be long and hard."

Poppy gave a nod and withdrew her wand.

"Would you mind?" The medi-witch gestured for Rolanda's aid, to which she complied and withdrew her own wand. While Rolanda gently levitated Hermione's leg and maintained a steady control, Madam Pomfrey gave a calculated wave and the pair watched the long, thick bandage unfurl and unravel from the limb. Poppy collected it, scourgified it, and turned to fold it by hand as Rolanda gently lowered Hermione's leg back down on the bed.

In various places, long thick pale scar tissue had sewn the skin back together. The muscle of her thigh and calf were clearly disformed. With cautious fingers, Rolanda reached out and placed her hands on the young professor's thigh and massaged the skin, feeling the tight layers of muscle underneath. Her hands slowly moved down to her knee, adjusting and maneuvering the woman's knee cap, checking reflex of the cartilage and tissue, then lower still to her shin, calf, and ankle.

She did have far too much experience with injury, bad bone breaks and muscular disfigurement wasn't uncommon in the world of wizarding sport. Quidditch players took nasty falls, bludgers to the body, bad hits, all the time. It was all a part of the sport, at the end of the day. She would be lying to them if she told them that Hermione's leg would easily be conditioned back into working order. For some, with such extensive scarring and nerve damage, it could take months. Months of potions, even a walking apparatus such as a cane. Still, with the woman entirely incapacitated, it wasn't an easy task to try and determine what course of action to take until she was fully awake and capable of taking those first steps.

Straightening and withdrawing her hands, Rolanda glanced back at Poppy and raised a brow.

"I see you've managed to slow the atrophy which is good, but I can do very little if she's a turnip in the bed, she needs to try some weight on it."

"It takes time to pull her out of the sleep, I don't want to rush her into startling herself awake." Sniffing uncomfortably, doing all that she could possibly, Rolanda left the edge of Hermione's bed and approached Minerva. The pair of women met eyes.

"When she's awake, I will do everything I can to get her back in working order… But I hope you've positioned her current replacement to be available until next spring because it'll be a slow road." The Headmistress paused, then sighed. She could feel the impending frustration building, even though the brunette was laying there motionless.

A slow recovery… Oh how she would despise that.

_~*HGMM*~_

Ever so slowly, Poppy did as she said she would do. She stopped dosing Hermione so heavily. Lingering effects from the potion would be minimal by doing it in such a way. It wasn't unusual for patients who had had to adjust quickly to having their sleep aid quickly removed to experience heightened nightmares as their minds became incredibly active far too fast. After a period of slumber, all those swirling thoughts almost seemed to be held at bay by a large dam. Ripping the bandage off could lead to a break, and Hermione had been through enough already.

Harry remained her steadfast companion, as did Minerva, but there was no telling how long or how little it would be before the effects wore off. He advised her that he wouldn't leave her side and that she was safe, Minerva could take some time and tend to actual work, she would never be too far away. Despite herself, she trusted in him, knowing that he would maintain his word. And he did.

It would just so happen, however, that in the early afternoon mid week of the following week, while Harry took brief leave to her lavatory, fingers would begin to twitch.

An all encompassing ache, so mild but so persistent, made it knowledge that either she was still alive, or she was potentially in purgatory. The feeling of warmth and fabric beneath the pads of her fingers was so foreign, and her brain was so fogged, that she couldn't define the texture. She didn't know what it was. Still, she rubbed her fingers on the warm blanket because it was the first sensation she had had in so long. Those seconds felt numerous, every inch of her body felt as though it was coming back to life and she was beginning to recognize that she was, indeed, breathing. Breath filtered in through her nostrils and exhaled out the very same. Her chest rose and it fell.

Hyper-aware of her body, she peered at the backs of closed eyelids and furrowed her brow. Then she heard a door open. She could hear footsteps. They drew into a closer range. Slowly, her eyelids parted but all she could see was a blurred vision. She blinked a few times but the fog didn't pass immediately and her eyes were terribly sore. It took a few more seconds to focus, but when she was capable of it, she took in the details of what she could see. Stone detailing, woodgrain beams, so familiar… Those foot falls stopped but there was a shuffling. She found herself willing her neck to bend to just a little so she could drop her chin and aim her sights in the direction of the noise. Thoughts were passing more quickly, realizations coming to fruition, and there, in the corner, was a man reading a book, sitting in a chair. Her chair.

Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Harry instinctively turned his head and gazed at the body, then back down at the page. It had become almost routine. It took a moment to register those motionless hands were clutching to the blanket. But when it did hit, Harry's head snapped to the sight and the book fell from his hands. The loud thump of the flat cover on the stone floor caused Hermione to wince, but she heard it. And she saw him, and he saw her.

"Prick." Whispered the woman. Despite the word, and her dry throat, and the pain, and the confusion, the corner of her mouth twitched and upturned. He must have found her. She was home.

He rose from his chair and rounded the end of the bed. Never could he imagine that that one word passing from her lips would be the sweetest welcome of Hermione stepping back into reality. Clearly, she wasn't mute. Her brain could formulate a syllable. That was a step in the right direction.

"Yes, I'm here." It took a lot of reserved energy but the woman lifted her hand from the bed and reached for him as he drew nearer. Harry reached out and took her hand, holding it in both his own, as he seated himself down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looked up at him and he could see tears springing to her eyes.

"Note…" She said, her voice quiet, scratchy, from lack of use. Harry found himself nodding, the hand within his own squeezing tightly, urging him.

"Pipes." Was all he could reply, knowing that she would understand. She was right. He was going to follow her direction and that conversation was something they could have later, after she had rested and become accustomed to being awake, alive, again. He reached for a handkerchief on her bedside table, one that Poppy had left behind, and lifted it to her eyes, dabbing away the moisture that accumulated there. By the look on her face, she understood him and settled into that understanding with the ghost of a smile.

TBC